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2-dsimp · 2 years

Note

If you’re requests are open, can you do Childe or Kaeya if they were mermaids- with a story like the little mermaid but of course with a darker Yandere twist. If you have time of course, I don’t want to pressure you into anything and you seem to very busy with the Yandere simulator au ( which is amazing and so cool we can choose options and it just so good and perfect )

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The Little Merman (Pt 1!)

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Yandere merman! Childe! x lifeguard reader

Cw: yandere tendencies, gore, ect

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He was always watching you.

From the beginning you’ve managed to catch his eye, as he hadn’t witnessed such a thing before. Seeing a human perched on top of the high white tower, paired with a small tool that mimics bird chirps. Carrying a long board attached to the hip, using it whenever someone was floundering in the water.

Childe couldn’t help but to be curious as to who you were, and whatever you do is called. Normally he’d mind his business and work on what needed to be done with his pod, the Fatui. But he was known to indulge in his impulses wether it be a good bloody fight or something as pure as wonder.

You’ve sparked his interest in how it would feel to have two legs that could not only swim. But also manage to close the distance separating the two of you.

And with that in his mind 24/7 he began monitoring you getting closer every time you’d swam in his territory. One time he even managed to snag a little keepsake from you, while you were too busy saving a life from drowning.

Apparently it was important, so to his pleasant surprise you’d frequently step inside the water. Making him all the more eager to ogle you and observe your bodily anatomy. Just a mere few inches away from you, without you ever noticing the predatory stares he’d shoot you from beneath the deep waves.

The longing gaze in his azure eyes began getting murkier as time went by growing tired of this invisible barrier separating the two of you. So he began to search for any and all means to bring you to to his side. He went to the Sea witch, an powerful eldritch being, hidden amongst the deepest of treacherous sea trenches and wind currents.

“Little one, what you’re seeking leads to a path bordering among that of insanity. “

The Eldritch warned.

Their gigantic mass hidden beneath a shroud of darkness, which failed to cover up the huge tentacle’s curling idly in anticipation. The many eyes they had glowed dimly, reflected off of the cavern lights planted within the sea cave.

“Are you sure you want to be separated from the seas embrace and be born once anew as a mere human?”

The Sea witch asked their voice echoing off the cavern walls eerily.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I wanna try having legs for a change instead of this huge tail haha”

Childe joked, making the ancient Eldritch look down on him in displeasure. Before continuing with the briefing on contract.

“I can give you what you need in your quest for love. However the sacrifices that’d be made should you fail to capture your Darlings heart cannot be undone. “

The Eldritch witch had been present for many centuries to come, to witness mainly tragedy and grief come from those who’ve failed to clear their unrealistic conditions. Nonetheless a request is a request, the Sea witch wished this time their client will achieve a happy ending.

They also hoped that the little merman knew what he was getting into.

“Do you understand, young one?”

“Yes, ma’am “

Childe answered in all seriousness. Straightening up his posture to look up directly into the Sea witches many pupils, taking them aback from his unshakable will.

They say the eyes are the windows into one’s soul. And from the unnatural desire eating away from behind his blue eyes, The Eldritch could sense something dark festering inside his heart. With a knowing sigh they knew it was too late for this poor unfortunate soul, and were curious of who the human that caused such depravity in his being.

“I require a multitude of sacrifices, you must provide me 5 hearts, each having met their demise differently. “

The Eldritch sea witch outreaches her hand towards Childe, who looked on in concentration of the illustrations coming to life from traces of magic dancing in their huge clawed palms.

“The first heart must be drowned.”

A blue heart is shown to flicker out erratically as it’s heartbeat slowly trickles down to a stop.

“The second heart must be strangled.”

A purple heart is shown to be squeezed until it pops, it’s heartbeat deflated until there was only silence.

“The third heart must be chopped into pieces.”

A Yellow heart is shown to be on the chopping block writhing in agony from being thinly sliced into cubes. It’s heartbeat spiked with every chop going out with a screech.

“ The fourth heart must be eaten alive…”

A red heart is shown to be thrown out to the wolves, surrounding the defenseless prey. Before Bearing their teeth and pouncing onto the heart, devouring it savagely until it’s pulse was no more.

“Lastly the fifth heart has to be the sacrifice of whoever your Darling holds dear as they will become the catalyst for this ritual to work.”

A pink heart is shown to be the only survivor, Childe could hear their pulse beat loudly. He could only grow a manic smirk as he just pictured this as a bloody good trial to test his devotion. Taking note from his old friend Zhongli’s mistake, he wanted to make sure that he’d be the one to undergo the transformation.

Since he was confident that he’d be able to overcome anything keeping him from his darling…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now from beyond the dark waters ocean view, twirling around a trinket he stole from your unsupervised beach spot. A little bracelet with a small dolphin bead attached, that floated within his webbed hands.

Childe was waiting for the right time to strike…

“I’ll come up there to meet you soon baby, so just wait for me won’t ya?”

#yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #merman! childe #monster au #childe x you #childe x reader #childe x y/n #childe imagines #childe scenarios #childe angst #genshin angst #little mermaid

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mrultra100 · 1 year

Text

Ultra's End-of-Year Recap: Electric Boogaloo

Given how little I think of just how much more insane things can get with each passing year, I really wasn’t expecting how my blog was gonna go in 2022, but after joining an ask blog (Kudos to @another-silly-mixels-blog ), now having little more than 80 followers on here, being a major player in spreading the good word on what’s basically the biggest event in paleomedia in the last few years, and my writing and art skills getting significantly better this year…

I should really give these things more thought, huh? Regardless, I should still celebrate all of the good that came tumbling towards this silly blog of mine. Just like last year, I’m capping off ‘22 with a special ‘lil recap of the biggest events to happen to the Ultra Barrier Reef (And that’s a far better name than what this blog was named originally). Seriously, alot has happened this year, and I really couldn’t be more thankful for all of the support I’ve gotten over the years, both from fans and close friends of mine. You are all amazing! I know I said something like it last time (Maybe?), but consider this my early Christmas present, from me to you.

I posted 1,622 times in 2022

209 posts created (13%)

1,413 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mrultra100 (That's me!)

@bogleech

@master-of-gaburincho

@marinebiologyfacts

@thesketchyside

I tagged 1,027 of my posts in 2022

Only 37% of my posts had no tags

#ultra ramblings - 243 posts (Again, I had alot of stupid things to say this year)

#pokemon - 234 posts (Since TWO mainline games came out in the same year, this tag was bound to increase, more than usual)

#prehistoric planet - 140 posts (Anyone remember Alien Worlds? I don't, so watch PHP instead. Make Hank proud)

#pokemon scarlet and violet - 119 posts (Are these games fairly buggy? Yes, yes they are. That still isn't gonna stop me from enjoying what's basically Sun and Moon, but ramped up to 11)

#halloween - 119 posts (Still 2Spooky4U)

#ultra-ween - 116 posts (This was the first time since 2019 that I partook in a monthly drawing challenge. One hell of a trip, lemme tell ya)

#bugsnax - 89 posts (While not as big as all of the Pokemon stuff, the Bigsnax DLC sure did help this one grow a bit)

#my artz - 88 posts (Probably my biggest achievement this year; My art has gotten BETTER)

#johnny test - 60 posts (I'm pretty sure that the 2021 revival is now dead in the water, no thanks to Netflix's legal fucknuttery. Sure as hell ain't gonna stop me from getting ideas for my own hypothetical reboot. Also, there sure were alot of V-Marys tossed around)

#mixels - 56 posts (Part of it involved me joining an ask blog dedicated to this show. It's as fun as it sounds)

Longest Tag: 101 characters

#give me a cinderella stuffing her face with food and a feral fairy godmother who contemplated murder!

My Top Posts in 2022:

When people are making so much fanart and memes of your show, it gets slingshotted into the spotlight, you know you’ve made it as a spiritual successor to one of the biggest cornerstones of paleomedia.

Also, Ken Ham can cry me a river.

177 notes - Posted May 29, 2022

It still boggles my mind that, of all things to happen this year, we got femboy pterosaurs. I'm all here for it, especially if it makes out-of-touch creationists drown in their own tears. Ken Ham must've made a whole ocean of them at this point.

Managed to snag one of the 15 second teasers!

211 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

I understand that this was posted during the PHP hype train, but how did this blew up? Not that I'm complaining or anything, I'm just curious.

"It is a lovely morning in Late Cretaceous Mongolia, and you are a horrible Deinocheirus"

240 notes - Posted March 2, 2022

Of all the many pieces that I made over the course of the year, this might just be my crowning jewel.

CHINCHOU (Unovan Form)

Angler Pokemon

Electric/Ghost

Ability: Shadow Tag/Lightning Rod- Prankster (HA)

“First found within the Unovan abyss, this variant of Chinchou has evolved more bioluminescent lures to attract prey. Not only can these lights attract prey, they leave them in a daze, as if they’re under a trance. When its prey gets close enough, Unovan Chinchou delivers a powerful discharge that stuns them. It’s said that the main source of Unovan Chinchou’s bioluminescence is souls, preferably, the souls of its prey.”

STOMIGHTURN

Abyssal Lure Pokemon

Electric/Ghost

Ability: Shadow Tag/Lightning Rod- Prankster (HA)

“Due to the extreme circumstances of the deep sea, along with competition from other Pokemon, the Chinchou of the Unova region evolve into Stomighturn. Having grown in size, Stomighturn uses the same hunting techniques as its previously-evolved form, only with much more bioluminescent lures. Along with a long barbel that hangs from its lower jaw, parts of Stomighturn’s own skeleton now appear on the creature’s hide, being charged with 1.21 gigawatts of ghastly electricity. This strange beast now requires living prey, as it’s been known to swallow them whole, both their body and soul, with its elastic stomach being capable of trapping prey. This species was first discovered when scientists came across one while testing a bathysphere”

Unovan Chinchou evolves into Stomighturn when at level 27

After seeing @bogleech talking about how Chinchou was a better design than Lanturn, I decided to make a regional form for the lil’ guy, along with adding a new evolution that does both the it and the creatures that it’s based on justice.

258 notes - Posted March 29, 2022

How can you screw up making a deep-sea fish? Some chump at GameFreak somehow messed it up when they made Lanturn a thing, so I just had to do my own take on it.

My #1 post of 2022

ALL ABOARD THE PP HYPE TRAIN!

513 notes - Posted April 22, 2022

If I can be honest with myself, this whole was my Prehistoric Planet Arc. It basically was for alot of people, let's not kid ourselves.

At the end of the day, this was one of the biggest years for the Ultra Barrier Reef. Given that the blog is turning 5 next year, who knows what's gonna happen next? Well, that's the fun part. Down in these shitpost-infested waters, you never know what surprises could bubble up to the surface.

Speaking of surprises, I got an extra-special piece coming up to cap the year off. While you should expect to see that in the next few days, things are gonna be a bit slower for the rest of the year (Mainly due to me taking some time off.).

With all of that said, thank you all so much for the continued support, and I'll be rising back up from the depths next year. Happy Holidays, folks!

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #ultra ramblings

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dxwnxdusk · 2 years

Text

@crossed-worlds

He doesn’t know why there’s a sudden increase in whispers. Why is it that when he left.. the voices grew louder. He’d been at the foot of a certain mountain, reaching through the veil. He’d just been about to go drop by those fools. His body was halfway through, before something cut through the shadows with such ferocity it sparked electricity through his veins. This feeling. He doesn’t know it. Maybe he does. It’s been centuries since it been invoked. Something so primal that it tore through the wraith’s very core and the shadows dance. They writhe over the area and leave it suspended in time and space, broken tiles slowly floating upwards. He can hear the way his powers upset the balance, tearing it in half and introduce something new. He hasn’t tapped into this reservoir in millennia. The voices in his ears feel like they’re coming to life from how they try to drown everything else out. Claws slowly raising. Two visitors to this world might just be able to sense...they might just be able to hear the way his jaws snap open. Bones crack as his glamors flicker. His entire image rips in half. Settling for a fine line of something abnormal. How could it be...He’d kept...He’d done everything. He couldn’t. Stop- Stop! Don’t you dare! The most pitiful noise in existence rings out and he expects to see pure black. Not white. Not how the very area twists. The night comes alive as space and time tear at his hands. Pulling at the barrier of the worlds, the balance screams at his awakening. The heavens stare in attention. He is a force unnatural, doesn’t exist except now. Perhaps that’s the best thing about being a Wraith. That flash of terror only your presence can invoke. Something so primitive...as he tears through the shadows. Right to where he’s been summoned. Sigils forming over the area that spark and crackle with raw energy. Flickering in a bright purple glow as he steps out of them. The purple smoke drifting from his jaws that part. Before snapping open. Unnatural. The white noise rings in his ears. Scars burn. Markings glow as does the unnatural pale blue in his throat. He doesn’t even register he’s broken something on his arrival. The cudgel shatters in his grasp and is thrown instead. The jagged end tearing into his opponent. No. His prey. Fangs bared at full length as saliva drips from his open jaws. A furious pace as claws go for any segment of flesh or cloth he can get at.

The demon reels back, his prey writhes for a moment as a force slams into his ribs. A punch. Something protests as bandages come undone, but they hover in the air. Time and Space do not matter here. They are something for him to control. Control he will as his claw digs into ribs and tears into precious cloth and flesh. Blood splattering before he lunges forward. Jaws snapping down on a hand and bones begin to crack and pop. The sickening crunch as his bite tears through the body and tears the limb from the other. Spitting the unnecessary prize to the side. His form is intangible. The wonders of being what he is. Even as the phantom pain tears over him from when. He produces a noise foreign to him, like the guttural roar of something bestial that’s choking on a growl at the same time. Hissing in nature as it echoes, while his prey tries to flee only for a giant claw of shadow and stardust to snag it. The area glitches. Pleas. It resorts to begging him for mercy as he approaches his strung up prey. A claw slowly raising to rest at their throat, a thin line of blood beginning to dribble down as they’re eyes bulge, Pleas for mercy increase, before becoming choked in nature just as Dusk’s claw grasps firmly around their throat.

They explode. A body that explodes into pure shadow mass. The sight is swallowed in pitch darkness. In the abyss. Nothing is left despite the sickening crunch as he eviscerates them from existence. The large mass standing there as the claw that’s now partially destroyed from the blow back of power alone slowly melts away into the shadows where it had come from. The smile on his lips slowly beginning to fade as Dusk(?) turns on his heels to gaze down at the demon cub. Blood splattered over his body dripping onto the stone below in an agonizingly slow manner before slowly crouching down. Smoke exiting his jaws before a low noise is made. A call. Foreign to anything he’s made before. But a summons. Please...be alive. He cannot loose you too...

#TW: Dark themes #crossed-worlds

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bibliocratic · 3 years

Text

litany An exploration on endings. Or: all the ways it could have gone wrong and right.

jonmartin, spoilers for 200, content warnings in the tags

This is not what she thought victory would feel like.

Basira’s fingers tense and smart with overexerted aching when she stops to stretch them out. There is a geography of broken blood-vessels under the bruising that lies puddle-splotched over her hands which scrabble and claw talon-bent at the rubble. They are scored with scratches and tears where her exposed and dust-ruined skin has snagged on fractured brickwork.

She uncovers a foot first, as she pushes up and over the twisted mental of a window frame with an exhausted clatter. A trainer, the white doused with mud, the trailing laces caked stiff and russet. More heaving and hauling, her breath purging from her faster now – maybe, maybe, maybe, but she has lived too long now to believe in miracles. Overturning a fire-blasted section of what could have been once part of the imperious and grand stone stairwell, she reveals the leg the trainer is attached to, pulverised and off-angled by the weight of the collapse, the fabric of it drenched in soot. She peels back a cascade of plasterboard with a grunt, and there is a twisted pelvis, shattered ribs caved in under an acrid-smelling jumper. She’s not surprised at the dull punch of revelation, when she digs out hunched shoulders, coils of hair turned grey-white like swans’ down with the dust.

Martin is obviously dead. She hopes it was quick, fears it was not. His body lying stringless is curved around something, clutching it to him with his bruised and broken fingers. It takes many minutes of labouring, her spine seizing with complaint, sweat pooling at her brow and under her arms, but eventually she reveals Martin’s tender quarry, bundled up against his chest, blood-soaked from a wound long congealed. His own long and bloody fingers clenched and moored into the weft of Martin’s jumper.

She doesn’t need to check his pulse. She is cursed with enough sentiment to do so anyway. Crouching for a moment in the thick of the settling devastation, the fug of dust coating her nostrils, before she murmurs ‘I’m sorry’.

As she stands, she takes off her coat to lay it over them respectfully, the only shroud she can offer.

When her voice is composed, its cracks flattened out, she shouts the others over to tell them to stop searching.

The knife does not go in easily. There is force behind its thrust, a manic wave-shock of hysteric intent, and Jon’s lips part in a gasp as skin and sinew and flesh split. The noise wrenched from Martin is soiled with ruin, tremulous and saw-toothed, and he will never be able to forgive himself.

Jon’s eyes close. Peace of a sort granted to Magnus’ last and most beleaguered of Archivists.

And then they open. All of them, like the unfolding back of petals during blossoming, a meadow’s expanse of sight flowering on his face.

“No,” Martin whispers, the refusal almost lost over the tumult of the building around them. He pulls the knife out, and it drips onto the floor, making damp the material of his trousers. “No, nononononono.”

The wound presses together like lips, and then it is gone.

“I think it’s too late for that, Martin,” the Archivist says in that calm and reasoned voice of his.

It is a surreal, poorly-rendered mirror of before. A way the record of the world has slipped, juddered aground in a repeat. For all they have both changed, outgrown the casings of the people they were, for all they have endured both together and apart, it is a sick homecoming of sorts to stand again a second time round at the entrance to his hospital ward.

She’s brought supermarket flowers bunched in plastic, the last of a bad crop and too late to get the freshest, the stalks of baby’s breath drooping, the petals on the carnations mottled slightly and past their glory days. Jon lies submerged in sleep, the focal point in a placid storm of machines and wires. This coma chemically induced with no inkling of the supernatural, a last-ditch effort by the doctors to reduce the swelling on his brain. To give the body a chance to heal from the damage sustained during the collapse, his frame bludgeoned and punctured like a shrike-caught mouse, the smoke that has snarled like brambles in his lungs. The almost comically neat wound punched into his chest, nicking his heart.

She hopes his sleep is dreamless.

It takes him weeks to wake up.

“… Georgie?” he finally gasps out on an otherwise uneventful Thursday. His vocals are ribbed and scored with smoke damage. He’s sluggish as he blinks and turns and groans at the complaint of his body around him. “What – er?”

“Hey Jon,” she replies. “Good to have you back with us.”

She lets him acclimatise. Without his glasses, he squints and peers owlishly, like an inquisitive bird, absorbed by the novelty of his environment, the mundanity; the hospital-blue curtain that’s been pulled back around his bed, missing a few rungs and so hanging lopsided in places. The wilting flowers on the side table. The IV needles threaded into his arms.

“Did it work?” he asks finally.

“We think so.”

Georgie doesn’t add more. The conversation is one she knew they’d have, but it still feels like stepping out on frozen water. She is waiting for it to give beneath him, for the drop and drown in the unmoored cold.

His relief muddies in increments. His brow crinkling with a frown, glancing around again at the other beds. Their occupants dredged up and out and recovering from their private terrors, bringing the lessons of their landscape with them.

“Where - ?”

He looks up at her. The ice cracking.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says.

