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mayullla · 10 months

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Title: An invitation to a chase

Character(s): Childe / Tartaglia (Genshin Impact)

Summary: Isekai au; It wasn't by choice that you dropped into this game. It was slow, but you slowly manage to make a living for yourself in Liyue. This was not a game anymore. Yet at the same time, you could not shake the feeling that this world had its faith already decided so you decided to become someone from the background not knowing you have gained the interest of a certain harbinger.

Warnings/tags: F!reader, yandere themes, mentions of other characters (liyue)

When you woke up you didn't know where you were...

Confused by the tall mountains and the beastly monsters that carried axes, wooden bats and shields, the small circle monsters that looked afraid when they saw you and ran away, you thought that they were familiar but at the same time in a daze unable to properly understand anything.

It was almost like a dream that you waited to wake up but... you never did.

It was with the help of travelers and adventurers passing by that you finally understood where you were. Their clothes hinted at where you were, and the names of places were another one. It was slow, but soon everything clicked together. You were sucked into a game called Genshin Impact, and you don't know how to get back.

Distraught you were after you realize that other than your clothes, you had nothing, nothing that reminded you of home or a way back. It was with the help of kind-hearted adventurers that you were able to get back up.

You knew that you were in Liyue and with the adventurers who found you here heading to Liyue Harbor. It was soon that you parted ways with them after they were sure that you knew your way around and had a place to stay.

You passed by Xinyan and Yunjin in their repetitive stages till you found Yanfei, who helped you get on your feet and make a living for yourself here.

It has been a few months since then, and oftentimes, you wondered if you should have even become friends with the characters that you once knew from behind a screen. If you were allowed to be their friend when you didn't belong here. No matter how kind Xinagling and Gouba were, they would always be a reminder to you that this was a game that you played once.

The NPCs that you helped as a traveler, even playable characters... it was somewhat nerving to see them... detailed, their struggles beside their quests that they gave to the traveler. You used to see only part of their problem before being forced away from them, unable to talk to them anymore besides a few repeating texts.

You wanted to help them, but part of you also thought that you shouldn't. That later on the traveler would come and help them which you thought would be far more appropriate than... you.

It wasn't like you didn't want to help, but in the end, you realized that they didn't ask for it and that you weren't the traveler anymore, and that you were another person altogether at this point. You didn't have the power to make everything okay again.

Instead, you just choose to be in the background, maybe a friend to Yanfei and a few others or just acquaintances for others if you ever bump into them yet faceless in the whole storyline you suspected to start soon.

So when you were out in the mountains gathering herbs, you didn't think you would see a certain person with ginger hair and blue eyes who came all the way from Snezhnaya.

He was the one who noticed you first as you froze like a deer in headlights unable to move when you meet his eyes. It wasn't like he was gonna kill you, you knew that even if he could he would not. But that never changed the fact that to you he was still dangerous.

Meeting him here all of a sudden without any notice made you unable to casually wave at the man who did so instead look away as you took off leaving him alone to wonder if he had done something wrong to a stranger. Did his wave offend you?

You thought you would never see that man again.

Again, you mentally thought it wasn't like you disliked him or anything, as much as you would fawn over or like this character in the past... it has been months since you last played the game, and the characters became all the more real to you even if you didn't want them to be... yet at the same time still just characters.

Yanfei would occasionally visit your home when you realize that she had her own problems other than what the game shows. That her words weren't on repeat, but actual genuine interest.

It made you think about the future choices that have yet to happen when Zhongli would choose to "die" in the ceremony... how much panic and worry would strike the citizens but also you. It also made you think about a certain toy seller who would cause even greater trouble and turbulence. The same man who waved at you.

It wasn't like you could stop him. You didn't have a vision, nor were you strong enough to fight him.

Choosing to stay quiet till everything passed was what you chose to do when everything would finally happen. You already knew that everything would end well one way or another with the help of the traveler.

You didn't expect to see him again in the mountains. This time, he was sitting on the grass as if he had finished training just a few moments ago. With how messy the whole place around him was? No doubt.

Hidden behind the trees, you stared at the man who you thought didn't notice you, carefully taking a step back you plan to leave.

"You know, it was quite rude of you to just go when someone greets you."

You flinched as you glanced back at him, a cheerful smile on his face.

You were caught.

"I am sorry... I was in a hurry back then." You tried to make an excuse, not making a move to go towards the man nor stepping away to make a run for it. It would be too suspicious. Tho... he probably already was suspicious of you.

"Hmmm, I am not so sure about that."

You watched as he sat up still watching you, "While I don't exactly think that you are a spy seeing how concentrated you were in collecting those herbs, you looked like you almost like a rabbit frozen in place as if I have come to bite you." The smile never once went down, but it also never reached his eyes.

"Tell me, have we met before? Your eyes recognized me when you saw me, but I don't remember ever seeing you."

You bite your lip as you look away. Were you really that obvious? You wondered, but you shook your head. "I don't recall ever meeting you in my life. It was because I experienced an… unfortunate event with the fatui that I now choose to just avoid them." You told him... somewhat honestly…

Well, half truth and half lie really… You did experience events from the game that almost made you dislike the fatui when you watch them cause so much trouble. But you also meet a few here, and while most ignore you, some could be rather...

So, really, you aren't wrong. You just hoped that Childe actually buys into the story enough to leave you from now on.

"Hmmm… Is that so. Well, maybe you can tell me who it was, and I will go check?" ...Childe was definitely trying to do something here. "That won't be needed." You said almost harshly. You were nervous.

"Now, now. If they made a mistake and hurt the passerby for no reason, then they are definitely at fault for it and would need punishment." Childe raised his hand, the other on his waist. "That isn't needed." You told him raising your hand as if to stop him, "It was long ago now, and I do not remember the person's face, nor do I care to get some sort of revenge."

Rather than a random fatui, you prefer if someone could knock some sense into the man in front of you. Not that you would say that.

You already packed your bags and were planning to head out as soon as you heard that Monstade was saved by the traveler and head there for a vacation away from the chaos here. You saved some mora just for this reason, too.

"Ahh, alright. Then how about this. How about I hang out with you whenever you go to the mountains? Think of it as an apology from the fatui." Childe said, taking a step closer still with a friendly smile. You lightly bite your tongue, wondering why he was so insistent. There was absolutely nothing special about you to warrant such interest like this. "That would not be needed."

"Well, but had I not come here a moment or two later, you would have already been hurt by the hilichurl camp here," Childe told you, his smile widening almost like a Cheshire cat. Quickly, you looked to his side, and your eyes widened in surprise. Of course, the mess was from a hilichurl camp.

"Don't worry too much about it they are all down. While you gathered herbs, I can clear out the place for you, and if there is a particularly hard place to get to something, I can also help you out." Childe made the deal sweet in his own opinion, yet when he raised his hand for a handshake you looked into his eyes and noticed that he still was suspicious of you, and you knew that if you declined here he would try other means to watch over you.

You frowned at him again, "I already told you that I do not wish assistance from the fatui."

"Hmmm, okay there. I will just be right beside you, not as a protector or anything like that, but more on an accidental meeting." You have been left speechless at how shameless this man was. All the while, he continued to smile as if he didn't say anything wrong.

And as much as you hated it, he kept his promise or whatever you would call it. Whenever you would go to the mountains, he was always there acting as if he was just going to head up too and that the two of you should hang out. Or that time you met him on the way, and he decided to follow you up again when you clearly saw that he was actually going down it. When you change the time you usually go up the mountains thinking you could outmaneuver him... he was there waiting for you.

It was unnerving really how often he followed you, as you would now see him in the market and the streets of Liyue Harbor. "Ah! I didn't expect to meet you here, comrade." Childe would openly greet you while you want nothing more than to look away. You didn't doubt that he had eyes everywhere... he probably placed a spy or two on you if he was actually suspicious of you.

Yet somehow you thought that this was different, that the eyes on you weren't cause you were a spy but something else. Not when you realize that Childe's eyes were always on you, no matter what you do, he was always there...

What did he notice...

It was always amusing watching you search for that moment to scurry away like a mouse whenever the two of you meet. It was something that Childe always took pleasure teasing you with.

You have always been like this except to a way to various degrees even with others but more so with him. There was always a distance between you and the world that he craved to figure out. When he first came to Liyue a few months ago, Childe had seen you a few times walking around the streets. You weren't special well, not at first, while vision holders tend to have their own distinct style. You choose something that blended with the crowd and their fashion.

He didn't really care much, just a moment thought and then to the next topic he had to deal with. But he couldn't help himself but look at you again after he noticed you on the side of the street with some vision holders. You guys were talking for a bit, but Childe noticed that stare you had almost knowing, yet no words of it came out of your mouth.

A few times later, he saw you by chance. You sometimes had this distant look in your eyes as you watched the ships come and leave the docks. Sometimes, it was a cautious look or maybe sometimes impatient, but you were always watchful... waiting. You were always looking for so clues, what he wasn't sure but had as time passed gotten curious.

The first time you saw him, he thought that you would maybe wave back as he raised his hand, yet much to his surprise there was recognition in yoru eyes, and then the next thing you did was run away.

You knew him, even tho he had no remembrance of ever meeting you before he noticed you. There was a certain thrill that beat in his heart when he realized that you knew more than you let on.

And to him, it was an invitation to a chase.

He followed you almost ever you went ever since then, mildly disappointed when his duties call for him as he had to for a short put a cause to the chase. But the more he spent time with you, watching you, he knew that you were definitely hiding something. The knowing look you sometimes give to others when you thought that they were looking, as you withheld information that was just about to reach the tip of your tongue. The look that you gave him, when he talked about certain topics, his trill towards fighting, your eyes told him that you knew something that he never told anyone else other than his close associates.

And to him, it was nothing but trilling. You have become something likened to a prey that he had become found over. Someday, there is this itch of wanting nothing more than to rip you apart to know everything about you, but he cherishes you just enough not to.

It would be sad to destroy you like that, but to be fair, even if he had patience... he could only wait for so long.