“We made it. L-look, see, we’re – I don’t know where we are exactly, b-but that doesn’t matter, does it, because we’re together, yeah? We’re together and that’s… that’s what we promised.”

The blood is drying on his trembling fingertips, the crevices of his palm, and it flakes off like decaying leaf-fall. The front of his clothes is clogged and sodden, the slick slow to harden. The weight in his arms is making his shoulders scream but he can’t let go.

“We – we did it,” he repeats hollowly. Desperately. “We did it, s-so you can come back now. You can come back. Together, you promised.”

The winds of this new world blow as cold as the old one did, and it is Martin’s only reply.

“It’s for the best, Martin,” the Archivist says.

“Shut up,” his furious watcher snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t play st – Like him! Like he would! Using his voice.”

“It’s my voice. It’s me, Martin.”

Martin doesn’t respond to that. Their arguments are cyclical as roundabouts. He tells Martin he loves him. Martin tells him to fuck off.

The place where Jonah Magnus met his End, crumpled up on the dais of the Panopticon, has been cleared of blood. It distressed Martin to look upon, as evidence of his ascension rather than his capacity for brutality, so the servitors saw to its removal. The body he gifted to the mulch of the bone gardens, and the wailing growths flourished beautifully with the nutrients it bore.

The screams beyond the walls of the Panopticon cut off faster as he hastens them towards the End. He observes a world in its twilight. There is still torment, and it is unendurable and unfair but it will end under his reign, for good and for ever, and he will ensure that there is no more.

“You don’t have to stay,” the Archivist says. Considered. Gentle. “I know… seeing me like this is not what you wanted. I want us to be together while it ends, but I won’t force you.”

“And how is it any better out there?”

“It’s not,” he admits. “Here, I can keep you safe. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”

“Well, you fucked up there then,” Martin snaps.

His anger is righteous and flint-spark, makes barriers that almost waylay his grieving. He looks at him, and for a moment, his gaze shakes. He will see nothing less than he expects to see, a man, unkempt from travel, a bit grubby. Coarse hands he has held, lines he has attempted to smooth. In many ways, this makes it worse.

Martin turns away, and the Archivist lets him go.

He needs time and they have more than enough of it now.

He is inconsolable when they dig them out. A horrible, anguished keening like he’s being struck, a gasping that violently gags and stoppers in his chest. His face twisted, blotching, his eyes swollen, and the picture he makes is ugly, rent-open, decimated, bawling into the body he’s crushed up against him. Rag-doll limbed. Ashen.

They can’t make him let go. His cries transform and degrade into wails, garbled wordless, the horizon of language lost. They aren’t even sure if he knows they’re there. The sound pouring out of him is frenzied, delirious and anguished by surviving the unsurvivable alone. He fades hoarse through the ruin he has made of his throat and then he just weeps into Jon’s chest, and still he will not let go.

Melanie’s the one that stops him using the knife the first time. Wrestling it from his grip more out of surprise than shock at Georgie’s shout, and her anger is poisoned with her panic, throwing it to one side and hearing it clatter, snarling that I’m not going to fucking bury both of you, you hear me, don’t even think about it, fuck you, you think this is what he would have wanted, you think we want to lose you too?

Martin doesn’t reply.

They are not fast enough to stop him the second time he tries.

There are two men, strangers to these parts, who moved into the village from elsewhere like seeds caught on breeze. They plant their roots in uneasy soil. They talk to no one, versed in polite but guarded pleasantries, their greeting smiles to-the-point and weathered like coastal walls to withstand even the most inquisitive of questioners.

The one who is tall has the pared-down appearance of someone who has lost a lot of weight through some wasting that gnaws upon him. A gauntness that accentuates the furrows and gulleys and crags of his face, worsens the snow-stark white of his hair. The one who is short has been formed naturally sharp in features, although the brown of his eyes is mellow, prone to distance and otherwise unremarkable. The rumour mill, that tumbles in cycles of chatter that rolls from suspicious to musing, supposes some great and devastating fire to account for the injuries on his hands and the exposed skin of his face and neck, the pocked divots like scattered spark burns, ragged scars from shrapnel of some kind.

The one who is short limps on a sturdy walking stick, fashioned from an oak branch divorced from its tree in a storm. Any travel ventured upon is slow and demonstrably an effort. His free hand clasped in the hand of the one who is tall, who decks himself in layers even in the mildest of weathers, whose eyes are biting as hailstones, awashed grey and framed with bruising as though his dreams are rarely kind.

They re-painted the outer walls of their house last summer, when the temperature wallowed sticky and dense and glorious. The tree in their garden has fruited its first pears, few and stunted but a start that promises better crops come next year.

There is the hope that the strangers are happy.

If they are, it remains nobody’s business but their own.

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onebigowlhouseobsession · 2 years

Text

This is a relatively short one-shot. I got a lot of help with ideas from @portalcartoon. She's awesome, and this fic wouldn't have been possible without her!

If you want to read the fic here, it's down below the cut.

Massive, glowing white eyes lock on him, squinting into harsh lines, sharp with such an all encompassing rage, so full of malice, and then she lunges for him.

---------------

Raz comes face to face with Maligula, and lives to tell the tale.

"We all have our own Maligula, Razputin. We just know how to keep it locked up down below."

Hidden in an alcove barred by luggage, massive towering piles, tilting, nearly threatening to fall on top of them as they walk through the one solid entrance, beyond that– is even more luggage. Raz looks upward at a massive dam, adorned by a tarnished golden locket, chains pulled tight to encapsulate a motley of various shapes and sizes of emotional baggage. Suitcases, mainly, and trunks, hefty with thick, heavy duty metal clasps, are shoved so tightly together they rumble and shake. Muffled water leaks through the available cracks, gushing like faucets.

The entirety of the dam is fashioned out of nothing besides emotional baggage. Later, Raz will ask Ford why that is, once he's had the time to truly consider just how worrisome a thought that was. Ford will sigh, tired and rattling, before saying, "you work with what's at hand, Raz."

In this moment, Raz turns to Ford, shaky but resolute. "What do we do?"

"You find a way to take down that dam. I'll stay here with your Nona and keep her calm, and once you're done we'll handle Maligula together."

"Got it."

The platform bobs slightly on the surface of the water still pooling higher beneath them every time he steps. It takes Raz a moment to realize this platform, too, is made solely of emotional baggage, faded by age, soaked to the point of deterioration.

Raz decides now is as good a time as any to sort out the emotional baggage he can… which isn't much, but he pairs both the Suitcase and the Steamer Trunk with the tags he'd managed to snag in Nona's Quiltworld, and then jumps over to the Hatbox to get it squared away, too. Any little bit helped, he was sure, and while she hadn't said as much, just listening to Ford and his Nona talk made it clear how distressed she currently was. Raz has to do whatever he can.

Raz has to help his Nona. He isn't entirely sure how, yet, but he has some ideas.

Once Raz is finished up with emotional baggage sorting, he climbs up to the top of the dam, carefully walking along the edge, intent on searching for additional weak points.

Behind the dam are choppy waves, crashing constantly against the barrier. Beneath the waves are homes, thatched roofs jutting up out of turbid water.

Raz hears whispering, faint murmurs, layered multitudes, rising from the water's depths. They are pleas, quiet fears, begging words and calls for mercy. They are pained, desperate, but ultimately drowned out and silenced.

Raz can hear screaming. It is at first too quiet to make out, mixing in with the rest of the faint, anguished voices. But it gets steadily louder, steadily clearer. There is a woman screaming, caught in a rage. When Raz looks closer at the water he can see faces, indiscriminate and melding, and limbs, reaching out with desperate, clawing motions, which make up the water's surface, and beneath that, beneath all of that, the silhouette of a lone woman at the bottom of the lake. It might be a trick of the light, an effect of the ripple, but Raz is certain he sees her banging her fists against the bottom, her body shaking with unrestrained anger.

If only Raz were a little more observant, he would have noticed she was getting larger, growing, slowly but steadily.

She is the one screaming. Even muffled, it is blood-curdling, her scream. She yanks her arms toward herself, and the entire dam shakes in protest. Chains, wide and sturdy yet so small, shackled around her wrists, rattle, over and over and over.

Raz gapes, staring wide-eyed. He's caught between inching forward closer to the edge of the dam to get a closer look, and scrambling back, anything to get away from the screaming, the crying, that lurking dark shape struggling just beneath the water's surface.

A step too close. The duffle bag beneath his feet, furthest from the outside of the dam and clearly one of the oldest, warps, threatening to collapse under him. His arms windmill as he struggles but eventually manages to catch himself with a quick, puffing sigh of relief. The outward bow of

the fabric disturbs the water's surface, just barely, and that's when Raz hears it. The screaming has become less of a scream, has morphed into a full-blown, ear-piercing roar. It is like that of a wild animal stuck in a cage, dangerous and feral.

Raz gulps. The shape beneath the murky water is steadily growing larger, and it takes him a second too long to connect the dots, to realize that shape is Maligula and it's getting larger because she's getting closer. Massive, glowing white eyes lock on him, squinting into harsh lines, sharp with such an all encompassing rage, so full of malice, and then she lunges for him.

Raz shouts, quickly removing his hands from the edge of the dam, jumping away. Her eyes are still glaring at, through (right through) him, boring into him as if she'd like nothing more than to spear Razputin through with one of her clawed fingers, as if nothing would make her happier than to devour him whole, just the same as one of those sea monsters in the old horror stories his mother used to tell him right before bed- but the chains catch, stopping her just before she breaks surface tension, with a muffled, rattling clatter; it hardly matters, anyway.

Raz, already about to fall, completely loses his footing, stumbling back, his left heel hitting air. He tumbles from the top of the dam with a horrified shout, falling back down toward the steadily growing puddle behind him.

Toward the water.

Raz braces for impact.

"Ohh, I gotcha! A little to the left!"

It's Agent Cruller that catches Raz, just before he hits the water. The old agent had sloshed his way through the seepage until he was up to his knees in it, and it takes considerable effort for him not to fall, now.

"Whoo, my legs aren't what they used to be. What've they been feeding you, boy?" His knees creak from the impact, and he walks Raz slowly to the nearest dry surface, graciously allowing the kid to step down from his hold with at least a semblance of his dignity still intact.

Raz adjusts his undershirt with about as much professionalism as a shaky, just scared out of his wits ten year old could reasonably muster. "Thank you for the assist, Agent Cruller."

His Nona steps up from behind Ford, tottering over to Raz in that grandmotherly way she'd always had all his life. She looks shaken up when she takes Raz's hand between both of hers and squeezes, seemingly to reassure them both.

"Nona?"

Fear shines wet in her eyes. "Pootie, are you okay?"

Her hands shake, her voice wavers. She's terrified, Raz can tell.

"I'm okay, Nona."

She pats his hand, somewhat reassured, but still so afraid.

"Did she– Did I— Did she hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine, I promise." She doesn't appear completely convinced, but she drops his hand. The dam behind them rattles, water starting to gush even faster from the cracks. His Nona whimpers, trembling.

Ford reassures her, ever so gently, before turning to Raz, clapping him squarely on the back. "Let's get this thing cracked open, shall we?"

"Then locked away and sealed." Raz nods sharply, all business. He draws himself up taller, collecting his bearings. Time to get down to business. His hands still shake, but as long as he focuses on the task at hand he'll be fine. (He has to be fine.) A flash of those glowing white eyes in his mind, searing and burning, tinged with hate, is more than enough to remind of just how important it is they get this done.

He lifts his goggles, popping them over his eyes. "I'm ready."

#psychonauts 2 #psychonauts #psychonauts fanfiction #my writing #OBOHO writes #razputin aquato #lucrecia mux #ford cruller #psychonauts 2 spoilers

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prettybillycore · 4 years

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King of the Court and Queen of the Rink (Kageyama Tobio)

Pairing(s): Plisetsky!Reader x Kageyama

Fandom(s): Haikyuu, Yuri on Ice!!

Summary: The queen of the rink, y/n Plisetsky, moves to Japan to be trained by her older brother figure Viktor Nikiforov. Through a twisted series of events, she meets Kageyama Tobio; someone who matches her odd personality in every way.

Warnings: Discussions of social anxiety, big brother Viktor, my personal headcanons for Kageyama, Reader has social anxiety, Swearing, Reader is on the shorter side, Angst if you squint

Word Count: 4.2k

Read it on this post or AO3

“The Queen of the Rink has a Heart Made of Solid Ice; Will She Ever Meet Someone who can Melt it?” You scoffed at the headline, reading the paper out loud over Viktor’s shoulder. “16-year-old y/n Plisetsky, otherwise known as ‘Queen of the Rink’ is painfully known for breaking the hearts of fans and friends alike. With her sharp tongue and sour attitude, she rarely stops for pictures or chats with anyone outside of her close nit circle. Will she ever meet anyone who can break through that barrier?” You made a ‘tsk’ sound with your tongue before ripping the paper out of Viktor’s hands. Everyone in the rink was slightly surprised by your actions. You and your older brother figure had recently moved to Japan so he could train you and his protege at the same time. Yuri and his friends were still not used to your odd and slightly erratic behavior. “Let’s stop reading this, shall we? It makes me sound like a piece of shit.”

Viktor remained silent for a moment longer before turning to you and putting his hand on your shoulder. “I know you, and you are not a bad person y/n. You just struggle to interact with new people; your little brother is much the same. Don’t let these types of articles get to you. You’re a work in progress.”

You gave him a stiff nod. “I think I am going to go clear my head.”

“Do you want to skate? I can go do cardio if you want the rink to yourself,” Yuri offered. He was a sweet guy.

“No thanks, I think I’m gonna go for a walk. Keep practicing if you want to.”

Viktor spun on his heels to face Yuri. “You better keep practicing; you have a long way to go before you’re ready for this year’s Grand Prix Final.”

Yuri scrambled to start his routine again. Their interaction almost made you laugh. You headed out of the rink and began to walk, but you knew walking around Hasetsu wasn’t going to be enough to ease your anxious mind. There was a good chance of running into reporters around here, and you really weren’t in the mood. You popped in your headphones and headed to the train station, unsure of where you would end up.

《\/》/\《\/》

You weren’t sure what town you decided to get off the train at, but it seemed quaint, charming, and quiet, so you decided to give it ago. You had your favorite playlist in your ears the whole time you were on the train in an attempt to drown out the other people, and that didn’t change when you got off. There was hardly anyone around, but you were hoping to keep it that way. You needed to think, and you needed a clear head to do that. Was it a mistake to follow Viktor to Japan? Should you just leave the skating world all together? Just skate for fun instead of skating competitively?

You weren’t sure of the answer to any of these questions.

You sat down in the grass at a park you had found. You really had no idea what you should do. You started skating as an outlet for your anxiety. It didn’t bother you skate in front of people; you could ignore them and pretend that they weren’t there. However, you had a hard time interacting with people that you didn’t know. Your career took off because you snagged gold in your first adult world championship; now you were never left alone when you were in the arena. If you weren’t on the ice, there were reporters and skating fans swarming you. It overwhelmed you. It felt like you were being swallowed whole. If Viktor or your little brother weren’t there to rescue you, you would snap at them without really meaning to.

Queen of the Rink, a double-bladed nickname.

One blade was kind, a nod to her talent and how she owned the ice. People worshipped the ice she skated on.

The other blade was nasty, an ode to her snippy anxious behavior. She was a mean tyrant, yelling at anyone that got in her way of leaving the rink after a competition.

That’s how you had come to understand it anyway. At first, you had seen it as only the first blade, but you later learned of the second. You weren’t ready to talk about your anxiety with the public. You did not have the words to describe what you were feeling. You tucked your head into your knees as you felt yourself start to cry. Where should you go from here?

“Excuse me?” A small, but loud voice called. You wiped your eyes as you lifted your head up. Your eyes were met with the sight of a group of boys. “Do you mind moving? We wanna play volleyball here.” The voice belonged to a short boy with bright orange hair.

You got up and dusted off your clothes. “Sorry, I’m in the way.”

A boy with silver hair started freaking out. “No, we’re sorry for making you move! You’re the Queen of the Rink, Y/n Plisetsky!” You huffed in annoyance.

A boy with black hair glared at the boy with the silver locks. “Hey, Suga! Don’t call her that! It clearly made her uncomfortable.”

“Huh?” Suga questioned.

“Just like you with your nickname, your highness,” a blonde boy with glasses teased.

“Shut up, Tsukishima!” The raven-haired boy snapped.

“Ooooh, the King of the Court is mad,” the blonde continued. A boy behind him with grayish-green hair snickered.

“King of the Court? I’m guessing you guys don’t just play volleyball for fun. What team are you?” You questioned.

“We’re members of the Karasuno Boys’ Volleyball Club, sorry if I upset you earlier. I had no idea that you didn’t like your nickname.” Suga apologized. His eyes were full of guilt.

“Don’t be sorry. No one really knows.”

“You skate?” The raven-haired boy asked.

“I do.” You replied shortly. “What’s your name?”

“Kageyama Tobio.”

“I like your vibe Kageyama Tobio.”

《\/》/\《\/》

“You know… I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend quite like you,” you said as you skated over to Kageyama. All of your free time was spent with him; sometimes even your not-so-free time was with him. An excellent example of that was right now; he was hanging out with you as your practiced into the late-night hours.

“What’s that supposed to me?” He asked gruffly.

“I don’t know exactly.”

“If you don’t know, then why’d you say it?” He handed you your water bottle.

You collected your words as you drank. “Hmm… It’s just hard to point my finger on. I guess I’ve just never had a person outside of Viktor and Yurio that I relate to deeply and like… I relate to them about skating. I relate to you about life and personality and shit.”

“It’s not like you to get all sappy.”

“You’re such a charmer, Tobio,” you teased. You handed him back your water bottle and skated farther out onto the ice. “Have you ever skated before?” You skated in wide circles, not really doing anything in particular. Your mind was definitely not on your routine.

“No. Not really my thing.”

“Would you like to try? I can show you the ropes.”

“I’m just going to end up falling on my ass.”

“Yes, but it’ll be fun.”

Your gaze pierced him. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

“I mean I will, I’ll just be disappointed.”

A small smirk made its way onto his face. “Fine. You can teach me how to skate if you’ll come to one of my practices and let me teach you how to play volleyball.”

“I think I can make that work,” you replied with a smile.

You weren’t the only one smiling, though. Viktor and Yuri had come to check on you, only to witness the short interaction between you and Kageyama. “Should we interrupt them?” Yuri asked.

Viktor shook his head. “No, lets head back to the inn and leave them be. She’s just fine here with him.”

《\/》/\《\/》

You found the practices you joined in on at Karasuno to be quite fun. You knew they were training for an upcoming tournament, as you were also preparing for this year’s professional skating season, so you didn’t always actually get to play. That didn’t stop you from coming when you could escape Viktor’s watchful eye. It was fun to watch too. You slowly opened up to the whole Karasuno clan. Even though sometimes they were a little much for you, you loved being around them. Hanging out with the volleyball club was the first time you ever felt like you had a group of friends. It was a new sensation,continually and it was definitely a welcomed one.

Though when you did get to play, you were actually pretty decent. You were constantly getting pointers from Kageyama and the others, some a little harsher than others. You didn’t mind though, Yakov was your coach for years, and no one could be as harsh as he was. You found that your professional training as a figure skater made you a pretty great Libero and an even better Spiker. You one quite a few three on three games while playing with the boys. It was quite a fun time.

Kageyama also surprisingly enjoyed training with you as well. He was pretty graceful and naturally flexible, so you and Viktor could teach him some more advanced moves. Much like your brother, he focused more on the technical side than the emotional one, but nonetheless, he wasn’t half bad. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, you training with the boys and him training with you, but it became more like once a week… and neither of you really minded.

《\/》/\《\/》

You knew you would soon begin traveling for your competitions, so you wanted to make sure you went to Karasuno’s games while you could. Their very first game of the season was against a school that Daichi’s friend went to. You knew it would be fun and exciting. You also knew that other schools didn’t think very highly of Karasuno, but those other schools hadn’t been watching them practice like you had. You knew they were a bit of a wildcard, but they were strong.

Takeda and Coach Ukai surprised you the morning of the competition with a little present they had made for you. They gave you a jacket that matched the ones the boys wear and a t-shirt with “Fly High #9” written on it. While it was incredibly cheesy, it was also quite cute. You were happy to support Kageyama and the others. You changed out of the shirt that you came in and put on the one they had made for you. Kageyama blushed when he saw it, causing Nishinoya and Tanaka to tease him about it. You were a blushing mess as well, refusing to make eye contact with him even though you were seated next to him on the bus. You made your mind busy with what was out the window.

Kageyama took that minute to observe you. He had no idea what he had done to deserve a number 1 fan as dedicated and beautiful as you. You were smart, talented, and just as awkward as him. In his eyes, you were absolutely perfect.

You turned around in that moment and furrowed your brow. “What are you staring at? Something wrong with my hair?”

His face was glowing red. Tanaka and Nishinoya burst out laughing, but Daichi smacked them on the back of the head, effectively silencing them both. “No. I was looking past your head out the window.”

“Oh.” You turned back to face said window as he mentally facepalmed—curse his awkwardness.

《\/》/\《\/》

You were no stranger to competition spaces, but this was already very different from what you were used to. You all had unloaded off of the bus and were making your way toward the entrance. You could see so many people walking about,, and it started to make you anxious. Kageyama could sense your discomfort and reached gently for your hand. He intertwined your fingers. You didn’t say a word about it. Neither did he.

《\/》/\《\/》

You decided sitting on the court was going to be too much for you, so you sat silently cheering the boys on from a quiet spot in the stands. There was no one directly around you. There were a few boys a little ways away, all wearing matching mint and white uniforms, but other than that, you were pretty much alone in your row. This worked out well for you. You were able to focus on the game rather than on your nervousness. You were sitting crisscross, eyes focused solely on Kageyama.

“Oikawa, look over there.” The tall brunette followed his teammate’s eyes to a girl sitting in the same row as them, a little further down the gym. She was wearing a Karasuno jacket and Oikawa caught a glimpse of her shirt as she moved. He could see that her eyes were completely glued to Kageyama as he moved swiftly across the court.

Interesting.

“I’ll be right back. Let me know if anything interesting happens.” His teammates nodded to him in slight confusion, but they decided not to question their captain. “Pardon me.” His soft voice hit your ears, it sounded like silk.

You looked toward the boy, pulling your eyes away from the game for the first time since it had started. “What do you want?” You snapped. You didn’t really mean to, but he just made you so nervous, much like every other person that you did not know.

“Sharp tongue for someone so small~” He teased.

It didn’t sit right with your stomach. Your nose scrunched up. “We just met and you have the audacity to call me short?”

“Sorry if I offended you, I just had a question. I noticed that you’re wearing a Karasuno jacket. Their girls’ team is playing right now, why aren’t you there?” Oikawa knew that you weren’t a volleyball player, he could tell that much, but he wanted to hear you say it.

“Oh, I’m not a volleyball player. I’m actually a professional figure skater… ah… volleyball is fun, but not my favorite.”

“So why are you all decked out then?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Because it seems like you have an interest in Karasuno’s #9, much like I do. Though, our interests are probably different. I’ve known Kageyama since middle school.”

“Who are you exactly?”

He stuck his hand out for you to shake. “My name Oikawa Tooru.” You sucked in a breath. It was labored, almost impossible to breathe. Kageyama had told you all about Oikawa Tooru. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n Plisetsky.” You weren’t sure why you answered him. Your anxiety had you paralyzed. Oikawa gently picked up your hand and shook it lightly.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/n Plisetsky.”

It was at that moment that Kageyama and the team were on break from playing. His eyes narrowed when he saw how close Oikawa was to you. It took everything in him not to run up to the bleachers and give him a piece of his mind. “OI OIKAWA!” Kageyama shouted. It gathered the attention of almost everyone in the room. “LEAVE HER ALONE, WOULD YOU?!”

You blushed at the scene that was causing while Oikawa laughed. “SORRY FOR TALKING TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND KAGEYAMA, I WASN’T FLIRTING OR ANYTHING.” Oikawa turned back to you, “looks like I should go before Kageyama comes up here and kills me. Take good care of him for me would you~?”

You have never been more mortified.

《\/》/\《\/》

“Oikawa is in an interesting character. Not at all what I thought he would be like after you told me about him.” Kageyama grunted at your words. The two of you were alone on the ice after a long day of volleyball games for his tourament. He needed a cool down and you needed to practice. “He made me anxious, but like everyone does that.”

Kageyama grunted again. “I don’t want to talk about Oikawa.”

You giggled a bit at his attitude. “My, someone’s moody today. Care to share?”

“He likes to get under everyone’s skin and what he said… It bothered me.”

You tilted your head in confusion. “What bothered you exactly?”

“The part… about you being my girlfriend?”

Your cheeks started to turn pink. “What about that bothered you?”

“That you’re not… my girlfriend I mean.” He wouldn’t look at you. His eyes were glued to the ice.

“Do… Do you want to change that? Because I would gladly be your girlfriend Tobio.” That was bold of you to say, but the awkward boy seemed to be glad that you to that step. It meant he didn’t have to.

“Yeah. Yeah I would like that.”

《\/》/\《\/》

You stared at the ceiling as you lay on your bed. You were partially working on remembering the lines and partly thinking about the conversation that had happened with you an Kageyama earlier that day. You weren’t sure how you had gotten so lucky, but you did. In your mind, he was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. To think this all happened because you went to cry in the park one day. Even though the memory was a little sad, your smile never faltered.

“What are you so happy about? You haven’t stopped smiling tonight. That’s quite unusual for you.” Viktor questioned from the door way. He came into the room as you set up. You crossed your legs while he sat down in your desk chair across from you.

“Kageyama asked me to be his girlfriend.” You couldn’t stop yourself from being giddy about the whole situation.

Viktor had a bright smile on his face. “Oh really? That’s wonderful to hear y/n! I’ll have to give him a brother talk the next time I see him. It’s my responsibility since Yurio is in Russia and cannot.”

Your sweatdropped. “I really don’t think that’s necessary Viktor.”

He waved his hands. “Of course it’s necessary. I’m your big brother figure after all. It’s my job to look out for you as long as we are in Japan. I am also your coach, and as your coach I cannot allow you to go through any heartbreak during competition season. It’s bad for your scores.”

“Kageyama isn’t going to break my heart!”

“Not on my watch he isn’t!”

《\/》/\《\/》

How Yurio found out about your boyfriend was less than ideal. You had planned to tell him the next time you were on a facetime call, but that didn’t really work out. Yurio liked Kageyama just fine, but you knew it would shock that you were dating someone. You wanted him to hear it from you first, but the media had other plans.

It had gotten out that you were friends with the Karasuno Volleyball Club awhile ago so the boys were sometimes questioned by reporters. None of them really seemed to mind, none of them except Tsukishima anyway. They mostly got a kick out of it.

But Nishinoya and Tanaka really couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

It was Noya who let the fact slip that you wre dating Kageyama, but Tanaka confirmed it in order to tease the raven-haired setter. Daichi stopped them before they could say anything, but the damage had already been done.

“THIS REPORT SAYS YOU’RE DATING STUPID KAGEYAMA IS THAT TRUE Y/N?!” Your little brother screamed over the phone. You were in the gym at Karasuno, chewing out Nishinoya and Tanaka who wouldn’t stop apologizing. You had Yurio on speaker for the boys to hear. Noya and Tanaka were white with fear at how angry he sounded, but you knew that he was all bark and no bite.

“Yes it’a true. Sorry I was going to tell you on our facetime call tonight, but a few of Kageyama’s teammates let it slip to a reporter.”

“REALLY? WHICH ONES? I’LL PUNCH THEIR STUPID FACES IN THE NEXT TIME I COME TO VISIT IT YOU.”

Tanaka and Nishinoya were on their hands and knees in front of you, silently begging you not to tell your little brother it was them. Suga had really scared them with the stories of the “Russian Punk”. You really had to stop yourself from laughing. “I think I’ll keep that information to myself for now. Have a good day at practice little brother and try not to break anything would you?”

“Y/N DON’T YOU-”

You hung up on him and bursted out laughing. “He think’s he’s all tough, but he’s not. You guys don’t need to worry about him. He won’t doing anything to you if I tell him not to.”

“Somehow that doesn’t give me a lot of confidence,” Nishinoya said. His tears were still evident from the scare.

“Come on you big babies get up! You have some practicing to do. Volleyball won’t play itself,” You said cheerfully.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself Y/n! Get to it boys!” Coach Ukai said. You found your way to the wall and happily watched the boys practice with Tadeka and Kiyoko. Kageyama always played a little bit better when you were watching, so he put 120% into this practice. You loved watching you him play. You were absolutely in aw of his skill. You thought that about most of the team in all honesty, Kageyama’s abilities completely mesmerized you. Little did you know, he thought the same thing about you.

《\/》/\《\/》

Kageyama looked cool from the outside, but internally he was panicking. Today was a big day in your relationship and he was so nervous he felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was your six month anniversary and it was the first weekend you were going to be home in Japan for over a month. You had been away for competition and then a long over due visit to your family. Kageyama knew it was selfish, but he wished you hadn’t done the trips back to back. He missed you terribly.

With your competitions and his tournament, you hadn’t been able to hangout on the phone nearly as much as either of you would have liked. He missed you terribly and that’s how he got himself into this situation. He may have over done it with the planning for your anniversary.

He showed up to the inn as you were talking to Yuri’s parents in the main space. You had barely been in Hasetsu for 20 minutes. “Sorry to interrupt, but-”

“TOBIO!” You screamed with joy. You launched yourself into his arms and his face turned bright red. PDA was not his his strong suit, but he did miss your hugs. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your hair. The sweet scent of your shampoo filled his nose and he felt at home.

“I missed you Y/n.” He mumbled. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary my favorite setter.”

He pulled back and cocked his eyebrow. “You only know me, Suga, and Oikawa.”

“And I said you were my favorite didn’t I?”

He knew you were teasing him, but the look on your face made his heart melt. Your big smile and soft eyes made his body feel like jello. “Do you want to go for a walk?” He asked. His tone was stiff and awkward. To another person, it might have seemed forced, but you knew better.

“Sure, sounds like fun.”

“Be careful out there you two! And be home for dinner time, Kageyama you’re welcome to join us if you’d like. I already asked Yuri’s mom,” Viktor chimed in.

“Okay dad. Bye~!” You teased Viktor with your words before taking Kageyama by the hand and pulling him out the door. The two of you walked just like that, hand in hand around Hasetsu. This wasn’t a new activity for the two of you, sometimes you would good for walks after skating practice if it wasn’t too late, but something about this time felt different. Kageyama’s hand felt tense in yours, not like he wanted to let go, but like he was afraid that you would. “Tobio? Are you okay?” You asked after awhile.

He shrugged. “Just nervous I guess.”

You tilted your head toward him. “Nervous? Nervous about what?”

He stopped walking and gently took his hand out of yours. Your skin felt so cold you almost reached for his again, but you could tell whatever was on his mind was important, so you refrained. “You know what today is right?”

“It’s our 6 month anniversary.”

“Yeah.”

“And…?” You questioned.

“I got you a thing… but um… I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Well we won’t know until you give it to me will we?” You teased lightly.

Kageyama shoved his hand into one of his jacket pockets. “You’re a pain in the ass you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your pain in the-” You stopped mid-sentence because you saw what Kageyama had pulled out of his jacket pocket. Resting in his large palm was a charm bracelet. It was silver and had a few charms scattered around it. An ice skate, a volleyball, and three hearts. One heart had his name, one heart had yours, and one had the date you got together. “Tobio… It’s beautiful.”

“You really like it? Not to cheesy?”

“No it’s absolutely perfect.”

“Not as perfect as you.”

“Now that was too cheesy.”

____________

Tags: @lunauuh-noelle @normalisthenewnorm @seventeenstyles94

288 notes · View notes

dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

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Persephone's Symphony | Day Two / Part One | Hades

Hey lovelies this isn't completely done (this chapter, I mean) but this was a good spot to post it because it's been a while and I'm proud of this part. The next part will be about the same length (I'm guessing) and will be the long awaited bathtub scene! enjoy, and sorry for how ramble-y this chapter is. It's on purpose LOL!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: PTSD in action on both parts, self-loathing

Word count: 2.7k

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Master List

Maybe saying yes is the wrong answer. It certainly goes against the protocol his commander explicitly told him to follow.

Stay inside, Barnes. Keep the curtains closed, limit the amount of lights on inside the house. Don’t let her out of your sight— not even for a second.

It was all basic, day one things that any rookie would know. Bucky is a lot of things but he isn’t a rookie— he’s been around the block his fair share of times and then some. Still, the last thing his commander had told him rings through his ears as he crosses the threshold of the Wilson’s family residence and feels the sun, warm and steady on his face— and on his one, good arm— for the first time in twenty-four hours.

Be a ghost, Barnes, or you might just become one; you understand me?

Bucky had answered yes, again— obviously. Maybe that’s just a thing he does; saying yes when he doesn’t know what else to say. Saying yes when he should be saying anything but.

But what?

But it’s not like it really matters— there was no other choice that time. He’s a soldier, he was given his orders, and— whether he likes it or not— Bucky always follows his orders.

The door creaks shut behind him, a little loud for his liking but the sound of the willow trees snapping in the yard are enough to drown it out for the most part— Well, Bucky always follows most of his orders.

That was also before everything went straight to hell, though— before no one thought to tell him that he's not dealing with a victim; he’s dealing with a survivor. Fucking military— he should have known they’d leave the important details out. They’ve been shoddy since the forties, always squirreling away information from the little guys. Eighty years later, one hundred and six years old, and he’s still a little guy. No closer to gaining an invite to the big kid table than he was at twenty-six when he still had two good arms. If anything he’s further away now, begging for scraps when there was once a point in his life where he at least had a seat somewhere.

With someone.

Nothing’s changed— nothing will change and he doesn’t expect it to— but this time there’s a difference.

There’s a big one.

It’s the canyon between grief and watching your family get slaughtered in front of you; the insurmountable jump from longing for those you’ve lost and having them ripped away from you so violently that you can’t function. Can’t sleep. Wake up scared. Jump away from every touch, every noise, like every shattered vase is out to personally kill you—

Why the fuck wouldn’t they tell him that the girl he’s supposed to be protecting has PTSD? He may be old— the term may be different now— in his day they used to call it shellshock— but it’s yet another thing that hasn’t changed. Nothing ever changes; not really— not for him.

Soldier.

Scientist.

Same fucking difference— the signs are still the same and she has all of them.

He would know— he should have known from the moment he walked through the door— they should have told him!

He saw the pictures. Saw the scarlet circles and lifeless eyes and blood. Fuck, there was so much blood and that was just a grainy photpgraph from a junky projector! He couldn’t smell it— couldn’t taste it— through the pictures but he has an imagination— well, what’s left of one at least. He can’t say he didn’t leave most of his creativity in those hills of Austria— gods only know he left most of everything else there— but even if he had left all of it he wouldn’t have to dig far for a memory of his own. They don’t tell you as a soldier that fresh blood smells like rotting honey— that it lingers in your clothes and hair and on your goddamn lips for hours.

Soldier.

Shooter.

Fucking psychopath with a gun and one arm and snow still shoved so far down his throat that he can’t breathe—

No, if they don’t bother telling their soldiers then there’s no way anyone thought to tell the cherry pie angel. They probably thought it would ruin her sweetness. They probably didn’t even think to tell her at all. Bucky definitely didn’t. He should have. If he had, maybe he would have been able to catch her before the flies ate through her wings completely. Maybe if he had just done his damn job instead of being sucked in by the sticky marmalade of her laughter then he would have seen the way she was melting right in front of his face. July in Brooklyn does that to a person.

It brings the flies to the cherry pie.

The flies to the rotting honey.

The flies to too fucking late— he had twenty-four hours and instead of doing something he just let her sink. Some guard dog he is.

Bucky watches as she gingerly sits on the edge of the white swing, her movements stiff, almost mechanical. She lifts her feet as soon as she’s down, toes hanging a good few inches off the ground as they curl around the thick bayou air, clenching and unclenching rhythmically. They never touch the bamboo mat and her eyes never lift from the shoreline— not even when he takes a couple measured steps towards her. It’s unnerving, to say the very least.

“We can’t stay out here too long.” Bucky isn’t used to speaking this quietly but it feels like if he doesn’t level his voice to match the whispering of the wind across the bulrushes then he’ll be hurting her more than he already has.

Her answer isn’t any louder than his— the only reason he even hears it at all is because he refuses to look away from her. He only hears her because his eyes are already on her lips, willing her to stop sinking her teeth into the soft flesh. Please, please, please stop—

“I just need a few minutes.”

Her eyes are wide and rimmed with red, toes continuing to work against the breeze with the same automatic movements. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench. He doesn’t understand. It’s like she’s trying to work the feeling back into them— or maybe like she doesn’t know that she’s doing it at all. Hell, if the way her eyes have glassed over means anything then he would wager that there’s a good chance she doesn’t even fully know she’s outside. Yeah, that’s shellshock alright. Clench. Unclench. Clench. He doesn’t realize he’s copying her movements until his jaw aches.

Unclench.

“I know, doll. I—” He finally tears his gaze from her rigid figure— from her bruised lips— looking as well to the horizon. Maybe she’s on to something; maybe the waves will tell him how to help her— “I know.”

Can they tell him how to help himself? He shuffles forward again, stopping at the edge of the swing, gaze sweeping from the water to the barriers of the premise. Who is he kidding— of course they can’t. This isn’t about his salvation anymore. Those days have more than come and gone. Now it’s about hers— it’s about an assignment and keeping ten toes and ten fingers connected to two legs and two arms. Right now is about an order and Bucky Barnes can certainly follow orders— maybe that’s all he can do.

He gives the shaking girl who— despite everything— is swathed so prettily in the shade of the porch another once over.

Maybe but maybe not too.

Maybe he can’t follow orders at all.

Maybe he can’t afford to think about it for too long.

Because if he can’t follow orders then what can he do?

Bucky is still staring at her when she speaks again but her sudden words still make him jump nonetheless. “There’s room.” Her voice falters for a moment, lips hanging open and eyes faraway, before she continues. “If you want to sit, I mean. There’s room.”

He shouldn’t— he knows he shouldn’t, sitting isn’t a part of his orders— but he does. He couldn’t say no to her if he wanted to.

“Thanks.”

He definitely doesn’t want to say no to her.

“Sure.” Her voice is barely a hum— barely there at all— and he can’t choose whether to look at her lips or her fingers, which are now following suit.

Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench.

It’s an impossible decision— much like the ones from his days as a soldier— but it demands a choice from him nonetheless— unlike the ones from his days as a pawn. Her nails drag over the wood, snagging every so often, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Clench. Can she even feel him next to her? Back in the day— before that day— he used to watch his comrades do the same thing. He used to do the same thing. Sometimes he still does. He knows exactly what he would want someone to do for him.