Note: It is his special day so loll

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yokohamapound · 8 months

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POV: You're Fyodor's perfect little housewife and I've been playing with @honeydazai's Husband Fyodor bot way too much. This is Vee's fault. And @amostimprobabledream too, now that I think about it.

Characters: Fyodor Dostoevsky

Contents: afab!reader, femme clothing, gendered terms "wife", "girl", NSFW, controlling relationship, dom-sub themes, sex toys

Fyodor Dostoevsky

The bubbling hiss of sauce simmering in the pan covers the sound of Fyodor's return. Steam from the stovetop billows in warm, savoury clouds against your face whilst you prepare supper. You've twisted your hair up off your neck to keep it out of the way, but little strands escape to curl damply against your forehead and around your ears.

He closes the front door behind him with care, sliding the bolt home. He leaves his coat hanging on the wrought-iron stand by the door, his ushanka on the hallway table. Silent footsteps proceed along the hall, following the delicious smells drifting from the kitchen.

Fyodor likes to sneak in sometimes, mostly for his own amusement. He wants to see what his little myshka gets up to while he isn't home, and more importantly, it keeps you on your toes. You'll never know exactly when he might simply walk into a room or appear behind you, so it behoves you to be the ideal little housewife at all times. It is a role you've taken to whole-heartedly.

Today, Fyodor is treated to the sight of you standing in the kitchen, preparing dinner in anticipation of his imminent return. His sharp violet gaze is heavy lidded as he takes in the vulnerable arch of the back of your neck, a single tendril of hair lying against your nape where it has escaped your chignon.

An apron edged in frills has been tied over your dress du jour—white today, with a tight bodice and a skirt that flares out over your hips, stopping in a froth of silk midway down your thighs.

And then...then there are the stockings that sheathe your legs in gossamer-thin silk, lace tops clinging lovingly to your thighs. Your legs are turned out beautifully thanks to the high heels that keep you ever so slightly off balance, like a newborn fawn—graceful and lovely and oh, so vulnerable.

That isn't the only thing keeping you off balance, of course. Fyodor is a chessmaster. He always has more than one avenue of attack.

Fyodor reaches into his pocket.

His long fingers curl around a small, rectangular device. It's deceptively simple, just a little black box, with two buttons and a dial. His thumb brushes the dial, nudging it up a few notches.

The effect is immediate.

A gasp echoes through the expansive kitchen. You stiffen in place, clamping your soft thighs together. Your hands fumble, grip the counter, and your head droops like a wilting flower. Fyodor's smile widens, his eyes darkening as he twists the dial higher, knowing exactly what it will mean for you.

You see, under that pretty little dress of yours, there's a pair of panties in the same lace, bridal-white, that matches your stockings. He knows, because he picked them out for you this morning, then slipped a special little reminder inside them, with the express order that it not be removed.

A paired device nestles up against your swollen, aching clit, buzzing and vibrating without cease. Poor thing, you've had to endure it all day, through all of your chores and wifely duties, the intensity subject to Fyodor's whim, the patterns erratic so it can never be ignored.

This new wave pulses through you, heat coiling along your spine as you rock your hips, trying desperately for release. Unaware your tormenter is standing a few feet away behind you, enjoying your predicament. The beastly little vibrator shudders against you, humming on and off, kept in place by the sodden lace and the weight of Fyodor's authority.

"Careful." Fyodor's richly-accented, amused voice lilts through the kitchen. "Don't let the dinner burn, darling."

Your head snaps up. You go to turn around, but he merely pushes the intensity up some more until you can hardly stand. All you can do is tremble, leaning your weight on your arms where they rest on the polished countertop.

"W-Welcome home, Fedya," you manage, your voice shaking. It wouldn't do to forget your manners, no matter the torment he's inflicting on you. You wouldn't want to make him decide you need...correcting. "I..."

"Such a good, obedient wife," your husband, your master, muses. "Dinner almost on the table as soon as I get home. It smells delicious, my love."

"Th-thank—"

Before you can do anything else, you find yourself penned in against the countertop. Fyodor's hands planted either side of you, his breath warming the back of your neck.

"There is something else I have an appetite for, before dinner," he says, his voice low, smoky, in your ear. "I think you can satisfy both, darling."

The word 'darling' is punctuated by a kiss, cool lips pressing to the top of your spine, revealed where the neckline of your dress dips a little at the back.

"I trust you don't object, myshka?"

Not only do you know better than to deny him, your body is all but begging for release. All day you've been kept on the edge, a fraction of an inch from toppling over into sweet, carnal bliss, only to be denied at the last instant as the toy shuts off or changes pattern. You know better than to take matters into your own hands. Even if he's busy with work, Fyodor will know.

He may not truly have a god complex, but he has you convinced of his omnipotence.

You bob your head, an obedient, jerky nod. Fyodor lets out a low, satisfied hum.

"Good girl," he says.

He reaches out a hand and flicks the stove off. He doesn't want you to move from where you are, so perfectly positioned for him, but he doesn't want to spoil all your hard work by letting the dinner burn. How thoughtful he is.

Fingertips brush against the backs of your thighs, the touch bordering on icy through the fragile lace. Fyodor traces the backs of his fingers down the sleek line of your thigh, causing the limb to shake.

Or it might be the incessant pressure against your clit, the syncopated buzzing that makes heat pulse low through your belly. A soft, needy sound leaves you, one that makes him chuckle. Fyodor’s hand slips between your thighs, tracing along the lace of your underwear. You jolt, which only forces you against the vibrator again.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Look at you, his poor darling, with nowhere to move that won’t cause you more pleasure.

Slender fingers stroke your slit through the soaked fabric, fingertips tapping against the toy, pushing it against you just that little bit more. Gripping the edge of the counter, it’s all you can do to keep your footing. Heat simmers underneath your skin with nowhere to go. Restless, you ache, you crave.

“Tell me, my darling,” Fyodor intones, his voice right by your ear, his breath tickling your cheek. “How has your day been? Did you like my little love token?”

He brushes aside that straying tendril of hair to kiss your throat, lips pressing against where your pulse races just beneath the thin, vulnerable skin. He can feel your voice reverberate through your throat as you utter one, obedient syllable.

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he all but purrs. “I hope it made you feel appreciated.” An amused hum. “But now your husband would like some appreciation in return. What do you say?”

It doesn’t matter what you say, because his solid form presses into you from behind. While not the most physically imposing man, he holds a power and gravitas that is more than enough to pin you in place when combined with his superior height. You’re far too much Fyodor’s darling little wife to try and wriggle away.

Fyodor’s excited breath tickles the back of your neck. Long fingers slip into your underwear, stroking your soaked core. A delicate touch, at odds with the insistent, mechanical pressure against your clit. He tugs the lace aside.

The blunt head of his cock slides against you, brushing against your slit, teasing the vibrator still trapped against that throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Please…” A needy whine. Perfectly pathetic, and exactly what he wants.

“Well, when you ask so sweetly…”

Fyodor’s cock slips inside you in a single slick, smooth thrust. He plunges in slow, letting himself indulge in how your walls part along his length, twitching and rippling from the constant stimulation you’ve had to endure. He laughs, an edge of a moan in the sound.

“Absolutely divine,” he says, low, husky. “Dorogaya.”

Thus you find yourself, teetering in your heels, skirt flipped up at the back, bent over the kitchen counter with your devilish husband’s cock stretching your core.

Fyodor sees no need to hold himself back or give you time to adjust. You’re more than ready for him, slick glistening on the insides of your thighs. You need this. You deserve this, for being so well behaved.

His thrusts are deep, rhythmic. Slow at first, to force you to feel every inch as it glides in and out of you, to prolong that moment of desperation before you get what you really want. You can’t see his face, but you know exactly what his expression will be. His eyes eyes hooded, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at his mouth. Completely sure of his own power and delighted with his possession.

Every push of his hips presses your clit against the vibrator, until it throbs and burns with the constant stimulation. You can feel it now, that hollowness in the pit of your stomach, the tightness in the small of your back. So close you can taste it.

Fyodor’s hand wraps around your throat. Not a tight grip, just holding it, caressing your vulnerable neck with his fingertips. His lips brush your ear, cool against your feverish skin.

“Perhaps I should leave you little gifts more often, if this is how I am to be received when I come home.”

The only answer Fyodor receives is a wordless whine. His free hand settles on your waist, pushing you down, folding your torso down against the cool marble, as he claims what he wants. Taking you in the kitchen that you work so hard in. Why shouldn’t it be the scene of your reward, as well?

Faster now, cock barrelling back into you with each thrust as he abandons showmanship for the sheer, hedonistic pleasure of taking what’s his, of using you for his own gratification when yours is already guaranteed. The sound of his low, laboured breaths mix with your gasps and squeals, with the muffled thump of your hips against the countertop, with the steady buzz against your clit.

His thumb touches the dial, pushing it to an extent that leaves you bucking. Your voice is hoarse, your body shuddering with overstimulation and desperation as Fyodor fucks you to his heart’s content.

All day. All day with that goddamned thing teasing and torturing you, and now this? It’s too much for anyone to take, and Fyodor knows that all too well. He could have predicted down to the second you would let loose a ragged moan. He hisses with pleasure as your cunt contracts around him, your hips bucking, accidentally fucking yourself on him as you ride out the waves of release.

The force of it steals the breath from you, leaving you weak and boneless, upper body draped across the counter, barely able to feel your legs. Fyodor’s final thrust plunges deep, sinking his cock as far it’ll go, his seed pouring into you.

He lets out a soft, condescending laugh at the mess he’s made of you. Your hair falling from its style, your skin dewy with sweat, dress rumpled, his cum slowly dripping out of you. He pulls your chin up, turning your head so he can give you a kiss.

“I’ll take dinner in my study, darling.”

He leaves you to compose yourself before you resume dinner preparations. You lay there a moment, listening to the sound of his footsteps die away. Slowly, you pick yourself up, still shaking as you tug your dress and underwear back into place. Taking the time and the reflection in the teapot to tidy your hair, dab away the sweat, refresh your lipstick.