He makes the choice for an impossible decision, wrapping his hand around hers until their fingers are laced together. “You can talk to me, if you want.”

It seems to work, if only marginally, because she stiffens for a moment, fingers flexing around his. Bucky can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, the way she grips his hand so unsure of herself. Is she unsure of herself, though, or is she still lost somewhere in the depths of her mind, drowning in her rotten honey thoughts?

Her hand stills— an answer in itself— before her voice, slowed as though stopped by lips that have been glued shut, sounds. “Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?”

It’s not what he’s expecting but what else is new— neither was she and yet he’s here, listening to the moments they’re allowed to be outside— all of zero moments, that is— tick away as her toes clench and unclench.

Tick, tick, tick— what would his commander say.

“Yes.”

Steve used to ask him the same thing, Bucky adds silently, but only when they got older.

He supplies, “I think maybe that’s a part of being human.”

Tick, tick, tick— his commander wouldn’t say anything, he would just put Bucky on probation.

Still, he doesn’t rush her— he can’t. He won’t. She just told him she’s drowning; he’s not going to be the ocean to her frenzied attempts to stay afloat. He’ll just hold her hand, and keep looking over her shoulder, and then over his own, and when the time comes he’ll tell her they have to go, because that’s what she’s expecting. He would know— there have been times he’s wanted someone to do the same for him.

Tick, tick, tick— this is worth probation.

“I don’t think I like being human.” She hums back.

No, Bucky wants to say— no, I don’t either, doll.

Being human sucks and he’s not very good at it. He would know, he’s been a lot of things— been compared to a lot of things. Robot. Popsicle. Dog— yeah, he’s a real jack of all trades and so far human isn’t near the top of his ‘favourites’ list. Maybe that’s because if he wasn’t human then he wouldn’t be any of the other things either— maybe if he wasn’t human then he wouldn’t be so easily turned into a monster.

Tick, tick, tick— maybe.

Tick, tick, tick— have his thoughts always been so disorganized?

Tick, tick, tick— maybe it’s the shellshock.

Bucky doesn’t say any of that, of course.

What he does say is— “What would you like to be instead?” —as if he can make everything all better himself.

He can try, at least. He’s been compared to a slave too. Being hers doesn’t sound all that bad.

Thunder rolls over head and it sounds more like a grandfather clock— or the impatient tapping of his commander’s fingers— than anything Bucky’s ever heard. Still, he waits to move. Tick, tick, tick. He waits for a lot of things.

Bucky waits for the sky to turn grey— for the first droplets to mix with the salty bay air and blow against his neck and face.

It’s familiar, the sticky, salty rain, and he isn’t expecting it.

He isn’t expecting Delacroix to remind him so much of his own home in Brooklyn.

He isn’t expecting the way that sitting next to this soft creature feels so much like sitting on the docks with Steve the summer before his enlistment. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning— Steve had said it at one hundred but he may as well have said it then, at eighteen, too. Because little did Bucky know, Steve had always felt a little bit like he was drowning and now Bucky, at one hundred and six, always feels a little bit like a bad friend.

Like a bad brother.

Like a bad dog— he should have scented it out all those years ago but instead he just waited.

Tick, tick, tick— all he does is wait.

Bucky waits for her to squeeze his hand once more— for her tiny fingers to alert him that she’s ready to move.

Maybe if Bucky had waited until Steve had told him that he was ready all those years ago then Steve would have waited for Bucky to be ready too. Because as he sits here, his skin turning swampy in the sticky, salty rain he realizes that no, he wasn’t ready for Steve Rogers to leave him behind.

He wasn’t ready to face the world alone.

He wasn’t even ready to face Brooklyn alone. Sometimes he still waits at the deli for him and orders the hero sandwich because even though he doesn’t like the absurd amount of pickles, Steve always had. Maybe if he eats enough— and waits long enough— then Steve will come back.

Tick, tick, tick— for a man who isn’t patient, Bucky Barnes sure does do a lot of waiting.

Bucky waits for her answer— because that’s what matters most. Not Steve’s wishes, not his commander’s impatient tapping, not even his own nostalgia that’s starting to make him, too, feel like he’s drowning. He used to love swimming in the Atlantic but when he licks his lips and tastes salt he’s sure it would take a miracle to get him to go in again. It would take a hundred years— or maybe just eighteen— and a push from a man who left Bucky almost as fast as Bucky had left him.

“I want to be a god—” she says it so suddenly that he jolts, eyes scanning their surroundings before realizing it’s just her determined, honey hollow voice sounding from next to him— “I want to be god— or invincible— or anyone but me, I think. I just don’t want to be me anymore. So yeah, I want to be a god.”

She still sounds so far away. Like she’s underwater— like Steve that time he wanted to see if Bucky could hear him scream from under the surf. He couldn’t but he told Steve he could. It doesn’t matter anymore— not right now. Only she does and her airy confession.

It makes Bucky’s heart clench and, as a reflex, so does his hand.

He releases the pressure accordingly— in his hand, not his heart— unclench— and as he does she adds— “and I want to take a bath.”

In that moment, despite his worry for her, he’s ecstatic she isn’t looking at him because if she had been then she would have seen the way his jaw drops. It takes him a moment to answer— a moment to pull himself out of the gutter his frozen-robot-dog brain drags him to— but he settles on one thought in surprisingly record time.

He can’t make her a god but he can sure as hell watch her back if she wants to take a bath.

He can’t make it all better but he can do that no problem.

So of course he stands, squeezing her hand one last time before saying, “okay, doll.”

Maybe Bucky is following orders after all. Maybe it’s a matter of choosing which— whose— orders to follow.

____________

Tag list: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky @elijahs-wife @cari1bunny @im-just-star-dust @motherofallthesmallthings @hazardoushallucination @em-august @nuttytani @brown-eyed-babes @imaginearyparties

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#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bodyguard!bucky #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky angst #Persepone's Symphony #wow this took a month and it's trash LOL

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sailtoafarawayland · 3 years

Text

Savage

(A Dark Swan/Dark Hook vignette)

It was cruel, she knew that, knew that she shouldn't do it – but she was slipping a little more every day in her steadfastness to keep some small part of herself from the darkness, and his kiss had made her remember, had called her back to herself if only for a moment. She needed to feel him, to remember what it was like to be loved by him, held by him. She needed it as she needed to breath, and she was just far gone enough that she would drag him through hell to get it.

My muse wouldn't leave me alone yesterday, and this was her demand. It takes place during S5 Ep2 - “The Price”. I'm very pleased with how it turned out, and I hope you all are as well. Please read through the tags if you have any triggers.

Rating: Explicit (sex, language, trigger warnings - rough sex, hate sex, verbal humiliation, degradation, anal sex, come marking, emotional manipulation)

AO3 - FF

Savage

Killian could hear the sound of glass clinking to his left as she spoke, but drowning out even her voice was the the call from dead ahead, a heavy, bolted door looming – whispering, drawing him closer. His breath quickened, his body thrumming with something he couldn't place as it neared, and then like the tide receding all at once, the pull was broken, Swan's hand appearing in front of him, the scent of rum burning sweetly as his eyes found hers.

“I still also know the fastest way to a pirate's heart is through his liver,” she smiled, drinking in his gaze, tumbler of rum extended in her hand.

“There's an even faster way,” he breathed, desperate to find his Emma once again in those eyes that were like looking through frost.

He swallowed her small gasp greedily, pouring every ounce of his love for her into the kiss, her taste a balm for his misery as he clung to the hope that this would be enough to bring her back to him, but the touch of her fingers in his hair was hesitant, and then it was gone altogether. Their lips parted, her words filling the space between.

“Now there's the pirate I remember,” she teased, leaning back in to claim him once more, but the sound of her voice, distant and unable to bridge the gap between them made him pull back entirely, his eyes taking in everything that their kiss hadn't changed.

“It didn't bloody work,” he breathed, panic threaded through each word as he stared at her unbelievably.

“You've been talking to Belle.”

The distance between them seemed to grow even as she stared intimately into his eyes, something in them luring him with a dark whisper.

“Why didn't it work?”

“It didn't work because there's nothing to fix,” she retorted, her voice climbing in a way that felt almost human – almost like his Emma. “This is who I am now. Why can't you accept that – why can't anyone accept that?”

“Because this isn't you,” he insisted, knowing that somewhere beneath the guise of the Dark One, his Swan was still there, waiting for him. “What the hell happened in Camelot?”

“That seems to be the question of the day,” she nearly spat, face hardening as she looked away from him and moved toward the door.

“Then bloody answer me!” he roared, anger rippling beneath his skin like something alive as she turned, her face as closed to him as his memories.

“I wish I could.”

He strode across the distance to where she stood, needing to find something between them that felt familiar, something that felt how it used to be – that they were it for each other, meant to be.

“You can tell me anything.”

There was a flicker of something at the edge of her mouth, words she was holding back, but then they were gone, replaced with a tired smile as she slung her arm over his shoulder in something that was far from an embrace.

“But that would be no fun,” she purred, leaning in, their breath mingling and noses bumping as she inhaled him, “and I'm tired of talking – now, do you want to stay, or not?”

“Sorry, Swan,” he said, pulling back just enough that he could gaze into the eyes he knew were hiding something. “This may be who you think you are, but this isn't who I am.”

He felt the weight of her arm fall from his body, her head tilting curiously as she watched the battle he knew she would see inside of him – how the small step he took away from her clawed at his chest. Regret rose bitterly in his throat as he made the decision to leave her and moved toward the door, the exit that would be their last chance all too close – and then she spoke.

“But what if it is?”

He could hear the hint of truth in her words, something that fell oddly between the Emma he knew and the coy demeanor of the Dark One.

His footsteps stilled against the floors of the house she'd called her own, the soft white curtains of the door separating him from outside, a barrier between what he knew, and what she was tempting him with.

“No more games, Swan,” he growled, turning about and bearing down on her, though it seemed she had expected as much. “What does that mean?”

“You've always been a pirate, Killian – a man playing hero. You don't remember Camelot. What makes you think you haven't forgotten one more black spot on your heart, and that I became exactly who I needed to be...for you?”

“More riddles,” he hissed, the nauseating wave of fear in his stomach overwhelmed by anger, his fingers wrapping painfully around the bare skin of her arm as he drew her close and gently shook her – his hand barely feeling like his own as he did so.

Panic surged in his chest as he struggled to ease his grip, but her words had woken something inside of him – something dark and vengeful, something that wanted to make her understand how much he was hurting. How was it that there were no ends he would not go to for her, and yet she still wouldn't trust him, wouldn't give him the truth?

“You see,” she shrugged, stepping into his anger and stroking the painfully tight line of his jaw as her eyes flickered toward where he was leaving bruises on her skin. “It's never far below the surface, Killian, who you are.”

“You're wrong, Swan,” he muttered, forcing his fingers from her around her arm and stepping back, his breath coming on a shudder.

“Stay with me,” she coaxed, but beneath the impassive demand he could hear her for the first time, feel her – his Emma – and the temptation was too much for him to turn away from again. “This is where you belong, I promise you, Killian.”

She brushed her lips against his once more, her body calm as his raged in front of her, a storm caged within a glass bottle, savage and waiting to burst free.

Time seemed to still as she waited for him to respond, her lids heavy with desire as she studied the chaos churning beneath the clear blue gaze focused only on her. Her warmth was so close to the surface, and yet unreachable. He wanted to shake her until that thin layer of ice shattered, until she cracked and the truth came pouring free. He wanted to feel her skin hot and pressed against his own, alive, her precious control swept away as he made her scream his name over and over.

He wanted, gods, he wanted.

And so he took.

Maybe he was exactly what she said he was.

He slanted his mouth roughly against hers, taking no care for her comfort as he bent her backwards, the steel of his hook snagging her dress and tearing down the side of it, the firm, pale swell of her breast and its rosy peak bared to him from beneath the remains of her torn undergarment. Satisfaction pounded through his veins like the sea itself as she returned his kiss with equal passion, the glass tumbling from her hand and shattering against the floor as she threaded her nails into his hair, biting his lip hard enough that he pulled away, and giving her the opening to take back some control, yanking him closer and slipping her tongue into his mouth, the both of them falling to the floor.

He returned her aggression, biting her lip roughly and reveling in the sharp hiss of pain he drew forth. She held a finger to the swollen wound and pulled it away to show him what he had done, a bead of red blood staining its tip.

“There you are,” she teased, and before she could utter something else he didn't want to hear, – words that would stir the fury within him more than it already was – he was pinning her down, the back of her hands smacking the hardwood floor as he pressed her roughly into them, brace and hand equally demanding of her submission as he hovered over her, darkness swirling in his gaze.

“Shut up,” he hissed, ignoring the creeping certainty that something was wrong, that this should have all gone differently – that somehow, he'd ruined everything, “and don't bloody move.”

She obliged with a smirk, her eyes hungry as she followed the path his hook made against her skin, dragging along her collarbone just enough to leave a red welt before snagging on what remained of her dress and freeing her other breast for his perusal. They rose and fell with her excitement, nipples hardened and begging to be touched.

He pinched one roughly, delighting in the keen of pleasure his unkind touch pulled from her, her hips bucking beneath the spread of his legs, still wrapped in the useless fabric that had once been her clothing.

That wouldn't do.

He rose to his feet, ignoring her cry of frustration at the thought he was leaving – he had no such intentions. She'd woken something inside of him that he couldn't name, but it was angry and tired, wretched and needy, and he planned on letting it have its way with her.

He looped his fingers and hook into the balled up material around her hips and dragged it from her body, her feet kicking at it eagerly, pale legs falling back to the floor and opening for him – her arousal soaked through her panties and shining at the edges of her thighs.

“Look at you, Swan,” he hissed, tossing the garment aside and kneeling over her body once more – claiming it, “all powerful, and yet here you lie on the filthy floor, cunt sopping wet and begging to be filled by a dirty pirate.”

He dropped down, hook digging into wood as he fisted his hand among her tightly coiled hair, each silver strand drawn back into perfect obedience. He took pleasure in yanking until she gasped, feeling the strands that had once been a beautiful, soft gold pull free.

Emma let herself feel it all, the throbbing pinch at her lip, the stinging tug of his hand in her hair – let herself feel human again. Pain, pleasure – it didn't matter. Each of them was a sword that cut through the darkness suffocating her, surrounding her and whispering, making her forget who she was and why they were here to begin with. She needed all of it, needed him to remind her – or she'd lose everything.

“How does it feel, Dark One, to beg like a bitch in heat?” he growled.

His words were another jagged cut, another blade she'd need to take responsibility for, but they reminded her what tears felt like, even though she wouldn't let them fall.

“I haven't had to do much begging, now have I?” she quipped, lips twisted in a smirk as she rolled her head purposefully against his grasp, her scalp burning, “and you seem plenty eager.”

“Oh, you'll beg for it,” he promised darkly, “because if you don't, I'll walk out that door and leave you lying here in your own desperate need.”

It was a lie, she knew. He could no more leave her now than she could ask him to – yet another choice she'd stolen away from him.

His cock was raging against the confines of his jeans, and in his heart he knew that whether she begged or not, he'd be taking her right here, sating the gnawing hunger that was burning through his gut and trembling at the tips of his fingers – but he wanted to hear it, wanted to hear the Dark One pitiful and helpless for something she couldn't otherwise get – his willing participation in her little game.

He released her roughly, the back of her head knocking against the floor as he stood and loomed over her, fingers nimbly unfastening the button at his crotch and freeing his throbbing length, its weight heavy in his palm, swollen head thick and glistening with his own smeared arousal as he jerked it over her naked, writhing form.

“Is this what you wanted, Swan? Is this why you brought me here?” he sneered, eyes flickering closed for a moment as his fist rolled over the head of his member, his entire body shuddering with anticipation at having her. It felt too long to have been without her, without the tight clasp of her walls, the way she arched into him, the soft caress of her fingers against his face, the way she'd sigh into the air when his stubble razed her neck.

His hand slowed as his mind conjured memories of Emma golden and warm, welcoming beneath him, offering herself up and shyly taking the praise he showered on her – her curls long and splayed on his bed, hips bucking into his mouth, his name falling like a dream from her lips...

“Having second thoughts, pirate,” Emma goaded, noticing how his movements had stilled, his face taking on a look that was far away in another time, another place. “Still think you're the hero?”

Her words dragged him from his reverie, reminding him that this was not the same Emma lying beneath him anymore.

“Tell me, Killian, how much of a hero will you be when I find someone else to give me what I need?”

Blind, red rage overcame him at her words, at the thought of her seeking release with someone else, another man's hands mapping the curves of her body that he knew so well, the pieces of her that were the same no matter which version of her was lying before him.

“Make no mistake, Swan – Dark One or not – you'll always be mine. This body,” he snarled, dragging her roughly to her feet and tossing her bodily onto the nearby sofa, his temper flaring anew at her smug look, “is mine – and while you may entertain ideas of soothing that ache somewhere else, we both know you've been ruined for other men. It will always be my cock you imagine filling you completely, my seed painting that beautiful skin of yours, my hand at your throat, pushing you over the edge, isn't it, Swan?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, spreading her legs lewdly in front of her and dragging a finger – the one still smeared with blood from her bitten lip – through her wet folds, pink flesh parting to reveal her tight center throbbing for him, “but a girl can only be so patient – Dark One or not.”

He was on her before he could rightly understand how he'd gotten there – no memory of crossing the distance between them – but his nails were digging into her thigh, yanking her forward so that her pert bottom hung over the edge of the couch, the sound of a table clattering to the floor behind him as he kicked it out of the way and knelt between her splayed legs, his hand moving to angle the raging hardness of his cock against her core.

Feeling her warmth for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he surged forward.

She cried out beneath him, her body flexing as his entire length was buried inside of her, impossibly large and tight and feeling as if he were splitting her in half in the most sinfully perfect way. There was no breath of a reprieve before he was dragging himself free and repeating the action, his hand gripping her side as if it were the only anchor he had, his hook rending the cushion beside them as he pounded relentlessly into her.

“Tell me then, Swan,” he panted, his words broken by the wet sounds of her arousal spreading between them both, skin slapping against skin, “is this what you needed? A good fucking by a ruthless pirate?”

She bit back the words pushing against her closed lips, words he was dragging up from somewhere deep and forgotten with each thrust of his body into hers, words she couldn't say – I just needed you, Killian, to pull me back, no matter how much it hurt. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Her sharp breaths built into a whimper as her body opened around him, his thickness stroking every hidden place within her, waves of pleasure rippling through her core and shooting down her legs, building in her body like something that would snap and tear her apart. She was near her climax, but one look into his eyes, hollow and hungry above her, made her realize he was far from done with her.

With a pained grunt he pulled out of her grasping depths, ignoring her keening pleas as he lifted her up and flipped her over, her chest tossed against the back of the couch as he spread her legs, revealing her abused sex to his gaze. She shuddered wantonly as his fingers explored her, spreading her wide and dragging the slick wetness from her walls before smoothing it over her clit and pulling a broken cry from her lips.

“You should see yourself, Emma,” he rasped, shoving several fingers back into her at once as she jumped away from him toward the couch, whining at the nearly painful sensation, “so open and ready for me. No other man would have you, would they, Swan? Not like this, stretched open by a filthy pirate – rather used, aren't you?”

He threw the words at her purposefully, meaning to hurt, to wound her the same way she'd wounded him – the way she'd made him doubt who he was and what he could be. His cutting words reminded him that whatever had happened in Camelot, she'd done what she had to match him, to equal the the black-hearted pirate he would always be. He needed her to feel just as broken.

“Another man would simply leave you wanting, Swan, but not me. I'm yours as much as you're mine, so tell me, love – do you want it?” he purred, swiping the belled head of his cock along her folds once more. “Do you want me everywhere?”

“Yes,” she hissed, knowing what he was going to demand next.

“Then beg for it,” he commanded, slapping the side of her ass with his throbbing length, staining her cheek with the mix of his precum and her own juices . “Beg for it, and I'll give it to you.”

She wriggled against the couch, the words leaving her pitifully as she searched for the feel of his length anywhere against her.

“Please, Killian,” she moaned – she could give him this, could let her control slip for just a second. It wouldn't break her, not entirely.

“That's not good enough, Swan.”

“I need you,” she whispered, every word she pushed past her lips far too close to the truth of what she wanted to say, too dangerous. “No one has made me feel what you do. There's no one else, there never will be. Please, I want you – need you, all of you...”

“Where do you want me?” he purred darkly, his fingers swiping the viscous arousal seeping from her folds and dragging it higher to where her tight ring of muscle was bared for him. “Do you want me here as well? Is every part of you mine, Swan?”

“Yes,” she hissed, thrusting back against the pressure of his finger as he pushed against her unyielding muscle. “Need you...everywhere, Killian, please...”

“That's a good girl,” he praised, and rising up on his haunches, he pressed the tip of his cock against her opening. It had been some time, but he knew she could take him like this, remembered how tight she would be around him – and if it was too much, well, he wanted to make sure he left his mark with his body as well as his words, something inside of him demanding it.

His grip was uncompromising around her shoulder as she moved instinctively away from the burn of him entering her, pulling her firmly back and only making him stretch her more quickly as she breathed out soft, desperate noises beneath him.

“Just like that, Swan...take it, darling...gods, you're so bloody tight.”

“Yes,” she ground out, her body finally relaxing as the thick head of his cock slipped fully inside of her, every inch that followed a welcome burn pushing back the fog of darkness she could never truly escape from.

He paused in his thrusting, and Emma both heard and felt a cold wetness spreading between her cheeks, his saliva dripping down to meet where his cock was settled tightly inside of her ass, his fingers spreading it thickly along his shaft as he worked himself further into her.

“I'm going to fuck you so deeply that you'll be able to taste my seed as I spill it into you, would you like that, love?” he panted, his body rutting into hers as his saliva spread between them, easing his intrusion just enough. “You're not going to be able to sit without remembering how it felt to have me fill it up – is that clear?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, gasping and biting her already bruised lip as he drew far enough out that she thought he would pop free, her body already craving the fullness of him as he left her empty. Shameful pleasure ignited along every inch of her skin as she bowed beneath what she had turned him into for her own selfish needs, at what she had forced him into becoming because she was weak.

She couldn't help but remember the times they'd done this before, how deep he'd been, how connected they felt, and she let that memory wash over her, taking away the guilt and leaving only bone-deep satisfaction as his cock reamed her, his balls slapping against her sensitive flesh as he took what he needed from her, what she'd forced him into wanting.

“Oh god...” she moaned, her thighs trembling alongside his own as he sped up, her back sinking lower as he gripped her sides painfully between his hand and brace, his own groans joining her own. He thrust erratically into her pliant heat, the tight grip of her channel dragging his orgasm from him at the same time hers tore past every last barrier she had, her core clenching achingly around nothing as he swelled impossibly large and burst deep inside of her ass.

His nails bit into her as he growled and pushed harder against her, the zipper from his pants branding her skin as he pumped rope after rope of his hot release into her. Then with a harsh breath, he yanked himself free and grabbed her, twisting her down so that she fell onto her back against the cushions, staring up at him as he jutted his hips forward and jerked the last of his cum from his balls, splatters of his seed landing across her cheeks and chest as he groaned out his satisfaction.

Emma closed her eyes, regret and guilt surging back in to fill the emptiness that he'd left behind, her body sore and longing still as he rose shakily to his feet, stepping back from both her and the couch. How much farther had she pushed him toward that looming darkness in an attempt to pull herself back from its edge?

The air stilled between them, both of their breaths settling as they watched one another, knowing that between them, something had shifted – some path washed into nothingness behind them.

He tucked himself back into his jeans, feeling like some of the tension he'd been shouldering was gone, perhaps the burden of what he had needed to live up to vanished. His eyes drifted along her body, limp and splayed across the couch, his release leaking from her abused body and dappled like stars across her chest. Her lips turned upward into a slow smirk, one that they'd often shared before after making love – though this one was changed, haunted by shades of things he didn't yet understand.

The need to suddenly be somewhere else – far from this place she'd called her own when he didn't really know her anymore, when he felt as if he didn't know himself – rose up like the bottom of the sea greeting a long awaited friend.

This is where you belong. I promise you, Killian, her voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Whispering, whispering.

But it wasn't his Swan that whispered at the edges of his mind, and instead of turning toward the front door, he found his steps leading him toward the back of the house, back toward the basement door that had caught his attention earlier – when she'd distracted him with a drink and some nameless hope that had fled his body along with his release into her.

This time, she didn't stop him.

A wave of her hand made the bolt slide free of its own accord.

His hand wrapped around the knob, and when he turned back to look for her, she was standing in the hall, silver hair perfectly coiffed once more, her body hidden beneath the sinuous black of her dress, the only reminder of their activities the ring of bruises blooming around her arm like dark flowers.

She nodded, encouraging him forward – and the handle turned smoothly beneath his palm, ushering him into the darkness below.

END

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Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54

#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #sailtoafarawayland #savage #emma and hook #dark swan #dark hook

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the-lady-writes-what · 3 years

Text

26. Mirio Togata

Theme: Incubus

Kinks: Wet dreams, somnophilia, non-con, rough sex, breeding

Yeah. I don’t know how male orgasms work, so this will probably be inaccurate. I’m not that big into actually having sex and I’m not in a comfortable level with my male friends how orgasms feel for them. I don’t know what else to tell you.

Very OC Mirio. And you know what else? He’s canonically 18.

Masterlist

Spread your legs for me.

This was a dream and a damned good one at that. Laying on top of you was a young man, ripped like a Greek god. He ordered you around with a honeyed voice. It worked like magic. You opened your legs and allowed him to slip between them. His large, protruding member grazed against your slit before parting your wet folds as powerful-looking hands stood on either side of your head. You stared up from your pillow and into the ocean-blue eyes leering at your body. He snagged your lower lip between his teeth and sucked.

Your eyes snapped back to the blue ones staring at you. You licked your lips. Your mouth was parched; you couldn't speak.

You dared to look down at the body shifting between your legs. You gaped at the small bulge in your lower belly, where the cock was fully seated inside of you. Hips snapped into you, making you arch your back of your mattress.

You feel good, don't you, sunshine?

Don't you worry. Let me take care of everything.

Your legs trembled the next morning. It was worse between your legs, and the muscles of your inner thighs ached with every step. Your lower back screamed at you. When you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, you hardly recognized your own reflection. You were pale with dark circles under your eyes. You struggled to remember what time you went to bed. Your mind was running on two brain cells as you tried to work out what happened the night before. You remembered going to bed, but after that, you couldn't remember anything at all. Dreams weren't supposed to be remembered, yet it felt like you had one. In the back of your mind, you saw a man, a handsome man, sharing your bed. He was…inside you. His cock was pounding your insides like nothing else mattered to him except make you come hard. But you couldn't remember if he succeeded.

You scrubbed yourself clean in the shower and ventured back to your bed. Carefully, you peeled back the covers. Sure enough, there was a wet stain. You quickly tore the sheets off your mattress and dumped them in the hamper. No one was going to see, but you felt better with a clean set.

At work, people were already noticing the difference.

"Hey, Y/N, are you okay?" Momo asked.

"Hm?" Was all that you could manage.

"You look like you pulled an all-nighter. Late-night project?"

You shook your head. "No, just had a bizarre dream."

You flitted away before Momo could see the faint blush coming over your cheeks. You fueled yourself with coffee all day in an attempt to stay awake. A knock at your office had you snapping upright in your chair and spinning around to face the door. Mr. Toshinori stood in your doorway.

"L/N, do you have a second?"

You tried not to rub sleep from your eyes.

"Sure, what do you need?"

"I'd like to introduce a new colleague to you. He just transferred from a different branch, so I'm showing him around. Togata, this is L/N-san."

You couldn't tell if blood drained from your face or sped towards your face. The other man in your office doorway looked uncomfortably familiar. He was broad as he was tall with a mop of blonde hair. His ocean-blue eyes beamed when he saw you.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, L/N," said Togata. "I'm Mirio. Mirio Togata."

You slowly rose from your chair. You wondered if your skirt was long enough to hide your knocking knees. You reached out to shake his hand and instantly regret that decision. His palm was warm—no, hot. It was hot to the touch, and it took everything you had not to wrench your hand away. Mirio's fingers were giant compared to yours. He gripped your hand almost possessively, but with Mr. Toshinori in the same room, that much Mirio could do. The moment your hands touched, a shiver ran up your spine. You lurched forward and almost fell into Mirio's arms. You clamped your hand over your mouth to prevent your new co-worker and boss from hearing you moan.

"L/N, what's wrong? You look sick," said Mr. Toshinori.

"I think…I think I should go home. I'm not feeling so hot." You managed to stammer out.

"By all means, L/N. If you're not feeling well, you should get some rest. I'll fill out the paperwork, and you can sign it off when you get back."

"Thank you, sir," you mumbled.

Mr. Toshinori and Mirio left the room. You gathered up your stuff, signed out of your computer, and headed out. As you rounded the corner, you felt someone follow behind you. You turned to see Mirio a few steps at your back.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to help you to your car. Mr. Toshinori was kind of enough to let me help you since you don't look so good," said Mirio.

"T-Thanks."

Mirio stayed a few steps behind you rather than walk right at your back. Which you were grateful if anyone asked. The personal space was needed before you passed out. That all changed when you realized that you would have to take the elevator to get to the parking garage below, which meant you had to share it with Mirio standing within arm's reach of you.

The elevator doors closed with a solemn grumble. Your heart pounded inside your chest. You glanced at Mirio from time to time, waiting for him to make a move. Although what should you be expecting? Were you that suspicious of a man you just met just because he looked similar to the one in your wet dream? Coincidence, you thought. It was all just a coincidence. You were silly, really. A niggling doubt in the back of your mind said otherwise. Mirio didn't just look similar to the man in your dream, he was too tentative, and the way his eyes followed you around should have shot up several red flags. You ignored it in favor of acting like a sensible, rational human being.

Mirio caught you looking at him once or twice on the way down that seemed to take a century. He merely smiled and kept his hands to himself. If he indeed was the man from your dream, then he would hesitate to put his hands all over you the moment the elevator's doors closed shut. Someone like that wouldn't give a damn about the security cameras either. His smile made you melt; you were practically a puddle when you exited the elevator. Mirio followed behind as you sprinted for your car. You bit your lip. Was this such a good idea to let a strange know what kind of car you drive and what your license plate read? No, no, that couldn't be the same kind of man Mirio was. He was too polite for that creepiness.

You made it to your car without further incident. Your heart still raced a mile a minute. Mirio stood in the periphery of your vision, never far from your sight. He remained a respectful distance away.

"Thank you so much for your help. I hope we get to work on future projects together," you said as you fished your car keys out of your purse.

"Let me get the door for you."

Mirio moved so quickly that you didn't have time to protest. He plucked the keys from your hand, pressed the button that would unlock the car, and opened the driver-side door for you. Puzzled, you didn't think twice about the matter. You settled your stuff in the passenger seat next to you and buckled in. You bated your eyelashes without thinking anything wrong. A little flirting never hurt right.

"Thank you," you said.

"Not a problem." Mirio beamed. His smile could melt icecaps.

Shutting the door, Mirio leaned through the window you don't remember rolling down.

"I'll see you tonight." His voice was velveteen.

Your brows furrowed at his meaning. You were a deer caught in a pair of headlights when you turned to look at him. Those same ocean-blue eyes held a darker intent than merely working with you. It was the vastness of the open sea, cold and ruthless. His eyes were a void meant to suck you in and drown you in their maddening depths. Mirio's smile dimmed to a smirk, and he walked away. You watched him from your car how he turned away, walked back to the elevator, and climb inside. Before the doors closed him in, you swore that Mirio winked at you before disappearing.

The rest of your day was a blur. You dressed in your favorite pajamas and hoped that some food and mindless channel surfing would solve all your problems. Not only were you not getting paid, but your excuse was also rather lame. As you sat on your couch and stared into your television screen, you wondered when was the last time you got a full night of sleep. You blanked. There had to be a time when you did, but you couldn't remember. Your brain was a jumbled mess, all thanks to those cursed dreams you'd been having. You couldn't even remember the last time you had an ordinary, non-sexy dream with a stranger you hadn't met until today.

You almost loathed it when it grew dark. Night meant bedtime, and bedtime meant dreams. The longer your brain festered on those dreams, the more you grew to dread them. You looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you brushed your teeth. You took a more extended look at the dark circles beneath your eyes and the sullenness taking over your face. Were your cheeks always that shallow? You spat, rinsed, and turned off the light.

Mirio slipped through every wall and door to get inside your apartment. He would climb through every fence in the world just to get to you. Your scent was absolutely divine; it drove him insane with want. He licked his lips as he broke past the last barrier keeping you from him. The path to the bedroom was easy and one that he knew like the back of his hand. Mirio mapped out your entire apartment during his nightly trips.

You paused at your bedside before peeling back the covers. Slowly, you got beneath your blankets and pulled them up to your neck. For the longest time, you lay there stiff as a board under your blanket and sheets. Your eyes darted around the room just to see if your new co-worker was lurking there. You set your phone face down on the nightstand after fifteen minutes of you lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. You flipped your bedside lamp off with a sigh.

You closed your eyes, still expecting Mirio to slink in. The room was silent. The only noise you could make out were the soft footsteps from the people in the apartment above you and the gust of wind against your windowpane. A prayer fell from your lips that whatever was coming for you in the night would leave you be.

He stood at the foot of the bed to watch you sleep. You snuggled up to your blankets like a child seeking protection. A few pieces of cloth weren't enough to protect you from him. Mirio crept a bit closer. When he was stood beside you, he peeled away the blankets and sheets. Lavender wafted up to his nose.

"Changed your sheets after last night, eh? You humans are so peculiar about your habitats. It is a shame, though. I might have wanted you to sleep a little longer in your come. Get you used to it. Oh, well."

His hands worked the buttons of your sleep shirt, and the silken fabric fell away with no more than a gentle tug. Your long bottoms made him scowl. How dare you hide your lovely from him. That alone deserved punishment. You murmured in your sleep as Mirio tugged your pants and underwear down in one go. Tonight, he had no intention of putting you back together again. You would sleep naked after he was done with you. The only thing he wished he could do was to see your face when you woke up and found yourself naked. No matter. Good things come to those who wait.

Mirio wasted no time dishevelling his clothes. Being a demon, he could have easily dissolved them or faded through them. He wanted this to be special and want to remember every detail. The act of stripping down made him feel a bit more compatible with you, a human. It was pretend, a show. Eventually, you would see his proper form and tremble. For now, Mirio settled for having you like this, vulnerable to his power and entirely at his mercy.

He climbed into bed with you and reclined on his side. His tongue ran across his lips just by looking at your body. You shivered in the cold. You should have stirred and awoken to your body bare of even a sheet to protect you from his gaze. Mirio's magic made it impossible for you to open your eyes unless he desired it so. You were going to belong to him shortly enough, but why spoil it now? Mirio thought himself cruel for dragging it out like this but admitted to liking this game.

Mirio ran a finger down the column of your throat and let it trail down to your belly button and back again. He hummed with delight as he touched your smooth skin. He palmed your breast and tweaked your nipple to a stiff peak. Mirio shifted on the bed until his lips found your neck and suckled. He kissed your shoulders and licked your skin. Mirio's large hands groped your chest.

"You fill my hands up nicely, Y/N. Your body feels like it already belongs to me," he murmured against your skin.

Mirio placed his knee against your cunt, rubbing your clit occasionally against the hard muscle. He drew your knees upwards and settled himself firmly between your legs. Kissing your lips, his hands never left your chest. While he kissed your mouth, his hands never ceased to pinch and massage your chest. His cock grew stiff, just thinking about what it would look like sandwiched in the middle of your perfect breasts.

"More time for that later. Let's get down to business, shall we, sunshine?"

Mirio lined his cock against your pussy, now soppy wet from his ministrations. He smiled to himself at how easy it was to manipulate your body towards his needs. If you had been awake, he imagined that your eyes would roll into the back of your head at the stretch. His cock slipped in with only a little resistance. Your walls clenched around his intrusion before easing up. His first thrust helped him bottom out. Mirio closed his eyes at the feel of your body wet, warm, and tight for him. For him alone.

"That's my sunshine. That's my girl. Oh, yes," Mirio grunted.

His hands bruised your hips as he dragged you up and down his cock, forced it to meet him thrust for thrust. While you slept, your walls clamped down around Mirio's cock. He snapped his hips back and forth as he felt your strength leave your body and enter him. Call it 'tit for tat.' Mirio was giving your body all the pleasure it could ever need and the seed it so desperately wanted. The only price was just a little bit of your energy. Soon, very soon, Mirio wouldn't need to take any more from you. He would be able to have you all to himself, and no force on earth could stop him.

Mirio adored the sweet squelching sounds your pussy made as he pounded into it. You were flooding him with your juices, and you didn't even know it. He couldn't wait to see what your eyes looked like when he pleasured your consciousness. Though your mind was too far gone to realize that it wasn't merely a dream, you couldn't wake up until Mirio wanted you to. This was the way of his kind, only most were one and done. Mirio needed more and more of you to himself. He couldn't stop after one feeding. The only way for him to keep you without draining away your life was a simple spell. All he had to do was get you pregnant.

You were close; he could feel it. Pleasured seared down his spine and threatened to burst, but he wanted to hold out a little while longer. Mirio moved faster, faster. He saw the bruises forming on your hips, the tighter he held on. He would rather crush your hips than stop when you were both so close. Your cunt squeezed around him.

"That's it, good girl. Squeeze me. I'm going to give you everything. Better not spill a drop."

You whined in your sleep as you arched your back. Mirio watched your face as it scrunched up. In pain or ecstasy, it was hard to tell the difference. Your body convulsed around him. Your floodgates opened to him and coated Mirio's cock with your come. It was more than enough to allow Mirio to do the same. The searing tingle shot down his spine and burst like an explosion. He stopped gripping your hips to seize hold of the headboard and hold it tight. Mirio shoved his cock in as far as it would go to ensure that none of his come leaked out. He could feel himself releasing so quickly that it made his head spin. When the final drop hit, he slowly, reluctantly, pulled away from your welcoming cunt. Your insides and your inner thighs were covered in him, just the way he liked.

Mirio dressed then looked over his shoulder at your sleeping and battered form. There were bound to be questions when you woke up, but it was a shame he couldn't see it. He satisfied himself for now by kissing your forehead and whispering, "Pleasant dreams."

#my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #mha smut #mha fanfiction #reader fic #kinktober #kinktober week #dark themes #non con #Mirio Togata #lemillion #mirio x reader #incubus!Mirio #Minors begone

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odinsblog · 9 months

Text

Unsurprisingly, innocent people whose only “crime” was seeking a better life, have been killed by Greg Abbott’s racist policies

AUSTIN — A child from Honduras was one of two people found dead on or near the buoy barrier Texas installed in the Rio Grande to deter migrants, Mexican officials said Thursday, a growing toll that critics blamed on Gov. Greg Abbott’s “barbaric” border security tactics.