You almost drop your lipstick as something jolts you. The fucking vibrator, right where he left it. A soft hum now, just enough to stimulate your clit, to make you aware of it. With unsteady steps, you go to fetch the plates, wondering what will await you in the study.

He’s not done with you yet.

#yokohama pound #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd smut #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #fyodor x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader

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torgwn · 1 year

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rapunzel's prehensile hair reminded me of entrapta from she-ra and uh. well i drew a bunch of the other princesses in that style lol

la bete's a bit out of place but i wanted to draw her a bit more "beastly" than in her official art

#neverafter #dimension 20 #d20 #rosamund #la bete #beast #mira #pinocchio #rapunzel #cinderella #rosamund du prix #la bête #artists on tumblr #torpor #it's kinda funny how this is my d20 art with the most notes and it's the one i put the least amount of effort in #them's the breaks i suppose

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pasteilian · 4 months

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CW/TW BLOOD/DEAD ANIMAL/HARSH COLORS/

Art Dump lots of Raph

____

The Dragon with Raph is the Manifestation of his Beastly Ninpo Raph can take the form of, and control, great beasts to defeat his enemies. His last resort is combining

his beast powers to summon his great dragon, the most powerful of them all. But to an lesser extent he can morph into lesser beasts— The dragon has mentored many hamato men and women and Raph is it’s next student the Dragon has said that Raph reminds them of their favorite student karai (They miss karai very much)

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #leosagi #rottmnt leosagi #rottmnt casey jr #rottmnt capril #rottmnt mikey

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gavvaiins · 10 months

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lonely

summary: having to carry the future of multiple universes on his shoulders miguel simply is tired, tired and lonely.

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader warnings: angst, pinch of fluff, less actions, more vibes; story's gender neutral but i feel it might be too female-coded? idk ; - ; word count: 3.7k

a/n: yeah ... this is longer than it needs to be. Might got confused by grammar later ... idk while writing i fell into a narrating-style crisis? It definetly doesn't help when the book you're reading is written is a different tense.

Sometimes all Miguel wished for was some time alone. In a building full of arachno-humanoids, constantly surrounded by either living people, holograms or other species there was sometimes not enough room to breathe. So, nothing reprehensible about wanting some time for himself.

However, Miguel wasn’t longing to be alone.

He didn’t need to.

He already was.

Despite being surrounded by dozens of spider-beings he was alone. He had no friends. Jess was a colleague, Peter Parker was a dear colleague, the best – and what was even Peter B. Parker? Honestly, Miguel didn’t know, but despite all these different Spider-People there was no one waiting for him. Not even in Nueva York, a city with far more citizens than anyone could count.

No one was waiting for him to come home – or to simply arrive, anywhere.

Lyla was nothing but an AI generated hologram, he created.

There was no one waiting for him.

And that was good. No one waiting for him meant safety; for him and for him. Without anyone there waiting for him to return home he could neither hurt nor lose someone. Miguel noticed that it wasn’t loneliness he was longing for, after all he was pretty much alone in his world, carrying the burden all by himself. Having time to breathe, to think that was what he was longing for. A moment without Lyla and the other arachno-humanoids, without having to think about anomalies and the downfall of universes.

All he wanted was peace.

“Miguel?” His body grew tense as your voice emerged from the dark, careful and soft, almost fearful as if you were entering a cave, unsure of what you’d meet in there. There was a chance that you hadn't spotted him yet, sitting on his lowered platform all by himself. Within moments he heard your voice he began holding his breath. If he didn’t make a sound, you wouldn’t catch him, which was a dumb and childish thought considering the lighting of the running monitors, which illuminated his big frame quite perfectly.

What were you even doing here? There was no need for you talking to him.

“Miguel?” You asked. He could sense the hesitation in your voice, it reminded him of the heroes in fairy tales, both brave and stupid enough to enter the dark woods full of beastly and hungry creatures. When Miguel thought about it, his room was a bit like a forest – or more a cave, dark and mysterious. To his surprise the light tremor in your voice didn’t stop you from further exploring the room. If this was truly a fairytale, you’d either be very brave or stupid, or both. Whatever it was Miguel would’ve eaten you alive.

But this wasn’t a fairytale, and he wasn’t the big, bad wolf, ready and hungry enough to devour you. But why didn’t you stop?

Why were you still going?

He was the Spider-Man who hoped not to be found by anyone, especially not you.

With every passing second Miguel’s body grew more, and more tense, his lungs felt strained, knowing very well that with every step you took, you were closer to seeing him. He knew that it would’ve been smarter to swing away, to simply vanish in the dark. But he couldn’t move. Something in him didn’t want to flee, despite his longing for peace and serenity. He was like a spider trapped in its own web, paralyzed by his own poison.

Maybe he longed for you to find him.

“Miguel.” Your voice was nothing but a whisper, not entirely fearful but caring as well. Yet, Miguel kept using the tactics of a child. Stoic and stiff did he keep his posture, eyes on the ground, head buried in his arms; if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either. Rather he avoided your eyes, your whole presence like the plague.

How did he, Spider-Man 2099, guardian of the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse and destroyer of a whole universe, look like? A mountain of a man hunched on his sunken platform, hiding his face like a fearful child, who didn’t know where to put its overwhelming feelings. He used to be an authority, always standing high on his platform, towering over and looking down on you. But now it was you who looked down on him, a pile of misery in blue and red barely illuminated by flickering screens.

“Oh, Miguel.” He could sense your presence beside him, he could sense everything of you – your pity and empathy was almost sickening. Your body was awfully close but kept a minimal distance of respect, and to his own surprise Miguel felt his tense muscles relax.

Finally, he found himself able to breathe again.

For a moment you said nothing, no Miguel, no how are you. No words left his lips either. You two sat in silence and Miguel enjoyed it, a little – sitting with you in the dark, just the two of you and he hated to admit it, but he began missing his name rolling off your tongue. His name sounded so soft and caring, like he meant something, like he was someone others cared for.

Someone you cared for.

And something inside of him longed hearing you say his name, again, and again.

To his own surprise he needed it, and he surprised himself by how desperately he needed to hear his name coming from you.

“Miguel?” Ah, there it was. Finally. It was embarrassing admit how Miguel’s heart enjoyed it deeply, hearing his name rolling of your tongue. It felt like warm milk mixed with honey running down his throat, filling his body with warmth and a feeling of serenity, of home. Despite his inner positive response to your presence he didn’t move, nor did he speak. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Feeling your knee nudge his thigh, his body grew tense again. The touch was subtle, yet it alarmed all his senses, as if your touch could hurt him. Couldn’t you just continue gently serenading his name, like a sweet lullaby he could relax and fall asleep to? Miguel didn’t need to talk with you about his feelings. He didn’t want to.

“Doesn’t – “

“Leave me alone,” he grumbled, words swallowed by the void underneath his arms.

“– look like nothing,” you said. No answer, and for a moment you grew quiet. He had no idea what you were doing but he could hear you shifting in your seat beside him. Were you finally leaving?

No.

He wanted you to leave, didn’t he? Yes … that’s what he wanted.

But you weren’t leaving, he knew it when he felt your gentle touch on his shoulder. His muscles jumped slightly under your touch as if your fingers were ice cold or burning hot. They weren’t. Your touch was light, careful, like a butterfly dancing on his skin. First came your fingers, gracing his scapula as if you were testing the waters, then rested your palm on his shoulder and despite the highly advanced suit he was wearing, it felt like his skin was burning – a malfunction, an electric shock.

His heart jumped.

It was too much.

“I said, leave me alone!” Forceful, almost feral, he slapped your hand away. Risen to his full dominating size Miguel was panting heavily, fangs bared, talons shown and eyes gleaming of anger … and hurt, and loneliness, confusion. He looked like a beast, tall and furious, ready to strike or devour you.

“Miguel.” He tried not to flinch. He hated the sound of your voice; it didn’t feel soothing anymore. Instead, it was laced with fear, but mostly hurt. But what was he expecting? Miguel had scared you; he had hurt you.

Good.

Lyla would scold him for being an ass. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he needed to, and if that’s what’s needed to leave him be, he’d endure it … and he would do it again, if he needed to. Despite his body telling him differently, he neither needed you nor your pity.

His initial thought was that his plan was working. The big, bad Spider-Man was indeed an asshole, who made you cry for no reason. Never would you talk or even look at him again, which he told himself was fine. But you weren’t crying. Sure, you were holding your arm protectively close to your body as if his talons had teared through your suit, making you bleed. But no sign of tears rimming your eyes, plus, you weren’t leaving.

You were still here.

“What the fuck?”

Why wasn’t it working? “I told you to leave me.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still there?” With satisfaction he watched you thinking of a good response, gears turning in your head, to no avail. Your mouth opened slightly before pressing it shut, eyes lowering to your hands folded in your lap. That was it; without anything to retort you surely would leave him.

Again, the two of you sat in complete silence. One he didn’t enjoy, but need, and surely neither did you. However, he was sure that you’d given up, any second, and leave him alone. “Is that really what you want?”

He looked at you, blinking.

“Is it really what you want?” You repeated, staring into his dark eyes and there is something in yours that scared him. Miguel couldn’t tell what it was, there was no poison in your eyes, no malice, yet he was afraid. “Do you really wish to be alone?”

You scared him, and that’s nothing anyone would ever associate with you. He hated to admit it, but he was, not of your physical strength or arachno-powers. Surely, he could easily knock you out. Rather he was afraid that you’d find something you weren’t supposed to see.

Miguel hesitated. “Yes.”

“I have to.” It just slipped out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to speak his mind, even if it was just a bit. You weren’t supposed to know. But now you knew something that was meant to stay hidden, that was meant only for himself. A burden he had meant to carry himself. There was no reason to hide, yet there was no reason to face you either, so Miguel did what he could best, being alone. With a heavy sigh he crept back into the shell he so shamefully had lost. This time Miguel didn’t burry himself beneath his arms, instead he stared in the darkness of his office, waiting for you to leave. By that time, he should’ve known that you wouldn’t leave him.