“No good person would do this,” Mexican President Andrés Manuel López Obrador said at his daily news conference. “This is inhumane and no person should be treated like this.”

(continue reading)

#politics #republicans #texas #greg abbott #asylum seekers #snag and drown barriers #mexico #the cruelty is the point #immigration #republicans are evil #murder

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ly-canthropewrites · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Ezekiel ‘Ez’ Reyes x Reader

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 1421

A/N: This is a continuation on from this. Just to torture the likes of @blessedboo& @everyhowlmarksthedead 😏 @prdsdjarin I think you will appreciate the use of this gif 🥵

The public affair makes it painfully obvious, the loud jeering that bounces around the clubhouse a constant reminder that you could get caught.

Your actions have to be subtle. Biting at the fleshy palm of your hand or gnawing at your bottom lip is too indicative of your raunchy escapades, leaving nothing to act as a safety barrier for the pleasurable sounds that are threatening to escape except sheer willpower and fear.

Ez’s nails dig into your thighs, taut and harsh as he breathes deeply to control himself, face buried into the crook of your neck as your walls massage his cock, caught in his own struggle between savouring your warmth and fucking you senseless - regardless of the watchful eyes around you.

“Baby, lean back,” he groans, pressing a last kiss to your shoulder before he stands upright, watching you with greedy eyes as you lean back on your palms.

To the unknowing eye, it would look like you are simply chatting, soaking up a small moment where it is just the two of you and he isn’t running around fulfilling demands. However, they don’t know the extend of the moment - unaware how deeply Ez’s cock spears you open, throbbing flesh heating your blood and has you almost begging for a hard fuck.

“Is this what you wanted, baby girl?” Ezekiel murmurs lowly, smirking to himself when he spies your lips twitching, feebly controlling the cry that wants to escape.

He can’t push into you, opting to slowly rock his hips into yours, almost in time with the sensual Spanish music that echoes throughout the party.

“I can feel you clutching at me, preciosa, you feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock.”

Your eyes widen at the dirty words that spill from his mouth, cunt clenching achingly at his member, a traitorous action that reveals his profound effect.

“Ez...” you breathe out, barely a whisper that he almost misses the whine that is laced within the plead and instinctively, he pushes into you hard.

Hard enough to disturb the empty beer bottles that litter the bench top, a taunting clink audible as they bump against one another.

It is a miracle the incident doesn’t gain attention as a bottle falls and rolls along the wood, but nonetheless, you hold your breath and a hand shoots out to clutch at Ez’s forearm.

“They are drunk as fuck, mi amor, they won’t notice,” Ez reassures, battling his own fright internally and captures your attention again by firmly hooking his fingers beneath your chin, and guides your eyes back to his.

“Too fucking drunk to notice me fucking you slowly, mami,”

Each filthy sentence that flows from Ez’s poetic mouth intensifies your lust. He refuses to let your eyes wander from his, capturing you in a soul-chilling gaze and your breath hitches at the ravenous haze in his dark eyes. Ez’s hips subtly piston into yours, only ever rocking back millimetres before spearing deep into your cavern, grinding against your pelvis when he hits your limits. The rough denim of his jeans creates a delicious friction against your clit and you sob uncontrolled as it begins to get too much.

“You close, baby? Come on baby, you gonna cum for me, cum all over my cock in front of everyone. They don’t even know you are being fucked this good,” Ez groans, clenching his jaw when the music fades to a lull and for a few heartbeats, he can hear the sopping squelch of your pussy accepting his girthy meat.

Your wetness has saturated the front of his jeans, the wet denim would be uncomfortable in any other situation but to feel the evidence of your lust in each thrust has you dripping. Something about the absolute damnation of the fucking, so sinful and risky has you, oh so, hot and bothered.

A large palm runs up your side, sneakily running over your breast and squeezes the tender flesh, eliciting a softened moan from you. Ez only smirks, getting braver in his actions and his hand continues on its upwards journey; momentarily wrapping around your neck, thumb stroking delicately over your fluttering pulse before he moves up again, and contrastingly, cups your cheek in infatuation.

You nuzzle into his palm, in comfort and as a guise, using the hardened skin to mask your whimpers and pants as Ez ruts sharply.

“Eyes on me baby, come on, let it go, I’ve got you,” He coos, a devilish gaze soaking up your wanton expression.

You are almost there, high from the lusty addiction of his manhood and his sin-enlaced words, pleasure indescribable burning through you, the coil in your loins pulling tighter and tighter, flames licking at exposed nerves, electricity snapping and crackling, Ez’s heavy gaze. And then, an explosion. Fiery-hot pleasure swirls and pulls you under, drowning you in white-blazed glory.

Ez is quick to capture your mouth with his, lapping up your wanton sounds, keeping them all to himself, for his ears only. You become lax in his arms, malleable beneath his selfish lips and Ez coaxes another delicious melody from you as he grinds against your trembling walls.

“Fuck, that’s it - that’s it mami, dios...” he swears and curses, desperation curling around the base of his spine as he seeks his own high. Rhythmically, your cunt milks him, hungry for its own rewards and it doesn’t take long for him to fall as well, your cries echoing in his ear pushes him over the edge.

A second wave of heat rushes through your veins as Ez gushes into your womb, white-sticky release painting your walls, a soothing sensation washing over you as you both lean against each other.

No-one can speak. Lethargy wraps a strong hand around you both. You are the first to speak, humming softly whilst you rest your cheek on Ez’s shoulder, running your tongue over your lips. Tiredness settles heavily into your bones and it’s a struggle to raise your hand high enough to cup Ez’s cheek, guiding the blissful man to face you. An almost dopey look sparkles in his eye and your lips curl upwards. The atmosphere relaxes from a frantic, lustful tone into something more gentle and loving, and you savour the fucked-out expression on your lovers face.

No words can be spoken and none are needed to share your thoughts. Ez pitches forward, anchoring his forehead against yours and nudges you with his nose. You giggle, a light, twinkling sound that makes him grin and as much as he loves to hear your happiness, right now, he silences it with a loving kiss.

“Yo, Boy Scout, stop makin’ out with your girl and ge— get me a beer!” Coco’s request is punctuated with an ungracious hiccup and you tip your head back in laughter.

“Back to your duties, prospect,” you tease, finally feeling sensation come back to your limbs and you run your hands up and down Ez’s arms; an adoring gesture.

“Looks like it,” He retorts, waggling his eyebrows before he pulls out of your sucking channel, and quickly manoeuvres to shove himself back within the confines of his jeans, leaving you lost and empty whilst he snags a couple of beers with his fingers.

You fix up your skirt, making sure nothing is left to be seen and your panties snap back into place, barely in time to barricade the slow drip of his cum as it seeps from your slit. The feeling makes you moan, a pout of your glossy lips at the erotic titillation and you rub your hands over your thighs, already feeling another gush of arousal spike. Ez notices your reaction and smirks, easily knowing what has you so whiny and he steps close to you, pressing a chaste kiss to your mouth.

“You are gonna sit here for the rest of the night, feeling me leak out of you baby, until I can drag you home and stuff you full again,” He purrs, grinning at your gasp and he can’t help but layer you with another kiss, ignoring the annoyed protest from his biker brother.

“Have fun,” Ez bites, swaggering away and sends you a cheeky wink, acting as if he hadn’t fucked your pussy, and as if the evidence of your coupling isn’t staining the front of his jeans.

Ezekiel Reyes is many, many things - an incubus is only one of them.

Tagging people I interact with from my main blog;

@brattyfics @mycupoffanfiction @prdsdjarin @spookys-girl @my-rosegold-soul @ifoundmyhappythought @awildcur @starrynite7114 @soaronmywings @chibsytelford @rebel-without-cause-x @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @everyhowlmarksthedead @strawberrywritings @crushed-pink-petals-writes @sadeyesgf @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown @utterlyhopeful-fics @gemini0410 @scribbuluswrites @elcococruz @cocotheclown @blackmissfrizzle @woahitslucyylu @ixazalvoh @sheeshgivemeabreak @blacvenus @breanime

#ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ezekiel 'ez' reyes #ez reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes x reader #mayans #mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans fanfiction #mayans mc fanfiction #ez reyes imagines #ezekiel reyes imagines #ez reye fanfic #ezekiel reyes fanfic #ez reyes imagine #ezekiel reyes imagine #mayans mc fanfic #mayans fanfic

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write-r-die · 3 years

Text

Prisoner - Part 7

FEBRUARY, 1067 - NORMAN CONQUEST OF ENGLAND

Henry Cavill is a respected Norman baron who has been tasked with finding Thomasin Latymer, an ill-tempered Saxon noblewoman, and returning her to London so the king can marry her off to a cruel Norman invader. The two grow close during the long journey, and Henry puts his own life in danger (more than once) to protect the woman he loves.

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Thomasin’s knees gave out when the arrow pierced her flesh. The searing pain blinded her to what was going on around her. She’d all but forgotten her fear and the ambush – even her confusion over the fact that her own brother shot her. Henry was shouting for her, and all she could concentrate on was getting to him.

Henry dug his heels into his horse’s flank, forcing it into a gallop. If there was ever a time to be quick, it was now. He called Thomasin’s name again as he grew closer. He leaned forward as far as he could and opened his arm to grab her.

She was struggling to her feet and she looked confused and tired and scared. His heart constricted in his chest in response but all rational thought was gone from his mind: battle always sharpened a man’s focus, allowed his instincts to take over and guide him, killed his fear and numbed him to pain. Thomasin, Thomasin, chanted his mind.

Thomasin was lucid enough to reach out for Henry when he came close, raising both her arms toward him. The arrow had pierced her left arm but didn’t go all the way through, the fletching on one side of her arm and the arrowhead on the other. The shaft was still embedded in her flesh.

Henry slammed into her, knocking the air from her lungs as his strong arm collided with her waist. He was just pulling her into his lap when a second arrow pierced her left shoulder, dangerously close to her heart. She didn’t move or cry out.

He draped her over his lap so as not to disturb the arrow in her back and goaded his horse further, faster, blind to what was going on around him. He thought only to put as much space between him and the battle as possible.

There were other hoof beats behind him as riders followed him. He didn’t know if they were his allies or his enemies and he didn’t look to see. He couldn’t think about anything. He just knew he had to move.

The Cavills’ scout was suddenly beside him, assuring him that the battle was over and the attackers were gone as suddenly as they appeared. He pulled his horse to a stop; the creature stumbled but thankfully didn’t injure itself.

The soldiers formed a moving barrier around Henry and Thomasin as he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her away from the road. The squires rushed ahead into the edge of the tree line and started setting up a sort of nest.

“Put her down here. On her side.”

Henry set Thomasin down on the blankets laid out for her, careful to put her on her right side. The first arrow had pierced straight through her upper left arm; the second had entered her left shoulder. Henry couldn’t see where the point came out. Shit. that meant the arrowhead was still stuck inside her. They’d have to dig it out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Henry exhaled. He patted her cheek not-too-gently to rouse her. “Thomasin? Thomasin. Wake up.” There was no response. “Thomasin? Come on.” There was a sudden soreness in his throat. “Thomasin! Thomasin, I forbid you to die!”

He pressed his fingers against the pulse-point on her throat and felt a heartbeat. Then, as if to punctuate the point that she was still alive, Thomasin uttered a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan. “Oh, thank God.” He forgot himself and bent down to press a strong kiss to Thomasin’s temple, knotting his fingers in her hair. Crimson blood smeared her rosy gold tresses.

“Lady Thomasin?” Roger’s voice was unnecessarily loud as he bent down toward her, as if he were talking to an old person. “Can you hear me?”

Thomasin hissed something that no one could quite make out; Henry still smiled over her aggressive tone. She must be all right if she could argue. Her wounds had probably gone numb; that’s why she wasn’t screaming or crying.

“We need to get the arrows out,” Charlie said.

“We can’t get the one out of her shoulder without a healer,” Roger said, shaking his head. Arrows were designed to snag and tear tissue when they were pulled out; removing an arrow was often more painful and dangerous than being shot with one in the first place.

Roger called out to his men to see if there was anyone among them who had experience treating such wounds; there were a handful of soldiers who could help, though none were skilled enough to remove the one in her shoulder.

Roger’s second, a silver-haired young man called Godfrey, was the most experienced in treating battlefield wounds. He knelt beside Henry and reached to examine Thomasin’s arm. Henry’s muscles tensed. In his clouded mind, the danger was not yet gone. Godfrey may very well hurt Thomasin rather than help her.

Kal was particularly sensitive to his master’s thoughts and feelings when he was upset like this. The dog shoved his head against Henry’s arm to calm him and keep him from lashing out.

Godfrey’s enviably thick, dark hair had gone grey in his early twenties because of his genetics, but the current look on his face suggested prolonged stress might be at fault. “The wound in her arm shouldn’t be much of a problem,” he said. “It’s the one in her shoulder. I can’t pull it out without injuring her further. The only solution I can think of would be to push the tip of the arrow through her skin, snap off –”

“No!” Henry growled. “You could very well pierce her heart. We need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Crispin murmured a suggestion.

“Speak up, boy!” Charlie said.

“Her sister’s convent,” Crispin repeated. “Some of the nuns there tend to the sick and wounded. They’d know how to help her.”

“How far is it?” asked Roger.

“A day’s ride,” Charlie answered. “Maybe less.”

“She’s in no condition to ride,” Godfrey said, shaking his head.

“Then bring them!” Henry bit out. He fought back the panic rising in his chest to say something that made sense. “Fetch them. The nuns. Fetch them and bring them here. To attend her. Fetch them. Now!”

Thomasin would’ve screamed if she could, but Henry’s arm collided with her just as she opened her mouth to cry out. Another pain came just as he hoisted her onto his horse but she couldn’t pull enough air into lungs to scream or even to breathe.

She had the strangest urge. She wanted Henry to hold her and tell her that she was beautiful and it was all right. After what they did last night –

God was punishing her, wasn’t He? She’d broken her promise, the one she made the day her father died.

“I need fresh linens and boiled water,” Godfrey said, tearing a larger hole around the wound in Thomasin’s arm. “Maybe a hot knife to close the wound.”

The men hurried to obey. Henry wasn’t aware that he was petting Thomasin’s hair back – something only a family member or nursemaid might do. “What will you do?” he asked.

“First I need my armor off. I can’t move in this.” Godfrey clicked at Jamie, who quickly removed everything but Godfrey’s hauberk. He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his neck back and forth to stretch out. “Roger, Jarin, I need you on Thomasin’s other side. Henry, you’ll stay here. I’ll need you to hold her down.” He was in too much of a hurry to use honorifics.

“Will she live?” Jamie asked quietly. Henry wanted to wring his neck for asking such a thing. Of course she would survive. And if she wasn’t going to survive, then he didn’t want to know.

Godfrey shook his head. “I can’t say. Break off the fletching, Baron,” he said to Roger once the supplies were all prepared. “Be careful not to disturb the arm.”

Roger quickly made the sign of the cross. He held the arrow’s shaft steady so Thomasin wouldn’t feel him break off the fletching; thankfully, she didn’t seem aware of what was going on. Roger held the arrow fragment in his hand and studied the fletching. The feathers were a dark green color with black veins running through them. Green and black - Thomasin’s family colors.

“Hold onto her,” Godfrey said. Henry and the other knight – Jarin? – tightened their grips on her shoulder and arm. Roger had barely put his hands back on Thomasin’s arm when he yanked the arrow from her flesh in one smooth motion.

Thomasin cried out in agony, kicking and thrashing. Henry wanted to be gentle with her, but he had to use all his strength to keep her still. Godfrey used a hot rag to bind the wounds; Thomasin screeched again and writhed so violently that she managed to move – she rolled partially onto her back, pushing the arrow further into her shoulder.

Thomasin lost consciousness.

Henry sat back on his heels and ran a trembling hand over his face. He felt nauseous and weak. He had the horrible feeling of drowning that occurred when he was especially upset.

“Go outside,” Roger said. “Take a breath.” Henry opened his mouth to object; Roger held up his hand to cut him off. “I promise I won’t let her die until you’ve gotten a drink of water.”

The Saxons left eight casualties, not including Thomasin. Six knights were dead, another two injured, though not as badly as Thomasin, plus three horses and one hound.

The Saxons themselves had no dead men, at least not that they left behind. If they’d lost anyone, they took their bodies to bury elsewhere.

Henry’s men were having trouble breaking the frosted ground to dig graves but they were determined to lay their friends to rest. Maybe Charlie and the others would bring back a priest to give them proper Christian burials. Or perhaps the nuns could pray over the graves. Something. They couldn’t simply be forgotten.

There were triple the usual number of guards at the perimeter of the makeshift camp, which was half the size of their normal ones.

Men were still going back and forth to wherever the water source was to refill them. In the cold, a thin crust of ice formed at the surface of each bucket. Henry broke it with his fist but didn’t injure himself. He removed his armor and started splashing the freezing water on his face.

“We’re too exposed like this,” Henry said to himself. “Fucking Hammond.”

“Do you think that’s what he wanted when he shot her? Thomasin’s brother, I mean,” Godfrey said. Henry raised an eyebrow in reply. “He knew we’d have to stop traveling to tend to her. Make ourselves vulnerable.”

Henry jabbed his fingers to the spot between his eyebrows and started rubbing furiously at his growing headache.

If that were true, then Hammond really was the best warrior in England.

It was the cleverest plan he’d ever heard. And the cruelest. Was he truly willing to let his sister die in exchange for a victory over the Normans? Or was it just part of his plan – injure his sister to distract the enemy then scoop her up and bring her back with him?

Thomasin dreamt of her father.

She hated the memories that played behind her closed eyes. She wanted to see her father when he was young and strong and happy and full of life, as he was during her childhood. But instead she was forced to rewatch him, weak and defeated, slip away.

“You must promise me you’ll never give up the castle,” he said as he lay on his deathbed. Thomasin sat beside him, dabbing his brow with a rag. He kept swatting her hand away. Even now, he didn’t like to be coddled. “You must burn it before you let them have it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Hammond will fight to the death,” the baron continued. “His fate is already sealed. But you, sweet Tom – you must stay alive. Go to Stephanie at the convent, go to Justina in Scotland, swear fealty to the Normans or marry one if you must. Just stay alive.” He started hacking again; his choking cough was painful to listen to. There was some blood on the corner of his mouth. Thomasin reached for a damp cloth to wipe it away. Randel waved her away and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. He started speaking as soon as he could breathe again. “I told your mother that you and your sisters would live long lives. I fear that if you make me a liar, she’ll withdraw her love and I shall be in heaven alone.”

Thomasin managed to speak around the lump in her throat. “Mama would never.”

“Oh, but she would. You didn’t know her well but your mother was strong and outspoken – and vengeful, if need be. I have every confidence she’d find a way to torture me in the other world.” Randel smiled. “You’ve always reminded me of her the most. You don’t look a thing like her, but damn if you aren’t just the same.

He sniffed back his tears. “Right. Off with you. I won’t have your last memory of me be my death.”

Thomasin shook her head. “Papa, I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I won’t be.” He grasped Thomasin’s hand. “Your mother is here, just beside me. Can’t you feel her? she’ll show me the way home.”

He died some two hours later.

Thomasin screamed so loudly that she was sure the walls around her would crumble.

This was their fault. The Normans. They took her country and subjugated her people and now they’d killed the finest man ever to live, killed him long before his time. When her mother died and her sisters moved away and Hammond stopped loving her, Thomasin’s father was all she had. Now she had nothing.