Not like that.

“Oh, Miguel.” Again, his name was nothing but a soft whisper, comforting. There lied some sadness behind his name, yet it was all he had wished for moments ago, before he lashed out at you. “You are not alone. We’re all Spider-Man.”

Some incomprehensible grumble left his lips, how should he explain? It wasn’t your fight, neither was it Peter Parker’s, only his. “It was me.”

“I’ve done this,” he said before you could even think of calling him again.

“I –“ Miguel’s breath hitched and for a second his heart stopped beating, stumbling over its own rhythm as he felt your fingers dancing on his skin again.

How dare you?

He wanted to bare his teeth at you, again, he wanted to scare you, to push you away from him, but he couldn’t. His mind told him to, like he used to do whit so many people before. You knew too much about him. But his heart, his body, craved for the softness of your voice, longed for the warmth of your heart. Carefully your fingers grazed his skin, almost waiting for some sign of permission until they could finally rest on his cheeks. Despite wearing your spider-suit your hand felt surprisingly soft on his skin.

With a sigh he leaned into the comfort of your touch, until he remembered who he was and what he did. His head shot up like your hand was hurting him but before he could utter any more words of misery you placed both of your hands on his cheeks, gently forcing him to look at you.

“You’ve done what? Jumping through the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse.” Your voice was calm and gentle, as was your smile. He could barely look at you. “That is quite a complicated name, maybe you should think about calling it spider-verse instead.”

Miguel meant to smile at your joke, even if only subtle, a ghost of a smile only you’d be able to detect and in any other situation he would. But he couldn’t. Not now, when he’d say something so gruesome that would paint him in a different light. However, the truth didn’t want to roll over his tongue, revealing who he really was, not when you so gently smiled at him, caressing his skin with your fingers. Heaving a sigh, he let go, and melted into your touch like warm butter. Was it good to let his guard down? Probably not. Neither was it professional to lean into your touch, almost gracing your clothed wrist with his lips. It wasn’t good but it felt good, the softness of your touch, the warmth seeking through your spider-gloves. If you’d allow it, he will fall asleep right here in your arms.

It was impossible for him to resist.

If only Lyla could see him now … big, bad wolf turned into a puppy.

However, he was left dumbfounded when he found himself stripped of your touch, even more so, when he found himself disliking the sudden coldness. Wanting to know what went wrong Miguel starred at you but nothing seemed to have changed. You still looked at him with the same fondness and empathy in your eyes, the only difference was that you’re patting your lap. His eyes followed your directions, and he grew hesitant.

“May I?” It should’ve been Miguel asking and not you. Though, resting on your thighs was a nice, almost heavenly thought but he shouldn’t enjoy your comfort too much. “Miguel, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s okay.” He declined.

“C’mon Miguel, it’s comfortable I promise,” you smiled, but he didn’t move. Surely it must be more comfortable than hanging in your hands, but Miguel couldn’t let himself fall on your lap. Already he was enjoying the tenderness of your fingers too much, what would happen if he rested on your thighs? Would he melt into them like he did with your hands? The though was nice but he resisted, not for long though. Tugging, basically dragging him by his arms, you somehow managed to pull his heavy body down on your lap. Carefully he shifted his weight, so only his head and upper body were lying on you. He didn’t want to crush you. However, the feeling that spread through his body as he rested on your thighs was both nice, comfortable and weird. Overall, it was a weird sensation and he’d found himself in a situation he’d never dreamed about before.

“May I?” Miguel had no idea what you were up to, yet he agreed with a hum. His eyes fell close and he hummed again, when he felt your fingers carefully dancing over his body, moving from his shoulder to his hair. It wasn’t the same when you held him in your hands, fingers holding him and caressing his cheeks. It felt different but good, relaxing your hands running through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. And sometimes he could feel the ghost of your fingertips brushing over his face.

He didn’t know how long you stayed in this position, sitting in silence, him resting on your lap and you caressing him like a pet. Miguel couldn’t remember the last time somebody did this for him or when his muscles felt so relaxed. Again, if you’d allow it, he’ll fall asleep right here by your side. But then he remembered what you asked him a long time ago.

“I killed them.” Miguel’s voice was surprisingly calm, even to him. Neither knowing what he meant nor how to answer this, you remained silent. But he could feel your eyes on him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it … not after confessing murder. Yet, he explained, “I killed them all, billions of people, my – his daughter Gabriella, all because I was selfish. – Gabby died because I was foolish to believe that my actions wouldn’t have any consequences.”

His confession shocked you; he could hear it in the change of your breathing and the stillness of your hands, and something in him died. Shocked by his confession you surely would leave. Push him off you like something disgusting. Maybe you would never talk to him again, unless it was necessary, and the thought scared him. His mind had told him to push you away. It was best to handle it all by himself, it was what he always did. But the stupidity people called the heart had won and now the thought of you leaving scared him.

“Tell me what happened.” Your voice was calm, not scared, not soft, just calm. It wasn’t the reaction Miguel had imagined, especially not when your fingers continued to play with his hair. You weren’t even disgusted by him. What kind of person were you to not leave him? “Tell me what happened.”

And he did. Miguel told you everything. How he took the role of a dead man, living his life and raising his daughter. He made it clear that he thought of his actions as selfish and stupid, because he erased a whole universe and with that Gabriella’s future. Never would he forget the fear in her eyes, how she clung to him, looking for safety, calling for her dad – for him, not knowing her real dad has died – until she disappeared as well.

Telling his nightmare was awful, remembering the horrors of his action never got any less painful. But sharing it with you felt surprisingly relieving. It wasn’t like he was healed from his pain but telling you about it made it a little more bearable. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

How should he answer? Thank you? Moments ago, Miguel would’ve grumbled at the pitiful – no, empathic, he’d learned that much by now – tone in your voice but now he liked it, just as he enjoyed you calling him by his name. Miguel didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t think you killed them, Miguel,” you said after an eternity, never stopping playing with his brown strands. Careful he shifted his weight to look at you. Even with one eye lazily opened, he decided that he liked looking at you, watching how you react to him. “Then, who did?”

Wringing with the words on your tongue you hesitated. “I don’t know.”

In normal circumstances Miguel would be grim, and scoff at your naïve words, claiming to be the villain of his story. The selfish murderer of Gabriella O’Hara. However, now he felt rather tame and tired. It’s enough for him. So, he only hummed, closing his eye to revel in the fondness of your touch.

“But you can’t know either.” He looked at you again. He had to correct you, he knew, it was obvious, really. But before an answer could roll over his tongue you were quick to intervene. “I know what you’re going to say, Miguel. You’ve seen it and to you it makes sense, but listen – I … how does anything make any sense? Multiple universes, anomalies, canon events … we shouldn’t even be here, Miguel. I shouldn’t, none of us. But here we are.”

There’s a hint of sadness in your tone, faint yet he heard and didn’t like it. Miguel knew you’d meant to comfort him but, in the end, you’d realized, that nothing of this should’ve happened. You should’ve never met the friends you made in the spider society, never should’ve met him and never found him dark, and lonely in his room. Almost instinctively his hand reached out to you, gently cupping your face. Now it was his turn to comfort you, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. Unsure if he should draw small circles with his thumb, like he wanted to, or caress like you used to do, he just held you. “Don’t. – The multiverse is mine to preserve.”

“Oh, Miguel.” A soft, but sad smile graced your lips as you laid your hand over his, unwilling to let him go. “It’s not yours, either.”

“But it was my fault, not yours. Don’t worry about something I’ve done.”

You sighed. “Miguel, you shouldn’t carry this burden alone, we’re all Spider-Man. It’s not your duty alone to save the multiverse, you can’t do this alone. I – I think what I’m saying is, you’re not alone, Miguel. You might think that you’ve to do all by yourself but that’s not the truth, we help you, all of us. We will carry that burden with you, I will.”

Truly it was sweet how caring you were, none of you could – and should – carry the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse on your shoulders. It was his job to preserve one less universe from being destroyed. It was his shoulders who had to carry the burden of it all, not yours. None of you should ever have to worry about the stability of your universe. But there was something burning in your eyes as you spoke, something Miguel enjoyed watching. So instead of objecting and lecturing you about the truth he heaved a hefty sigh and closed his eyes, making himself comfortable in your lap. It takes some time until you picked up where you left playing with his hair, gently scratching his skin here and there.

It's quiet as you ran your fingers through his hair, he doesn’t even move. You weren’t even sure if he was still breathing. But you swore you heard a hum, a content sound vibrating through his big body. However, when you try to check on him there’s nothing, no sound, no movement, not even a smile. Miguel simply looked like he’s asleep, stoic and grim – just like when he’s awake. It’s a silly though, him always looking serious no matter if he’s asleep or wake, it made you smile. However, in rare moments, when you’re not looking at him, his lips curl into a grin.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #reader-insert #marvel #spiderman x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #spiderman 2099 #x reader

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gt-scribbles · 7 months

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I love smaller companions, who are very used to their larger or size-shifting companions, being abruptly reminded sometimes of just how large and powerful their friends/partners are.

If you hang around a giant enough [especially one that usually is about your size because they're a size-shifter], eventually you get comfortable with them. Casual. Sometimes you forget, in the midst of their kindness and gentle-ness towards you, that they can level whole buildings. Crush boulders with a single hand. Let loose a beastly roar that shakes your bones and makes even the earth tremble beneath you.

You forget that a lot when you're so used to them laughing with you, taking walks, enjoying nature, letting you ride their shoulder or in their pocket.

And then sometimes, when they go to pick you up under your arms, you're sharply reminded of just _how_ big they are compared to you. Those moments of clarity keep you humble. Keep you... excited, almost.

After all, life with a giant requires a healthy level of self-awareness and respect. But it makes that deep trust and the special treatment you get from them all the more special.

#giant/tiny #sfw Gt #sfw g/t #sfw giant/tiny #size difference #Corrie and I were talking about a giant getting really bad cute aggression and like. having to get it out before gently picking up someone #and that someone having like. 5% 'ah right how could I forget this is very dangerous'. 65% 'nah it's fine I trust them still'.#And then 40% 'ah. hm. ahahaha. //twirls hair around finger// do that again.'#If you're not at least a TINY bit nervous around ur giant friends now and then what's the POINT #where's the SPICE.#Like not AFRAID of them. just. humbly reminded of their abilities. Of their big-ness.

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 7 months

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hot in sarajevo ii

[ part one ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of “y/n”) / 7.3k words / NSFW

cw: body modifications in the form of könig's split tongue, references to monsterfucking, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, actually pretty sweet all things considered. a.n.: this literally kicked my ass during the two months it took to write it, and i sincerely hope you enjoy! sweet to the first half's sour, with a little surprise at the end if you read between the lines. ETERNAL thanks to @dotcie for beta-ing this for me, it wouldn't have been half as lovely without you, and to @parttimeprophet for helping me with my german so i wasn't making silly mistakes <3

The safehouse is a two-story, narrow shed shoved between two other, significantly older, significantly more robust stone buildings. A shithole that looks like it was made of tinder and afterthoughts, but it’s as glorious as an oasis after ten miles of hiking east over craggy, stony hills under a searing sun-fall.

The fading light cooks your back, and there is an uneasy, but needy tension between you and König in the aftermath of a successful and gruesome assassination. Neither were strangers to such orders handed down by KorTac, but you were both experts in carrying them out with bloodthirsty perfection.

When you’d left the campsite staging area in the center of the forest–where König taken you into his lap and fucked you senseless–he hucked you up on his back and hauled you through the forest without asking.

He was not a difficult man to read, at times; he’d felt bad for making your cunt sore.

The thirteen hours of broiling under the harsh Adriatic sun in full-body ghillie suits didn’t ensure an easy or pleasant slog into the city proper. After the maniacal fuck that König required to jailbreak his emotional regulation, you were lucky you were walking at all.

It seems to your eye that, sometimes, he views the world as an iPhone in the hands of an angry fourteen-year-old, and all his ailments are caused by wanting to watch porn outside of their parents’ childlocks. He could do that, and easily, if only he could aim his destruction at the proper target. Holding that thought, you have to remind yourself that König didn’t have any kind of a phone until he was eighteen.

His parents had been of an older generation and had little interest in advancing technology, and no interest in throwing their scant money toward any of it. They’d continued to stagnate in the past–rotting in a poverty-burdened, filthy hoard house, amongst kennels of well-bred Doberman dogs that were better loved than he–while König had moved into the city and the modern era. But he still enjoys jailbreaking his iPhones, if only because he can.

Maybe because he hates restrictions and authority. Maybe because they are the only concepts he understands, even as he struggles against them–though he always ultimately succumbs.

Well. He hates restrictions and authority that doesn’t make him cum.

You’re both dressed down to hiking civvies, and he’s got a black cotton gaiter pulled up his face. You’re sweating in sheets that cascade down your breasts, stomach, and back. Your thighs soak the legs of your pants, and every stride renews the raw, dull ache of chafing skin. There is not a stitch of clothes on your body that does not cling disgustingly to your overheated skin, making you feel beastly.

By looking at König, and his sweat-blackened shirt and narrowed eyes, you can tell he feels the same. A shower cannot come soon enough.

The exfil vehicle that had been waiting after the hike has done well enough of a job, but the closer you got to the safehouse, the narrower the roads became. Ultimately, it has to be abandoned several streets down. Left in a back alley, you pull yourselves out and pop the back hatch, where he pulls the strap of a surplus rucksack over his shoulder. He also takes yours without asking, and adds it to the weight.

“What the fuck are you doing,” you say, not even allowing the end-pitch of a question.

“You can carry the case,” he replies. What an utter gentleman, allowing you to slug your own equipment, like you hadn’t spent years and years humping full packs across the hottest hellholes on the planet under active fire. You’re too tired, and too close to heatsick to argue it too much. The streets around here are mostly dark, quiet and full of Bosnians that mind their business.

Baščaršija is a beautiful place. The old town is full of ancient mosques and minarets on stone-paved streets, some narrow, some wide. There’s one slim street in particular that you pass down, by far older than the necessity of wide paths for motor traffic, where the shops lining it are all broad, tall windows, the lights from within warm and softening the darkness fading into the city.

You pass antique stores, bistros, couples and gaggles of friends crowding around each other, listening to music from their phones, smoking cigarettes, laughing. It’s nothing like home, a completely different animal, but it pulls you in. No one in this city knows that you and the man you walk beside are the cause of four monstrous deaths in the hills.

You are two strangers, finding solace in hands reaching for hands, a moment of exhaled relief when contact is made by the tentative and exploratory brush of fingers. For a brief moment, you let yourself buy into the thought that you are just a backpacker, finding your way to lodgings with your boyfriend, carrying an odd case that could be anything.

König’s grip becomes more insistent, a thick layer of dependence in its tight hold, and he looks dead ahead, head lowered, shoulders bunched. You give him three quick squeezes–I love you–and he answers it back with four–I love you, too. You now turn your attention to getting a read on him.

Normally, he is amped after a successful mission, but he was already needy. His jaw is set hard, and his eyes are flat and flinty. He’s looking, but not seeing. You know that he’s turned against himself.

The pair of you had fallen together in a frenzy. To call your fall for one another an orbital strike would be an understatement. Yours was a crash site made home, and the months of settling under the strange, but welcome and cherished atmosphere of a relationship had begun to peel away the dermis, revealing the sensitive nerves and muscle below.

There lives a hatred in König’s soul that often turns inward. Would that he could rip himself to shreds like a sheet of paper folded and twisted under nervous hands. And he does. You still haven’t found a way to break through those walls–hell, you don’t think he even knows how he erected them, because he would also see them crumbled and turned into utter wreckage.

If you were going to pull logic out of the chaos that’s occupied his body since he was thirteen, you would have to admit to yourself that there isn’t anything you can do. That he’s the one that has to somehow find away to break apart and rebuild the way he thinks, nearly on a molecular level.

With no other help to offer, feeling weak and useless in the face of his battle, you hold his hand, and you walk beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he says after two blocks of walking. Spits it out sudden-like, not meeting your eyes. His posture is fucked, slumping him forward.

“Stop that shit.” No heat, you never use heat with him; the man’s been burned enough. “Wouldn’t I tell you if I didn’t like the way you handled me?”

There is a telling pause, you can feel the lie he’s building on his tongue become too big to swallow or spit. He grinds it down between his molars, and his hand grows tighter around yours in desperation.

“I think you would lie to make me feel better.”

It’s an earnest and brave bit of truth–the man developed a frightening skill with white lies through his life to survive all of the shit hands he was dealt, and his skin crawls under the admission. But your love is dissection, vivisection: it has given you months of slow, thorough study, and an understanding of what patterns his thoughts led him down to land on that conclusion.

It is what he would do to make you feel better.

“Lee,” you say, using the part of his real name that he finds acceptable, and only from you, “you know I give more of a fuck about your security than your comfort when it comes to shit like this.”

The blunt admission makes him stifle a wince, but he holds tight when you slip out of his hand to wrap your arm around his waist, his arm around your shoulders.

The moment you’re through the threshold of the safehouse, the Steyr’s case hits the floor, along with your packs, and out come the sidearms. You and König slide right into formation, clearing the building room by room, call and response in flight like crows.

He takes the lead, and you follow–as much as he might not like the designation dumped in his lap, he is good at it, running hot with his jaw ticking, eyes engaged and unblinking. It was a barb during the fuck, calling him an insertion specialist, but there is not another soul at KorTac that you would trust with your safety on the ground the way you put your life in his hands.

After the building is confirmed clear, it comes time for your speciality. Both of you are experts in urban warfare, but where his skill lies in blunt force, yours burns brightest in paranoia.

Paratrooper by training, guerilla tactics by experience, tearing apart the house in search of bugs or aberrations. Anything wrong, anything out of place. It takes longer than the clearing, König helps, and at the end, the safehouse is as spotless as it can be from a tactical standpoint.

Standing in the attic bedroom, you stretch your back. “I’m radioing in. You hit the shower.”

He shakes his head and makes an argumentative noise. “Nah. Give me your pieces, I’m breaking down and cleaning everything,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly.

He presents his .50 GS–a literal hand cannon, and a fraternal twin to your own–without asking, and holds it out to you by the barrel. You do not like the way your hand feels wrapping around the checkering on the grip. You do not like that it’s aimed at his stomach.

You take it anyway, holding it loose in one hand with your finger on the trigger guard, and pass him your P99 and matching .50 from the holsters under your arms. There is sore white all around his eyes, and he is not blinking.

“Where are you setting up?” he asks, voice tense like a wire-plucked.

Your initial report runs smoothly, getting in contact with Majka on a secure, encrypted line on the tablet usually kept in König’s possession. For this operation, your call signs are Schakals. Jackals. Wild things, unafraid of humanity. Wandering far too close, with teeth too ready to reveal under peeled chops.

König stays close, breaking down your guns a mere cushion away on the couch where you’ve planted your ass, hips aching and thighs tight now that the aftershocks of sex have long, long faded. His head remains bowed, and his gaiter remains in place. Every few minutes, he rolls his shoulders back. Forcing the blades of bone together, trying to release tension that will not let go.

When your report closes out, and you move to sit forward reaching for your cigarettes and lighter, König jerks as he turns to you. “Where’re you going?” His question is brittle, and keyed-up, eyes darting over your body as you settle back a bit.

“Nowhere, calm down,” you tell him, lighting two cigarettes. “Can I pull down your mask so I can give you this?”