Swear fealty to the Normans. Marry one if you must.

No. She would never pledge her loyalty or life to one of the men who stole her world away – first her country and then her father. They were all at fault because they had all followed William across the English Channel to help him take what wasn’t his and kill everyone who got in his way.

She vowed she would never forgive them. Any of them. She would harden her heart against each and every one of them.

And she would never forget.

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ku-ro-kai · 3 years

Text

Lust at first bite

This was inspired by Trevor and sypha from the series Castlevania- personality wise so on

This is a one-shot★

Warning;fluff and angst,sexual tension, blood drinking, heat mentioned,missionary, squirting, praise kink, manipulation,aphrodisiacs, blood, multiple orgasm

He's been sneaking and stealing looks for too long, he's grown tired of it despite his small attempts at gifts he's been getting the nyphms to deliver or trying dispatch a plan in starting a conversation with you without being killed.

To his castle before the huntresses and witches hunt him down, touya was from a Royal bloodline of vampires. He's been going out every sunset in looks for his favorite huntress

She wasn’t like the other huntress’s in his eyes.

He had come to her in the middle of the night,he was looking for fresh virgin blood,he found you out on a night stroll.

He recognized you from flyers that he would come across when wondering in abandoned villages. He came to the conclusion you weren’t no ordinary boring huntress.

You were different,unique is what he would say, your family tree was dangerous to other creatures,coming from witches and huntsman.

(A month ago)

His father warned him about your family,beware of them, don’t never go by the (L/N) markings in the woods,every creature thought your family tree was killed off.

You were out getting fresh air,you couldn’t stand being in rooms with other huntresses and huntsmen, they envied your family,despite their hate for you,there was no escaping the headmasters.your family payed their debt years ago,why were they still inviting you to these silly meetings.

You heard a low groan from behind you,a annoyed sigh left your lips”At this time,show your face”.

Dabi thought you were some stuck up whore at first, “what if I don’t want too?”Gonna skin me and turn me into boots”

You turned around to face the unknown man ,he looked like a victim of fire,ebony hair that was spiked from front to back, blue eyes that sparkled like the ocean on a full moon,he was dressed down to toe in leather ,only a upside cross hanging from his neck,fingers covered in all different metallic silver rings, ones with diamonds,rubies and sapphires.

“Who exactly are you and how’d you get passed the barrier ?”

“You’re barrier is a piece of shit ,sorry darling I just don’t state my name to any stranger."

"It's like that with you vampires? Stuck up"

"Feisty, you huntsman look down on the rest of the world and expect everyone to get on their knees and praise you"

"You monsters have curses put on y'all,so you take your anger out on the huntresses and huntsman,since we hunt you down"

Dabi rubbed his chin, you weren't wrong,if anything he would do anything to take this curse off and have a normal body.

"You're a very stubborn human"

"You're one to talk"

A small chuckle came out, dabi was a man of many lies but he couldn't lie that you weren't an interesting huntress, maybe his favorite out of the ones he met in his life.

"I'll spare your life this time darling but if we come across again, there will be no mercy"

You never met a vampire like him before, he's cocky and comes with too much pride, A total prick.

"Same to you, just keep in mind that sneaking up to your prey comes with being completely silent"

You two parted ways that night and now he hasn't been able to get you off his mind

(Present)

He took you're words to heart, the sunset were his time to go see you.

Quietly hiding in the shadows, you were always out taking a stroll, did you not receive a good capture?

The headmasters have been keeping you stored away from missions,you were completely drowned out from all the drinks you spent at the tavern,only thing in that god forsaken castle was old people and moldy fruits.

You could proceed with skinning this annoyance of a vampire and receiving money

“Do you have nothing to do besides stalk me “

Dabi never understood how you could figure out how he was there,he was the best when it came to sneaking in the shadows,or so he thought.

“Your always walking around this area,I figured I’ll stop by”.

“You’ll be foolish to think I’ll believe that lie”

“Look my name is touya todoroki,first son to the King vampire Enji todoroki but refer to me as dabi for now “

That name was catching like wildfire when you were younger,it was a story of a little vampire boy playing by himself in the mountains near a peasant village ,his father made him go up there if he couldn’t make a flame change it’s color to blue.The boy was too careless with the way he would shoot his fires into trees ,as in result,he struck a branch, that caught half the village on fire ending with getting stuck under a large burning oak tree.Some say he hunted the woods looking in revenge for his father,others say he was in search of better body.

“I’m (name),how long have you’ve been living on your own since the forest fire “

“ for 210 years, it took months for my body to get used to staples"

You had guilt in your eyes,he always saw this in his victim's face when he would suck them dry,the stares he got from their cold,decaying corpse. He loved that look

"Does it hurt?"

"What do you think" he snapped.

"Hey no need to get rude" you looked at the full moon, maybe this prick of a vampire could help you with a drink "dabi wanna go out for a drink"

He looked you dead in the eye "with you? No thanks, trying to finesse me out of my money, I knew you huntresses weren't always good out if the bunch"

"I guess we are both liars than, well I'll just take my leave, if you wanna suck my blood I'll be at the blue soul lake"

You walked away into the forest

"Why that specific area- it's hunted by witches"

"Not the big bad vampire being scared of witches"

"Who the hell said I was scared, if anything I'm just concerned why that cursed part of the forest"

"That cursed place is my home"

Blue soul lake was wretched area, swarming with witches and witchcraft. The only thing is that place is good for is the glowing lake that only shines on a full moon.

"My father told about that place, used to be ritual when witches would bring kids, kill them, sacrifice them to whatever God you nut jobs believed in and kept the skulls and eyes for gross potions. What do y'all do now, pretend to be gypsies"

You chuckled at him "no we don't do anything out of that kind, I just live there because I love the way the lake shines at night and because I grew up there"

Dabi didn't understand why you would just invite a vampire to your house as if it's the normal, he could care less,long as he can be near you, you made him feel whole again, maybe because he hasn't gotten a load off in awhile, where you good at massages?, he could make you queen, give you children and regain his body back with your weird passed down powers

He wasn't thinking right, make you queen? Breed you? Spend the rest of eternity with you? He surely wasn't in love with some thorn in the side huntress,that's below him.

"Dabi why do wear the rings and what's with the silly name"

He got embarrassed, hiding his face “it’s not silly “

"It’s a little silly"

He turned back facing you,you’re warm smile brought him comfort

“The rings are from my mother, she gave all my siblings rings”

“Ah you royals always have the easy life ahead”

“You could say that , I’ll probably still have my body back if it weren’t for my father”

“I guess the stories were right”

“I hate him , I can’t stand to even look myself in the mirror when I remember I used to look like him”

Awkward silence was there for a while

“I could've easily snapped your neck when we first met"

"Why didn't you do it"

"You intrigued me"

"Not me catching your interest -what now you want me to be your queen"

"If if weren't for your cocky mouth,you could be heir to the throne of my queen"

"you like me?!"

"I'll kill where you stand"

You covered your smile with your cape.

"you didn't say no"

Dabi turned away to hide his blushing, you were a silly little thing with the ability to have him head over heels in love with you. You were just food to him now he has to deal with red swallowing his face and this shaking feelings in his chest.

You two reached your home-it wasn't too bad, A little snags and there, he could probably fix it with a little magic, too his disappointment you didn't have nothing crazy going on- it's cozy and warm

He picks up a picture "nice place you got here darling-a little sad there isn't hearts in jars and a shit load of strange plants"

"Are all vampires like this? Assuming all witch descent are into witchcraft"

"Must be the huntsman genes"

Dabi put the picture in his suit pocket, he continued walking around your house coming across from a family tree of pictures

"Dabi what's it like living like a vampire?”

“It’s quite fun,scaring frisky young ones comes with the job,sucking blood all night long is the dream,don’t have to worry about dying since I can live for centuries also the garlic shit is a myth"

You carry a bottle of holy water out "how mad would you be if I sprayed this on you"

"Try me"

After running, what seemed about an hour, you came to a stop leaving you panting on top of the stairs"you sly bastard" your clothes were tattered and scattered all around your house

Dabi covered a burned mark of you splashing him in holy water " just wanted to mark you as mine and only mine, what do you say doll? Wanna come back and live with me"

Dabi show case devilish smile was vacant , now a show of hostile in his face

“What if I come across that corner and bite that neck of yours (name)”

His voice was calm but his demeanor was sinister.you could see red gleaming in his eyes

You saw a flash of black,now you ended up upstairs in the middle of the hallway on your back with vampire in the crook of your neck ,his keen fangs edging on your vital

"...your the devil touya"

He licked a long stripe on your neck, now placing kisses on your jaw "if I'm the devil you must be the devil's woman huh" he let out a raspy chuckle, he lifted your thighs up" your something else you know that (name),Do you get off to me to trying to kill you " he moved to the side staring at the wet mark on your neck.

"Dabi why is it so hot" you tried to push him off you but he wouldn't budge

"Don't worry doll, the aphrodisiacs are doing that" dabi ran his hands around your waist"those huntsman have treated you so badly, don't you wanna get revenge"

"Yes... But"

Your body was burning in the inside, how did he get his hands on aphrodisiacs? Did he sneak something on his tongue

"Dabi-please" at this point you were begging to have some sort intimacy

He took your face in his hand "but what? Together we can be unstoppable, a powerful couple, rule over kingdoms although You would look better holding my children in that stomach of yours " he ripped your tattered clothes off with ease" all you gotta say is yes darling "

"Yes, fuck yes -please dabi"

His clothes were vacant, you felt something hard press against your outer lips, you begin grinding on to his cock

Your being such a needy bitch in heat" his length closing around your walls like a fitted glove,in such a slow manner ,now accompanied by him placing a hand on the bulge poking in your stomach”your such a good huntress doll, now your becoming my prize possession, mind to ravish every night and every day" he was half way in your pussy,groaning at how tight you are "for a pesky girl, your cunt is perfect".

Dabi got closer to the stained mark on your neck, placing hickes all over it. His thoughts were clouded with marking you as his,nobody can touch you with their filthy hands again .

He pressed his fingers against your throbbing clit, soft rubbing making you walls clench around his shaft.

He pulled out, letting out a deep grunt only to plunge himself with a hard thrust, his tip pushing against your womb.

You let out a groan feeling a sharp pain,his keen nails clawing at your waist, watching your blood pouring out on to floor. The pleasure mixed with the pain sending over the edge,he went a couple thrust before cumming releases a raspy moan,dabi took his fingers licking off your blood.

"You taste just as good too" you heard coming down from your high, dabi pulled out uncovering his seed soaking out, he put your legs over his shoulders "wait dabi" you felt his fangs graze your pearl "don't order me around (name)" you jolted when his two fingers went inside your sopping pussy

He pressed the flat of his tongue on your clit with his fingers working on sending you into another orgasm. The Flicking of his tongue and the curling on that gummy spot, sucking on your inner lips with a small pop.

You couldn't hold it, your juices spraying you and dabi face. "What a slut you are doll" he licked his lips watching you pass out from exhaustion

You woke up in room that didn't belong to you, dressed in a beautiful chemist,with a robe hanging off your shoulders .there was pain in the side of your neck, two swollen puncture holes. you had a aquamarine necklace and blood red ring in your hands,the sounds of the fire popping and cracking on the side of your chair. "dabi?" you called out,hearing steps coming into the room behind you.

"Yes doll" "where are we and what did you do to me" he went over to the fire place to throw in some more wood, a navy blue half buttoned down shirt with black tuxedo pants,he was holding a glass in his hand,the liquid in the cup was too murky to be wine "If I can recall you said yes to staying with me or were the drugs that powerful to have you say anything" you remember saying agreeing to staying with but that doesn't excuse the pain in your neck

"My neck?"

"I had to for the sake of you staying with me,if you continued remaining a human I would've"accidentally" took your blood"

"What about the huntress and huntsman looking for you!"

"I killed them, you were sleep for about a month, for the remaining time I put up warnings to stay away from the castle, would hate to have humans killing our children"

Thank you for reading💖, I will be taking a small break for a while after I post my headcannons

#dabi #dabi x you #stalker dabi #dabi x reader

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ill-skillsgard · 3 years

Note

is faith dealing w being away from fausty? I miss them so :(,, I hope you’re well love xoxo

Warning: 18+ Mentions of sex/phone sex, mentions of alcohol and drug use, violent threats, non-consensual touching, brief mentions of rape.

Note: I missed writing Faust stuff so much over the holidays. He’s definitely one of my favourite secretly soft boys. I can’t wait to get back into the swing of writing. Thank you to the lovely anons who haven’t given up on this pairing yet! I will try not to go 2 months between posts for these guys.

Summary: Faith starts to miss Faust so much while he’s away on tour that she goes to his apartment to spend the night in his bedroom. However, her plans are interrupted by the people Faust warned her not to hang around.

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

Faith awoke in a sweat, chest pumping hot torrents of blood to her head as the ceiling came into view, the walls containing her after a flight through a nightmare faded into obscurity. She rolled onto her back, her flimsy cotton nightgown sticking to her dewy skin, and tossed the comforter from her top half. Streetlamps and passing cars cast geometric blocks of light on the ceiling, illuminating the dust motes floating by her face. Faith breathed in and out, shaking her head free from the gripping terror of unconsciousness.

She had dreamed of receiving a phone call from Faust in the middle of the night, and when she answered, he explained to her in a laconic, matter-of-fact voice why they shouldn't continue seeing each other. He was too busy to maintain a relationship with a girl who's path would never intersect with his goals. She was too young, too naive, too proper. Too this and too that and in no way matched him. The terrible sinking in her chest returned as it had in the dream, but she dismissed the sensation. It was all a silly dream, a manifestation of her worst fear. Faust loved her and would never break up with her—least of all over a phone call.

The cellphone next to her pillow came to life, vibrating a couple of times before she found it and squinted at the bright screen. Faust. She sat up, and her lungs froze, the cavernous hole opening up under her skin. When she answered, voices and loud music came through like warring radio waves.

"Hello?" She whispered, not wanting to wake her dorm mate.

"Faith? You there?"

"Yes," her voice crawled from her throat, no louder than a rasp. She cleared her airway and said again, "Yes."

"Aw, are you sleeping, babe?"

"No," she whispered.

"Hm? I can't hear you. Hang on, let me find a quieter place."

Faith swung out of bed and left the dorm to go to the shared washrooms where she could speak. She entered a stall, put down the toilet seat and sat atop the cold plastic, waiting for Faust's deep voice to tickle her ear again.

"You there?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"That's better, yeah. I can hear you now."

Faith squeezed her knees together, his voice like warm liquid flowing into her stomach. She sighed, relieved.

"Sorry, I know it's late for you. We had a really late soundcheck, then I was in the green room until we went on. I didn't forget to call."

Faith nodded, smiling, though Faust couldn't see the respite his words gave her after the unpleasant dream that had jarred her awake.

"It's okay. Where are you again?"

"Utah, probably a couple hours behind you. We're out of the venue now."

"How was the show?" Faith asked.

"It was good—big stage. Couple hundred people, but maybe a quarter of them were there for us. We sold a lot of merch, though."

"That's great, babe. I'm glad you're having fun."

"Yeah," Faust sighed. "I miss you, though. Can't believe there's still another three weeks of this."

Faith leaned her head against the stall's metal barrier, reading the scandalous notes engraved in the chipped paint. "I know. Seems like forever."

"You're still good to come to our last show?"

"Yes. I told my parents I'm going to a friend's cottage for the weekend."

"But really, you're getting on a Greyhound and coming to see me."

She closed her eyes and giggled. "That's right."

Faith wondered if she should tell Faust about her bad dream. She knew what he'd say to her: it was just a dumb dream, and he would never break up with her, so she shouldn't let it bother her so much. She accepted this assurance without bringing it up.

"I'm in my bunk now," Faust told her.

"I'm in the bathroom," said Faith.

"Wish you were here, though. It gets so boring sometimes, driving from place to place, listening to these dumbasses argue over the shower."

"It's the same here. I've started taking showers at midnight just to avoid the headache and bargaining. These girls all have the same night routine. There's always a line-up to use the shower."

"Mm," Faust grunted. "Yeah. Stupid."

A moment of silence passed between them. Faith savoured his soft breaths coming over the line, wishing she could feel the warmth behind them. She craved his scent, the smell of his shampoo, the distinct mentholated freshness of his deodorant. She wanted to stroke his face, and touch his biceps, inspect the hair underneath his arms until he told her she was weird for finding such things fascinating. She wanted to feel the twin ruts coming to a peak below his navel, leading down to his groin where he'd snatch her hand and berate her, ultimately relenting and letting her stroke the soft skin underneath the band of his plaid boxers.

"I wanna touch you," she whispered.

"Fuck," he drawled. "Me too, babe."

"I had a bad dream you called me in the middle of the night to break up with me... then you actually called. Do you think that's weird?"

Faust scoffed in that indignant way he always did. She pictured the corner of his mouth snagging, his brows descending at such a silly thing.

"That's kind of weird."

"I hate not being able to sleep next to you."

"Don't worry, babe. I'll be home soon. You can get through the next few weeks."

"Yeah, but... Do you miss sleeping next to me?"

"Oh, definitely. I really miss you hogging the blankets, pushing me to the edge of the bed, punching me in your sleep."

"I don't do that!"

Faust snickered. "Yeah, you do. But it's okay. I'm like way stronger than you. I can move you like nothing."

"Don't remind me," Faith groaned.

"Don't remind you of what? How strong I am?"

Faith made her voice small. "Yes. I can't think of that kind of stuff right now."

"You can't think about me overpowering you?"

"Sh. Quiet."

"What? Don't want to think about me pinning your arms above your head with one hand while I finger you? S'that what you don't want to think about?"

"I hate you," she said.

"Hate it when I pick you up and fuck you against the wall?"

"Yes."

"So...You're definitely not thinking about my cock, then? You haven't been playing with my pussy while I've been away? Pretending your fingers are mine? Or using that toy you bought to fuck yourself in your dorm when your roommate isn't there?"

"Oh my gosh, Faust. Please."

"You don't make yourself cum to the thought of me eating out that pussy? You don't miss my fat cock stretching out that poor little slit? Making you bounce on it? Sucking it until I cum buckets down your throat?"

"Faust," she whispered. "You're bad."

"Answer me. Do you think about riding my cock every night before bed? Rub yourself against a pillow between your legs?"

"Yes, I think about it all the time."

"Can you do me a favour?" Faust asked. Faith agreed before hearing the terms of said agreement. "Tomorrow, I want you to go to all your classes without wearing any panties under your skirt."

Faith's cheeks burned from his request. "What if it's windy and it blows up my skirt?"

"I don't really care," he said. "Know what? Never mind. Scratch that. This isn't a request; it's a command. I want you to take pictures while you're in class to prove you listened."

"I can't! Someone will see."

"Think I give a fuck? Sit in the back if you have to."

"I'll try," said Faith, toying with the sleeves of her nightgown.

"That's my girl."

They spoke for a few more minutes until Faust's bandmates flooded onto the bus, yelling and searching for the drummer who'd stowed away in the bunks. Faust said his goodbyes, made sure Faith understood her instructions for tomorrow, then said goodnight. She heard his friends mocking him in the backroom, calling him pussy-whipped, listened to him threaten their lives and giggled.

"I love you," Faust said, loud enough that anyone around him might hear. His unabashed affection filled her to the brim with warm fuzz.

"I love you, too," Faith replied, then looked at the phone screen until he hung up.