He responds in a subtle nod, and you reach for his trappings to tuck the cigarette into the corner of his scarred mouth. König tries to follow your hand when you pull away, a nigh-unconscious tell that gives away his endless desire to be near you, always. It’s a level of wantedness you still grapple to understand–and it’s gut-turning fear mixed with crushing want that makes you pull your hand away instead of cupping his jaw.

You were never told what to do with the parts of yourself that somehow remained soft through the abuse of years. You’re stuck having to teach yourself, and it is not an easy process, though König has helped break an innumerable amount of those barriers.

He looks kicked when you sink back into the armrest of the couch, until you shove your feet under his thigh, flicking your eyes toward the neatly disassembled handguns on the trunk-cum-coffee table before him, a silent nudge of keep going.

Some peace washes over him as he cleans the broken-down guns, heeding your urging.

His eyes don’t ever soften, not that you’ve ever really seen–except for rare moments, when he looks at you, and you wonder what visual information his brain is processing from his retinas. It puts you in a wondering state: curious if he thinks of you in the poetry of weapons engineering, or nuclear physics, or the black shine of blood spilled at night–but his gaze isn’t dagger-edged in concentration.

Neither would you call it contentment. You know König is only content when he’s burned through all of his bad energy, and all the screaming in his head has died down to guttering, airless moans.

“Do you want to go out and get food later?” you pose to him, thinking back on the smell of kebabs roasting over burning coals overwhelming your memory and empty gut, and he nods again. Neither of you speak Bosnian or Serbian, but his Croatian is conversational, and passable enough.

“Saw a couple booths doing Turkish coffee on the way. You’ve ever had that?” he asks half-mumbled, his attention unevenly divided.

“You can do it on a stove, but it’s not the same as…,” he says, drifting, and your mouth twitches toward a smile when you realize he’s moved past the other half of his sentence. A good half inch of ash clings to the end of his cigarette, and it falls on his thigh, utterly unnoticed as he slides the guns back together slow as syrup.

It’s a bit fun to watch as he pours his attention into the flow of his hands. On the field you’ve seen him breakdown and rebuild these same guns in seconds when demanded. There’s some measure of novelty in watching him take his time.

Your guns are handed back to you, cleaned first and checked over for defects. You slide them back into your holsters, just like coming home as you silently observe him moving onto the Steyr.

The god-killing gun falls apart in his hands–pulled piece by piece in diagrammatic sequence from the molded foam from a case twice as expensive as your monthly rent–as if waiting for his attention, spread across the coffee table in a way that seems almost indecent to your eye.

Maybe it’s a situation of projection–identifying with the horrendous and heavy weapon that, just today, took four lives in one of the most brutal ways imaginable. Thinking of yourself in precision machined pieces, willing and eager to disassemble under König’s hands, because you know he will dedicate himself fully to your continued existence and function.

The Steyr’s all spread out before him like you often are, a pile of components unmade at his hands: unscrewed barrel, its bipod assembly, its scope and sights and grips, its magazine and receiver.You feel yourself pulse, clit throbbing in time with your increasing heartbeat.

Maybe you should be more open and honest during your next psych eval, if you’re getting this wet over thinking of yourself as similar in nature to a rifle.

This process takes longer, but when König is finished, handing you the cigarette butt to put out, he puts the pieces back into the appropriate slots in the case. He stretches back, smelling like the slick, oily residue of DW-40 and the metallic odor of the faintly acidic oils on his skin reacting with the weapon’s metal. It clings to and pinches your soft palate like the sting of a sweat bee, something you can feel just under your eyes.

His spine cracks, releasing a hard, meaty sound as the joints give, and he grunts in relief, turning his head toward you. He looks like he’s about to say something, but stops right before the words can gather behind his teeth.

Shit, you must be obvious. Can’t help the pull on your lips as you look up at him, shifting your legs, your thighs pressing together, amplifying the thump of your blood. “Hey.” Stupid thing to say really, but your come-on lines have never been all that stellar. But he’s always excited you, made you feel giddy and frivolously young and unburdened. Like you’re finally able to have all the things were denied as you grew into adulthood, shoved aside in favor of trauma that demanded the attention more.

“Hey,” he says, laughing a bit. He pulls what he can of his scarred lips between his teeth, wetting them, his brow furrowing. “I’m going to wash my hands. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Briefly, there is a twitch in your stomach, watching him go, and the anticipation and giddiness twist for a moment toward sickness. Sometimes, you worry he will leave and not come back. That he’ll have decided that he’s had enough, even with his threshold as high as it is, and he will simply be gone.

But, true to his word, he’s not gone long at all, just gone to the kitchen on the other side of the room, and you are bad off all over again. Watching him bow his head and hunch slightly to fit his hands under the stream of steaming water, soap foaming clear up his wrists, is making your mouth flood and your throat clicking dry. Big bastard, he’s doing it on purpose, hitting all of your buttons.

And the way he maintains eye contact with you all the way back, his hips loose and rocking, his pants already beginning to tent. His deep breathing gives him away, nevermind the fact that he hasn’t pulled his gaiter back up.

He sits back down, turned toward you, and pushes his hands under the hem of your shirt, his palms warm and soft from the wash and scrub. His thumbs knead into your skin, and his lids droop as his fingers tuck into the waistband of your pants. The pressure in his fingertips is possessive, greedy, starved like a street dog. He savors your skin, tracing patterns where he knows your tattoos live beneath your skin, pressing the heels of his hands into your hips.

Your tongue feel like lead. Everytime he touches you like this, it reads loud and clear that he’s holding onto something–someone he considers his. He’s surveying the scope of his lands, his dominion, and, dear god, does he love this country he calls home.

“Bitte, Schatzi,” he mumbles, leaning forward so minimally anyone else in the world would need a micrometer to measure the distance moved, “let me have your cunt. I’m starved, and you look like you’re having fits.” A wicked smirk flickers over the corner of his mouth as his eyes darken, and his hands grip tighter where they’ve slid to your waist. “I’m probably the world’s biggest asshole, but I can’t stand to just watch you suffer because of me.”

You pull your tongue along the bottom edge of your teeth, thinking of how he was in the woods earlier–sharp-edged and demanding, unrelenting, holding you in place over his cock as he rammed into you over and over, until you literally saw stars and couldn’t breathe. Aggression, all claws, borderline unfit for human companionship, all under a soft gold sunset. And, here, you still would not say the man before you is a different man at all. He’s just König. He’s just Leopold Königsbacher, from Schladming, Austria, who juggles kitchen knives to make you laugh.

“You just wanna sink down there til you grow gills or something?” you ask, a bedroom, sliding your leg into his lap, soaking up the look of relief on his face. His hands slide farther down, cradling the swell of your hips, as you undo your belt and zipper, pushing your pants and boxers down.

He helps pull them down as far as either of you can, looking fucking ridiculous as your clothes can’t go farther than your boots. Doesn’t pay to take them off, no matter how long you’re going to be here, you might have to run, and it’s easier to keep everything within pulling distance.

Flicking his eyes over your body, a small, caught-out smirk touches his lips. “Hah. Yeah, jawohl. Would live between your fucking legs, if I could.” His hips roll against nothing, rubbing his hard cock against the strain of his pants. You know there’s an anxiety in him that screams to fuck and to fuck now, and it’s raising its head.

König has the sort of anxiousness where if the things he desires do not happen immediately, they will not happen at all. His mind works in such a way that even small things become so desperately escalated into needs, he can hardly function without answering those demands.

On the best of days, you’re not much for words, and he has no natural talent for them–he can talk at screeching speeds, expelling high levels ideas that are baffling or frightening with ease, but his delivery is lacking, and leaves his listeners shifting uncomfortably or looking for exits. You, on the other hand, are simply not good at them. Too cold, too strange. Too blunt, or removed. But König understands you as you understand him, and he coaxes sweet nothings out of you more than anyone else has ever managed.

Despite the sweetness that spills from your lips being an understood language between you, none of your words are the soft, looping things most would like to hear muttered into their skin. In the bedroom-dark safety of bodies-meeting-bodies, you and König still snap out the sounds of predators, and anyone scenting as prey would fail to find the beauty in your phrases as he does.

And, beyond that, you’re not sure you could even find words. Not with him towering over you between your legs, though he bows lower. Not with the light from the kitchen behind his head hitting the wheat-colored curls escaping from his hair tie, illuminating him like a saint. Lord, he looks like dreams you used to have.

You reach for his neck, and you tug him down, permission passed without even parting your lips, and the relief that relaxes his eyes is colossal. Like he’s walking his way home in the dark on a path he would know blind and numb, he finds his way to your cunt with the ease of muscle memory.

But König is still König, and his anxiety will always outweigh his softness tenfold. He lets out this nervous, pitchy hyena laugh of excitement. Not waiting for permission and not giving a second of preamble, he licks you from asshole to clit in a broad, wet swipe with his long, split tongue.

Electricity shoots straight up your spine. Almost immediately, he buries back in, massaging the halves of his tongue around your clit like he’s painting in brush strokes.

He ropes an arm around your leg and over your pelvis, weighing you down, and fits his free hand into the crease where your thigh meets your hip. Using that as extra leverage, he pulls himself further in, and pushes your legs further back–hobbled as they are by your clothing around your ankles. Your skin burns like an oil derrick in flames every spot you’re touched, and his mouth is volcanic; you only just this moment realizes how badly you needed to thaw.

You were a barracks bunny before König and your mutual, supermassive possessive streaks; always easy to put out, wet on your own command, perpetually bored and looking for fun stolen minutes at a time. You can easily say sex is a sorely jaded topic in your roster.

But, holy fuck, every time he hits his knees to devour you feels new, and alien, and strange.

Not only his tongue—practiced, clever thing it is now that he’s been able to take his natural talent for it to use with you, drawing figure eights and pinching and pulling at you, teasing your hole and your clit at once—but his utter, sustained greed pitched against his plain desire to serve. How he gets more focused and desperate, sucking on your lips, groaning into you, sounds become wetter by the second.