Later in the week, Faith started having trouble sleeping. Even if she filled her days with activities, studied into the night, ate properly and read before bed, her mind swam with anxiety. She told Faust about it, but he had no solution other than to stop by his place to grab one of his hoodies to sleep in, maybe one of his blankets if she missed him so much. Delighted, Faith accepted the suggestion, and Faust texted his roommate to leave the apartment door unlocked for her. She made her way over after dinner one night and walked in on Faust's roommate hosting a party.

The apartment was in disarray—worse than she'd ever seen. Beer bottles and cigarettes overflowing the ashtray was commonplace, but now there were grease-stained pizza boxes open on the floor, salt stains on the rug from people coming in and out from the balcony. The sofa pocked with several more burn marks, the dishes hadn't been washed since Faust left, and the entire living room reeked of stale food and smoke. Not only that, but she'd come in at the precise moment the music transitioned, and every eye in the place went to her.

She recognized half the people in Faust's apartment from other parties—Anika, the most familiar face that turned in her direction. The tall, blond girl smiled and pushed a guy's hand off her shoulder before approaching her. The metal music picked up, drowned out the silence, and Faith relaxed when Anika hugged her.

"Hey! I didn't know you were coming!" Anika exclaimed.

"I wasn't... Well, I didn't know anyone was here. I just came to get some stuff from Faust's room."

"Oh, cool. How is Frosty? I haven't seen you guys since Halloween!"

"He's good," Faith said, voice tapering off when she saw a pair of malicious eyes grilling her from across the room. "You know... Just touring."

"Yeah, I heard. That's awesome. Hey, you want anything to drink? We have beer in the fridge," Anika said.

Faith felt awkward standing in the middle of the front hall, while groups of people occupied her boyfriend's apartment. She realized she had very little dominion and shrank into herself until Anika pulled her into the kitchen. The blond pulled out two cans of domestic beer and handed her one, noticing Faith's unease.

"What's the matter?" Asked Anika.

Faith wondered if Faust knew about all the people in his apartment, if his roommate had asked him if he could have a party and invite all the people Faust talked shit about—the people he warned her not to hang out with.

"Uh, nothing. Just feels weird being here without Faust," said Faith.

"Aw, it's okay, girl. We party here all the time."

Faith questioned the verity of Anika's claim. She couldn't recall them having any big parties there since she started dating Faust eight months ago. Faust didn't like too many people in his space. Whenever they partied, it was always at someone else's house or out in the bush around a fire.

The same pair of blue eyes had Faith in a stranglehold. She cocked her head, and Anika noticed her attention locked on a man with fine blond hair touching his collarbone.

"Is that—?"

"Sven? Yeah. You probably remember him from that time we went camping."

Faith wished to turn in on herself, abandon the can of beer Anika had given her, grab what she needed from Faust's room, and leave. Anika sensed her discomfort and placed her thin hand on Faith's shoulder.

"Don't worry, he won't bother you. He has a girlfriend now."

"He's a creep," Faith muttered.

Anika shot Sven a look over her shoulder, and he turned away, pulling on a beer and wiping his mouth. Faith remembered the stench of his burnt hair in the fire, how Faust had punched him and dragged him through the dirt toward the pit where he held his face in the flames. Sven complained about the scratches and scrapes on his arms and legs from Faust dragging him the entire way home after they cut the trip short. The same tension that pierced the atmosphere in the van while Sven took the front seat and Faust held her hand in the back seat was the same strain she felt now as he stole glances at her. His wispy mustache had grown back along with his eyebrows and pale lashes.

Faith felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but dismissed the feeling with a swig of beer and Anika's encouragement. Faust would get angry with her if he knew she felt even an inch of remorse over what happened. Sven deserved what he got, and that's what she kept telling herself throughout the night as she drank a couple more beers with Anika and took a hit off a joint someone offered her out on the balcony.

A few of Faust's friends asked her about him, and it filled her with pride knowing everyone there knew who she was, who Faust was. She told them where the band was that night, where they were slated to go next, that they had sold out of merchandise and had to place an emergency order and have it shipped to the next venue. After a few hours, Faith felt the tug of exhaustion creeping over her shoulders and told Anika she had to head out, though she'd already missed the last bus and had little money in her bank account for a cab. Faith considered asking someone for a ride back to campus, but nobody seemed sober enough to trust behind the wheel.

Instead, she went to Faust's bedroom and shut the door and all the noises behind her. In his room, she took in a deep breath, and then another, filling her senses with the comforting scent of pine, stale air and the boyish aroma Faust carried with him. She went to his closet and brushed a hand over the black t-shirts and one of his leather coats. Next, Faith opened the third drawer in the lowboy and pulled out a hoodie that had shrunk in the wash and didn't fit Faust anymore. She often wore it when she came over, but he refused to let her take it home until now. She slipped it on over her blouse, smoothed it over her skirt and wrapped her arms around her ribs. The hood still smelled of Faust's hair.

Without thinking much, she arranged the objects on his dresser into an organized system rather than a mess of pens, splintered drumsticks, guitar picks and snack wrappers. She shovelled the waste into the garbage can under his desk, made his bed, fluffed the pillows, cleared the dirty clothes off the floor and kicked it all into the closet. If there wasn't a party going on right outside the door, she'd have done his laundry and took the dirty plates and forks to the kitchen sink. She did what she could without having to set foot outside the bedroom, and by the time she finished folding the clothes in his dresser into neat stacks, it was far too late for her to go anywhere.

Faith took off her panties and skirt, changed into a pair of his pyjama pants and sat on his bed with her hands folded, wondering if Faust would care if she spent the night in his bed. The fluffy pillows called out for her head. His comforter promised visions of them together again. She considered texting him to say she was staying over, but there was a knock on the door as she went for her phone.

She lifted her feet off the carpet and tucked them under her thighs, balled herself as small as she could until whoever knocked got the hint and walked away. The knock came again, and Faith's throat tightened.

"Yes?" She called.

The door opened, and she expected to see Anika's blond head poking in, but it wasn't her. The person was blond, but the face was not smeared with white foundation, nor were the blue eyes overlined with charcoal black. Sven stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked.

"What are you doing in here? This is my boyfriend's room. Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Sorry," said Sven, opening his palms to show he meant no harm. "I wanted to talk to you for a second. Is that okay?"

"I don't see why that's necessary."

"Mmkay, well, you don't have to be a bitch about it. Your boyfriend is the one who almost burnt my face off."

"Well, you were being weird. You're being weird now by coming in here. You should probably go."

"Sucks when he's not around to intimidate everyone that ever wants to start a conversation with you, huh?"

Faith pressed her lips together. Was he threatening her? She wasn't sure. He kept his distance, though his eyes ricocheted off the valuable objects in the room. The Gibson guitar hanging on the wall, the vintage RD bass in its stand just below, the electric drumset next to the desk, Faust's five-thousand-dollar computer, and finally, her. Faust's prized possessions all in one room.

"What do you want to talk about?" Faith broke the silence, sweating.

"I wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot back in the Summer. I was really drunk. I shouldn't have said that shit."

"Okay, well, thanks for the apology."

Sven gestured at her, pale eyebrows high on his freckled forehead. "And?"

"And what?" Faith asked.

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

"I have nothing to apologize for."

"You can apologize on behalf of your psycho boyfriend. That’d be a start."

Faith scoffed, heated by the insult. When it came to Faust, she never wanted to hear the negatives. It reminded her of her father's disapproval, filled her with useful venom. "Sorry, if you want an apology from Faust, he’d have to give it to you, and I don’t think that’s happening any time soon."

"Wow," Sven said with a click of his tongue. "And I thought you were a nice girl."

"I am nice, but right now, you're in my personal space, and it's making me uncomfortable."

As she spoke, she noticed Sven's knees wobbling. He was drunk. His beer breath filled the room. Faith shifted closer to the wall, clutching her crossed legs, silently begging for him to leave. He took a step closer, and she gasped.

"Relax, I'm not gonna do anything. Jesus, you chicks watch too much TV, thinkin' every dude is a rapist or something."

"Whatever you say, man. Look, if you're done, I think it's time you leave."

"Why? You going to sleep?"

"You just shouldn't be in here. If Faust were home, you wouldn't set foot in this room or even think about talking to me."

Sven threw his head back and laughed. "Just because he caught me off guard once doesn't mean I'm afraid of him. He can suck my dick, and so can you."

"Get out," Faith said.

"Hey now, hey... It's all good. Christ, I'm just trying to mend bridges, but you're being a total bitch when I'm here apologizing."

"You just told me I could suck your dick. You're literally insulting me to my face. I've asked you to leave, and you're not!"

Sven pushed air through his teeth, teetered closer to her and sat down on the foot of the bed. Faith's body froze, her limbs stiff as boards as the man laid on his back. His face was a foot from her.

"If it weren't for your boyfriend, I'd be on tour right now. I'd be the one selling out venues and merch, signing shit and having people ask me to take pictures."

"It was your fault."

When the words floated from Faith's mouth, his forehead crinkled, and he shot up. She gasped, scrambling against the wall like a cornered rodent.

"Fuck you! Stupid fucking slut! Faust is a way bigger piece of shit than I am. Ask anybody! Everyone knows how much of an asshole he is. Nobody actually likes him. They're just afraid of him because he threatens to kill anyone whoever disagrees with what he says."

The venom roiled in Faith's stomach, blistering up her neck and filling her mind with violent static. Her hands shook as adrenaline pumped into her veins. One more minute alone with Sven and she thought she might lose control of herself.

Sven got off the bed and went for the bass. Faith hissed at him not to touch it, so he leaned over and spat on the finish.

"Get out!" Faith cried. "Get the fuck out right now!"

The music outside the door must have drowned out her yells, for nobody came looking for her. She stood up on the bed, back pressed against a poster. Sven grabbed at her ankle, but she kicked and slapped the top of her foot against his forearm. He laughed and swiped again as she danced away.

"LEAVE!"

"Make me!"

"I'll fucking call the cops on you!"

"Do it, bitch. I'll knock you out and do what I want before anyone even realizes I'm in here."

"Help!" Faith hollered. "Rape! Rape! He's trying to rape me!"

"Woah, woah, calm down. I didn't say that—"

The venom boiled over, shot up through her esophagus and escaped her mouth in panicked screams. Stunned by the banshee shrieks ripping through the air, Sven backed toward the door, feeling around for the doorknob while Faith screamed her face red, blood vessels popping in her eyes, throwing explosions of stars across her vision until he left the room and she dropped onto the bed, crying. Faith felt around the bed for her phone and called Faust.

He answered on the first ring.

"Faust," she blubbered.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm coming home right now."

"W-what?"

"Look over at the computer."

Faith wiped the snot from her nose onto the hoodie's sleeve and glanced at the desk where the computer monitor stood. "Huh? I don't understand."

"See that light right beside the monitor? Wave at it."

Faith lifted her hand. She squinted at the blue dot belonging to a small camera set up between a speaker and the monitor.

"I installed a Bluetooth camera before leaving for tour. Don't trust people to not go into my room and touch my stuff."

"You mean—?"

"I saw everything. Heard everything, too. It's motion-activated."

Faith paled at the thought of Faust watching her cleaning his room, the way she'd caressed his clothes on her face and huffed his scent before Sven came in.

"What should I do, Faust? He's still out there."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Should I call the cops?"

"No, don't call anyone. Don't say anything. I said I'll take care of it."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Faith, I'm serious. Let me handle this," his voice was stern.

"What're you gonna do?"

Faust went quiet for a moment until she motioned at the camera. He sighed. "I can't tell you right now."

The adrenaline depleted, and Faith let out a sob. "I need you, Faust. I'm scared."

"Don't be scared, babe. I got you. I'll be home as soon as I can, but I need you to be strong. Don't talk to anyone about what happened until I get there, understand? Nobody. Not your friends, not your parents, don't write it in your journal or breath a word. I promise I'll make it better."

#faust x faith #valter skarsgard fanfiction #valter skarsgard imagine #valter skarsgard

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senor-cummies · 3 years

Text

I request that you ignore how cringe the first part of this is lmao i wrote it like 2yrs ago. Happy post a wip Saturday! this is for my wip 'to covet anonymity' which is the prince!link/bounty hunter! revalink au, or, as my horrible disgusting friend mike likes to call it 'the revalink mandalorian au'

The sound of thundering hooves still echoed in the forefront of his mind. It soaked him in a fear that was completely alien to him. The fear of being caught. The fear that, despite his efforts, he’d fail. That he’d be taken away from the confines of his safehouse and thrown in a jail cell, or worse, into the bed of the person he was meant to marry four days ago. The fear swamped him, overwhelmed all of his senses until he knew nothing but it. Until he was lost in a thick fog of immeasurable consternation with no means of escape.

He was drowning in it, a thick, viscous, never-ending ocean of horror that permeated his tight-wound barrier. A constant pounding, taunting, sense of vehement trepidation that struck him with a force that rivaled a title wave. The salty winds off the Akkala Dead Sea, running through his hair even at this low point on the Ulria Grotto where he was seeking refuge, carried with them the twinge of dismay, each rise and set of the autumn sun that brought him closer and closer to his judgment day.

To the inevitable.

Overstimulating anxiety pounding against his skull, screaming for any way to escape besides red hot tears and muffled screams into his bedroll. He willed for sleep to take him, to succumb to something other than existential dread, for a break from perpetual suffering even if only for a moment. And all he got in return was the sound of cool wind and rushing water.

No rest, no sleep, no freedom, just crickets, and owls. Deer in the distance, mysterious rustling that made him go reaching for the broadsword sheathed at his bedside.

He’d never get any sleep at this point, any attempt to do so was worthless. He had to head to the stable up the coast in the morning anyway and, given by the moon, he only had a few hours of night left till sunrise. He’d just hoped, wished, he might be able to sleep. Link hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep, even a bad night’s sleep dammit, since before this whole engagement nonsense. Maybe, if he was willful and believed hard enough, he could manage to milk even 30 minutes.

With a deep breath, he settled into his bedroll, holding his blanket tight to his body, before shutting his eyes and trying one more time to rest.

A drop of water fell on his cheek.

Then another.

And another.

One more...

A shower of rain poured down upon him as if the goddess herself was telling him to move. That it, too, was fate.

Still, he stayed laying in his covers that slowly got wetter and wetter as time went on. He could afford to lay a bit longer, at least until the first thunder crack.

(he tried his best to pretend he just didn’t hear the quiet rumble of thunder in the distance as he rolled over onto his other side.)

alpha

Link stared at the bounty poster of himself on the stable wall, next to an advertisement for Beedle's new Akkala shop location and a warning sign for a lynel herd that moved into a field in the gulch. It was like looking at a ghost. He could barely recognize the hylian looking back at him.

He looked so...Sad. So out of place. He fit in much better out here.

Link frowned, ripping the poster off the wall and stuffing it in his bag of tinder.

He turned, walking over to the check in shelf to peruse the newer, dry, non falling apart at the seams, tunics.

"How can I help you?" The clerk greeted. Link looked him, bringing his arms out from under his cloak.

'I'd like a child's traveler's shift.' The clerk reached behind him, grabbing it.

"Just the shift right?" Link nodded, looking around the room as the clerk sorted through to find his item. He looked back at a navy blue rito.

Do I...Know them?

They stared back at him, eyes slits. Link scrunched up his face, pulling his hood over his eyes.

"Alright, that'll be 20 rupees for the shift." Link nodded, reaching into a small pouch on his hip.

There was a loud ruckus outside, the sound of pounding hooves, casting over the clerk's voice as he attempted at small talk.

"It's probably the knights again," theg groaned. Link tried to silence his anxiety.

"Oh, he comes around about twice a week looking for that 'lost prince'. You know, I don't think he's lost. I don't think he was abducted at all, I think the poor sap ran off. You hear he was supposed to be shipped off to Ganondorf? Join his harem? I woulda done it too." Link tuned him out, his breath picking up.

The hooves grew louder and ceased at the stables entrance, the entourage casting a shadow over the inside of the stable. Link gulped, giving the man his rupees taking his shift and leaving, stuffing it into his bag as he made a mas face and he gulped.

“No one leaves until we’ve searched the entire premises, okay?” Link made a mad dash to the back door, covered in the bedlam that was the King’s arrival. A large wing was shoved into his face, the impact of it knocking him to the ground.

“Are you deaf, elf? Nobody leaves.” Link cursed, moving to pick up his things that were dropped in the collision.

"How many times are you going to keep bumping into me, bird guy?"

"I don't like it any more than you do." They crossed their arms, watching Link scramble to pick up his things. "And don't call me bird man."

"Don't call me elf,"

The rito huffed, leaning down to help.

"I'm fine," Link mumbled, voice quiet in an attempt to not be recognized.

"I don't care about you, it's just taking you a pathetically long time to pick up your things." Link rolled his eyes, picking up his books and clothes.

"Well, would you look at that..." Link looked up from the shirt he was refolding to the rito's wing. Sitting in it's navy blue feathers, was the diadem he'd snagged off his bedside table. His eyes widened.

"Give me that!" He cursed, snatching it up out of his wing.

"Now, now, I recognize this." Link whined, following their wing to try and grab it.

"Where did you get this?" Link huffed, dropping his arm, the rito inspecting his diadem closely.

"Where did you get this?" They repeated.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." Link hissed, grabbing the rito's wrist and snatching thr diadem out of it's wing. Link shoved it into his bag, stomping away from the stable. He could hear the rito behind him.

"What do you want?" Link groaned.

"That's the prince's diadem." Link bit the inside of his cheek, still walking back towards the grotto.

"If it is, than I bought it for a hell of a steal."

"Bought it from who?"

"What's it to ya?" He yelped as he was grabbed, slammed against the hard bark of he tree. He looked up with flushed cheeks to meet piercing green eyes.

It only made him blush harder.

"I am going to make myself clear, hylian. I ask a question. You give an answer. I asked who you bought it from." Link panted quietly, shaking like a leaf. Somehow, he still managed to muster up a smirk.

"What's it. To ya."

The rito struggled not to slam him into the tree again, for fear he might knock thr hylian out.

"If I tell you why I'm asking, will you answer?" Link shrugged. The rito gripped him harder, grinding him up against the harsh tree bark.

"Yes! Ow!" The rito dropped him, backing away. Link groaned, rubbing at his arm from where thr Rito had him.

"My name is Revali. I'm a bounty hunter chosen by the king to lead the search for the Lost Prince. That is the prince's diadem, now, if he give two shits about your life and your freedom I'd say who sold it too you. Withholding this information is a crime, you know?"

Link nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I bought it off a pawner at the Ridgeland Stable, near the Coliseum? Sold it to me for 800 rupees. Had I known it was Prince Link's I would've asked for more..."

Revali stared at him, his hood and hair still hanging in his face. They sat, staring at each other for a few minutes before Revali sucked in a gasp.

"Put it on." Link's eyes widened in panic.

He doesn't...How could he?

"Doesn't fit."

"Put. It. On."

Link rolled his eyes, trying to conceal his fear as he reach into his satchel, pulling out the diadem. He pulled his hood back, his hair spilling out in long, silky, tendrils across his shoulders. Slowly, fearfully, he placed the crown on his head, staring at the bounty hunter.

Revali stared at him in shock and awe.

"Are you--"

"No." Link took the diadem off, putting it in his bag.

"I'm not the prince, I've never been to the castle, my name isn't even Link!"

"You look like a Link..."

"You look like an overgrown cuckoo!"

#link botw #botw #loz #tloz #botw revali #revalink #to covet anonymity #tca #paws #post a wip Saturday #mandy writes shit

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