“Pretty, fuck, your pussy’s so pretty,” he mutters, panting, pausing to kiss your seam. Between your cunt and thigh, your perineum, making you squirm and whine. His dogmatic fervor has always been borderline chilling–you’ve never been handled with this level of desire, or needed so fiercely you function akin to air that is needed to live.

No one has ever loved you this way–no one before him. If you could wrap the threads of fate around your forearms like the reins of horses, to exert your horrid and steely control over them, he will never have a successor.

It will always be only him.

You reach down and grab him by the hair at his temples, which you’ve never ceased to be charmed to find is gray before his years. “Fuck me—with your tongue, right now,” you command him, and he complies, only reaching up to hook his thumb in your shirt and bra to ruck them up over your breasts.

The instant stretch makes you dizzy, squeezing your thighs tight around his head. Don’t his cheekbones just cut right into your muscle, and doesn’t he just moan and heave a whole body shudder under you? Greedy fucking man, pushing his tongue deeper, scissoring the halves of it wide in all directions, curling against your walls as he finds an angle for his neck that fits him to thrust in and out of you. Feasting, feasting, feasting.

It’s a fullness you’ve only recently gotten used to with him–too much dexterity, too fluid and swirling, and it reminds you shamefully of all the times you’ve masturbated to the point of wrist-aches with tentacles, and aliens, and monsters on your mind. Fevered, otherworldly, inhuman beasts dying of desire, with the sparkling-sharp sentience to know exactly how to slake their thirst and sate their hunger.

His hands grip tighter, nails digging into your flesh, and you know it’s going to leave bruises, but you don't care. It only gets better when he cracks his eyes, a picture of anguish and ecstasy, moaning deep and rumbling in his chest.

It seems he brings himself under some form of control. His mouth turns pliant, and the way he tastes you turns indulgent, slow. The only man you’ve ever met who could self-soothe by eating pussy. And, shit. Doesn’t that work out perfectly for you.

Your hands soften, brushing over his tied-back hair, playing with loose ringlets. Staring down at him, watching the creases fade from his forehead and from around his scars, he looks satisfied, and at peace. It’s a look you’ve seen only rarely, not even in his sleep.

He sighs and groans, kneading your thighs, when he makes you come on his tongue, sliding it in and out of you as lazy as late, humid afternoons; rumbling deep in his throat when you arch off the cushions, groaning and clenching your thighs to keep them from squeezing around his head again.

“Aw, fuck, Kö—,” you half-whine, making him hum a nasal laugh, pulling out of you agonizingly slow. The lower half of his face is a mess with your slick, shining under the light, and his pupils are dilated to the size of fucking 10-cent pieces.

There’s a proud, giddy cut to his expression, his scarred-crooked mouth pulling into a lopsided grin, chest heaving.

“Did you like that, Schatzi? Did it make you feel good?” he pushes, his hands coming to your knees, fingers pressing firmly into your flesh.

“Yeah,” your voice drags as you speak, laughter raspy. Your racing heartbeat is only just starting to slow, and the whole of your body pulses in time. There is delight in being rocked by ground-shaking tectonics of pleasure. There is divinity in the way he looks down at you–starving, an acolyte wanting to worship. “Have a condom on you?”

A quick nod is your answer, and he starts to pull up your body, dropping your legs. It’s ridiculous and hurried, and the laugh that bursts out of you is huge, taking on a life uniquely its own when he starts climbing in between your legs and your pulled-down pants, “What are you fucking doing?”

“Path of least resistance, even though it looks like the path of most resistance!” he barks in return, laughing too loudly and frenetically, filling the room. He hikes your pants up over his ass and onto back, yanking you further down the couch, and deeper into his lap. As simple as if you were just a jump harness he had to wrestle into. “I’m thinking on that fifth dimension shit right now! You have to catch up, Schatzi,” he says, giving you a maniac, you get it? grin.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you accuse him, but you’re beaming and cackling all the same, unfastening a chain from around your neck with zero thought, working a fully blind impulse.

“No, you’re fucking an idiot,” he shoots right back, “really, Liebe, you have to at least try to keep up.”

Oh, and what the fuck. This is König–the one that you dream about, the one you go looking for when the world wants to crush you in its titanic fucking grip. Thinks himself so dog-ugly, dog-tired. Distempered, foul, and unworthy of anything but beating.

He’d probably sneer, roll his eyes, and insult you if you compared him to the sun, but the thought remains firmly anchored in your head as your hands slide the thin, cheap chain around his neck twice, fixing the clasp at his nape. König’s too distracted to notice much more than lifting his chin to afford you access, as he pulls out his cock and rolls the rubber down it.

When he lines himself up with your cunt, looking too eager, the two fingers you keep tucked between a strand of the chain and his neck tug, tightening the links around his skin. At once, you’ve got his full attention, his chest heaving as he holds himself above you.

“What’s that?” he asks, licking his lips, beginning to tremble, leaning into the pull of pressure. “What’re you doing?”

“I was thinking about playing with your air a little bit. That okay?” you purr, giving the chain another small tug. “Nothing big. I won’t cut your breathing off completely. But I thought you might like it.”

“Oh, fuck.” He starts up laughing again, but it’s dripping with a rotten core of sudden need. “Bitte–think you have to, now. Can’t just tease me with that shit and not deliver.”

It was in your head to pull him down over you, but your breath catches in your throat looking at him. With half your body bound to him by tangled clothing and your own greedy legs anchoring tight to his sides, each of you flush with laughter and arousal, your heart is a bleeding stone on your tongue. Instead of staining your teeth as the blood rolls out of your mouth, it spills in reverse, and you can hardly drink your fill of it before you begin to choke.

“I love you—” It snaps out of your mouth and dies, the harsh need to hide away your face makes you pull him down, moaning as he slides deeper, and, fuck, it hurts. You’re still so tender, and bruised, and god knows what else from this taking just barely managing to handle the way he’d fucked you that afternoon that anything but slow, sweet, and shallow was going to be an agony endured.

His hips buck and jag, entire throat filling with the moan of your real name. He tries so hard not to fuck into you fully, planting his hands on either side of your arms as if he’ll bar himself from giving into his own body.

“Don’t do that, don’t do that, don’t do that,” he begs and rambles, shuddering, breathing in shallow, clipped laps as if freezing. His hips and legs shift, nearly nervous–a horse spooked and dying to run. “Oh, fuck, don’t do that,” he pleads, hanging his head, trying hard to catch his breath.

The chain is so easy to use, and he listens to the summon of pressure, sucking in a breath to hold it tight. His body sways, buffeted by arousal as if he is a ship on deep-rolling seas, and his head ends up sunken within whispering distance of your lips. So close you can smell the sweat cooling through his curls. So close you can taste the copper-tinged scent of his skin without ever licking him.

“You’re so good, Schatz,” you say, tapping on a name you rarely call him, borrowing his language. “Such a good boy. Such a loving boy.” The pain dulls to a throbbing ache that can be enjoyed, his hips slowing as he rocks into you. Already, he runs ragged, but his rhythm is bursting with devotion and slow-melting sweetness.

There is a monster that lives in your chest, cradling, always, the molar-cracking force with which you love König. The beast beneath that calls your ribcage a prison and a home does not know a single way to handle things in half-measures. There are no lengths you would hesitate to go for the man above and inside you, head bent and buried into your shoulder in supplication.

Your pillow-talk starts to spill out, eyes sliding closed, as you revel in the breath making your skin humid, “I couldn’t stand seeing you with anyone else, Schatz. If you ever left me–ever started fucking another person–think I’d kill ‘em. I’d lose my shit, not being the last person you ever took to bed.”

“I wouldn’t–oh, sheiße–Schatzi, I would never,” König vows in a moan, the sound filling the dip above your collarbone like collected sweat or blood pooled from a spilling neck wound.

He loses sense of his rhythm, rutting like an animal in heat. It becomes difficult to ride it out with him, timing his peaks with the pull on the chain, forcing him higher and higher. You’re too sore to cum like this again today, but his mouth had seen to it that you were finished. Now it is a matter of making him match as he rides you, pressing more and more of his weight down.

“Cum. God dammit, König, you need to cum,” you command him, breathless, pulling the chain taut now. It’s been entirely too long now that he’s been keyed up, desperate for your cunt, gripping you to his body like he needs the touch to simply survive. The way he breathes, when you allow him, is the heavy heaving of brittle-dry sobs. His skin burns against yours, sliding with the sheer amount of sweat pouring from his body.

It’s almost enough to make your eyes roll back, listening to him whimper, “I’m trying, I’m trying, bitte, Liebes, I promise,” his voice unraveling into an escalating, hysterical, almost panicked moaning.

“I know–I know you are, honey. Christ–fuck–you’re killing me. Love how you fuck me. Love how hard you get when you kill people. How you act all fucked up, and vile, and need to cut loose,” you gasp, more of the vulgarity breaking out of you as your ragged pants barely manage to pull air into your lungs. “Know this isn’t that. I know you’re–being gentle on purpose. Fucking me like you need me, ‘cause you do. You couldn’t move on from me–there is no one else, is there?”

There is one last ruthless constriction of chains against his throat, holding him tight. This time you really do cut his air, metal biting into your fingers. The last stretch of his desperation draws longer–long enough you wonder if it was a mistake–as every roll of his hips slides him deeper.

A sound chokes in his throat, and he holds himself rigid, his shoulders quaking with suppressed trembling as his wrapped cock kicks inside you. He’s not even breathing, obeying the constriction around his neck, and he rocks the longer it draws out. For a stupid moment, you wonder if he’s somehow blacked the fuck out in his frozen state, until the links holding the chain’s clasp give, the necklace snapping.

He pulls in a huge gust of air and collapses on top of you, forcing your chin to slot over his shoulder as his weight crashes down, pushing the wind out of you.

“Shit–damn, baby, was it that good?” you ask, relieved and shaking in time to match his. You didn’t cum, but you didn’t need nor want to. You find yourself perfectly satisfied, the heady, filthy contact of skin sticking together its own prize.

“Shh,” he admonishes you, taking a huge breath, sloppily kissing your neck.

“We didn’t even shower.”

“Shh,” he now insists, lazily lifting a hand to cup it over your mouth, and he rumbles with contentment as you place your teeth on the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger.

After an indecently thorough shower, you both dress in the small cubby of a bathroom afforded to you. It’s a slow process, König seemingly spending more time kissing you and touching you than actually dressing. The sadness and desperation had gone out of him with the sex–it could even be called lovemaking, but. Well. You’re both on the far side of skittishness when it comes to naming something so gently.

But, in turn, you are softer. Kinder. Thawed. When his hands slide into yours, you massage his palms and the heel of his thumb. You squeeze his fingers, and brush the soft veins of his wrist with your fingertips.

Your love is dissection, vivisection, but there is a reason that flesh is cut and dermis, fascia, and muscle are pulled apart.

It is to learn the body beneath your hands, and you are so acutely learned in König. When you kiss his palms, he breathes in tightly. When you put a hand over his chest, as if to hold his oversized heart, you swear he would let you cradle it to calm the slamming it produces.

“I love you,” you say to him, sliding your eyes up to his, liquid-smooth, flowing. This time it is said with intent. It is not a burst of confession in the midst of blistering heat, where it feels guilty and fraudulent. This is a surety. This is your heart speaking with a projected voice.

He takes your hand off his chest, his face softened with a weak expression and glittering eyes, and he presses his lips to your knuckles. After the kiss, he holds you there, simply nuzzling your skin. “Ich liebe dich, auch, mein Liebe,” he murmurs, lids sitting heavy over that blue you know so well.

Baščaršija had awoken as you two had hidden in one another’s bodies. The sky is dark as pitch, and the light pollution from the bazaar blots out the stars, but the air smells spiced and warm, with a faint tinge of sweat-touched skin leftover on the locals who had spent their days under the sun.

While waiting in line for the coffee König had mentioned as he’d broken down and cleaned your guns, he examines the snapped length of your necklace. “It’d be an easy fix. Might have to wait until we’re home, but–no, yeah–two minutes, tops,” he says, pinching the stretched-out link that had caused the failure below the free edge of his thumb nail.

You lift a shoulder in a shrug, looking down at his hands. “It’s cheap, I’m not worried about it. I have to have a dozen and a half just like that in my junk jewelry box,” you snort. It’s an easy let-go. It’s garbage silver over copper, and it’s not worth the money that made the tag that once hung from it.

“Always with the shitty jewelry,” he sighs, bemused, but it’s not a real jab. He still winds the chain around two of his fingers to make a little bundle, and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s not going to let it remain broken, simply because it’s yours. He’s quiet for a moment, though he hums warmly when you turn around and press your back into his chest, your boots between his boots while you wait in the queue. But he starts, “You know…”

You press back into him, humming, “Hm?” in answer.

“I could buy you jewelry, if you want. Real jewelry,” he begins to venture, tone a completely different animal than you’re used to meeting eyes with. It’s almost hesitant, and isn’t that just so massively strange when it comes to this man. “Or…a diamond.”

The word lands like an anomalous warhead–something gargantuan and frightening, that does not detonate on impact. It’s still a terrifying occurrence, but not an instant death as should be feared. Your back straightens against him, and you fall into a controlled breathing pattern in the same way you’d fall into a plummet when running off the back of a cargo plane. Good god, you hope your chute opens.

“Do you like diamonds?” he queries further, soft and anxious. He begins to shift and fidget. He’d hoped for a faster answer to this question-beneath-a-question.

Reaching behind you, you draw your hand down the length of his arms, until he pulls out of his hoodie pocket. Relaxation floods his body the moment you lace fingers with him, squeezing him tight, three times, I love you, and his four beat answer comes quickly.

“Diamonds are pretty,” you start, slow and careful in navigation of the thoughts ricocheting around your racing heart. Exhilaration? Dread? Hope? You can’t possibly tell, but you know exactly what he’s asking. “I’d want a lab grown one, though. Think we have enough blood on our hands without jumping for something mined,” you further, in small beats. “What about a, uhm. What do you think of a sapphire? Maybe…something heirloom.”

Callused fingers brush your knuckles, and a scarred mouth hidden by a black cotton gaiter lowers to your ear, nuzzling your hair. “I’d love how you look wearing a sapphire,” he murmurs in utter reverence. It makes you scoff a little under your breath–he holds you in higher esteem than he’d ever held any god–but you reach up and offer benediction in the form of your free fingers sliding into his freshly washed curls.

“Maybe that’s something we’ll talk about more coming up, huh?” you ask and assure. It is not a no, you are not putting out his flame completely, but this is something that should not be spoken of while clocking hours with kills. You’d rather not have anything between you and König defined in a setting where blood could shower at any moment. You’d like neither blood diamonds, nor blood proposals. “But, yeah, Schatz. I’d wear your jewelry.”

He presses a kiss to the spot in front of your ear, and quickly pinches your ass, laughing hyena-pitched once again. “Good. You wouldn’t get to take it off, you know. I’m going to put it on you, and a mortician is going to have to remove it.”

You rub the spot he’d pinched, giving him an eye roll over your shoulder. “Ah, I see, so you’re also telling me that you get to die, first,” you deadpan, though you can’t stop the smirk that curls your mouth.

“Of course. Why would I want to hang around any fucking place you’re not?” he throws your way, and in the pit of your heart, you know he means it.

tag-list: @alittleposhtoad @bitchoftoji @jaredhopworthsknickers @kastlequill @miyabilicious @moths569 @pssytrux <3

#konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig smut #my work

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bruneburg · 2 years

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beastly reminder

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muffinsin · 5 days

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Also if it's not too much trouble, here's a request for whenever you can get to it ^^

Could you please write some more Daniela x werewolf gf (a/b/o)? Dani keeping them around and having them on a collar + leash �� Also loved all the licking from the first one so that would be appreciated as well. Thanks!

- simp anon

Hell yeah, some more Dani content! Let’s get into it :)! I’m not sure what other werewolf gf HCs I wrote, but I’d guess it’s somewhere in the masterlists if I wrote it, seeing as you mentioned a first post, hon🙌

Masterlists

You’re her precious little puppy, as she likes to playfully call you

Sometimes, your name is upgraded to her “big, scary wolf”. At other times, you’re simply her “pretty pup”

The way she went about courting you was- quite her style, simply put

She stumbled upon you in the forests outside the castle, injured, yet having slain yourself a deer

She watches for a while, her golden eyes flittering across your fur and large body stature

She knows, without doubt, you’re a werewolf. No varcaloc is built this way, and no lycan looks this pretty

As she watches you transform back into your human form as the sun rises, she nearly gasps in excitement

Daniela knows: she must have you

And have you, she did, and does

Dragged off to live at the castle, things could’ve gone a lot worse for you. Alas, you’re living comfortably

Kept mainly in her room, you somehow serve as her pet, you feel

Still, she appreciates you as both, the beast- as she likes to affectionately call your beastly form- and the human

From the first day of waking up in her room until today, you are made to wear a collar. A beautiful, burgundy one, with a dark green gemstone embedded at the front that so clearly marks you as hers

You have learned, especially in your early days at the castle, that there is no taking it off should she not permit it

And really, in time, you don’t see a reason to take it off

It’s a comfortable weight against your throat, and serves as a beautiful reminder that you are wholly hers

When transformed, you are to wear a larger, thicker collar, that usually comes with a leash that is attached when she is with you

Often, she insists on picnics out in the forest, and usually, you are made to carry the wooden basket by the handle in your mouth, your sharp teeth digging into it and a snarl, then a whimper, coming from you whenever the leash is tugged just slightly too hard

While being a rather playful predator, more entertained by toying with her prey than actually capturing it right away, she likes to take you on hunts with her

And really? You enjoy it immensely

Her sweet, loud giggle as she shows you off as hers, the big, bad werewolf appearance that never fails to pull a fearful expression from her prey

Sometimes, she demands you chase after the poor fools

At other times, she merely laughs, blows you a kiss, and excitedly swarms after them

In winter, she likes to warm up by sleeping on top or below you

Usually, this means curling up in your werewolf form in front of the fireplace and feeling her colder body curl up and cuddle into your fur, or curling up on top of her in your humane shape, your nose gently pressing into her neck as you sleep and share her bed

In the beginning, you were granted only a few pillows on the floor next to her bed

Nowadays, she usually allows you to sleep cuddled up or at the foot of her bed, surrounded by her scent and pillows

She likes to give you pats and scratches, whether you are transformed or not

Daniela enjoys doing this especially around your neck, ears, head and shoulders

In return, she likes when you kiss or lick down her neck and stomach

A secret desire of hers is to have you demonstrate your strength

Whether this is during hunts or at random doesn’t matter to her, yet it has her swoon every time

To have someone this powerful and strong; yet not compare to her own strength

Still, she relishes in the feeling of your strong arms when you help her out the tub or pick her up in the mornings

Often, she will outright ask you to lift her

At other times, she likes to let herself fall down into your arms. She knows you will catch her, after all

And at other times, Daniela will merely grow quiet and blush as you pick her up at random and she attempts to cool her warm face with her cold hands

During the day, she likes to take you hunting, cuddle together, kiss and share meals, tend to hobbies, or read stories either together, or have her read to you

During meals, your position varies based on your form

As a human, you are allowed to sit at the table, next to her, your leash tied around the table leg, your chair close to hers

When transformed, you are made to sit by her feet, sat on the floor, eating from a plate or bowl, collared and your leash held tightly in her unoccupied hand

Sometimes, she shoots you a loving smile and slips some more meat off her plate and onto yours

She insists, you look adorable, looking up at her in this form, she can’t help but slip you more food even as Alcina scolds her for it

When tending to hobbies, she likes to share all of hers with you, and indulge in yours

She likes to spend time with you as you tend to yours, or parallel play and focus on her in the meantime

In cases of tending to the garden, she often asks you to help her out in winter, when she stands longingly at the window, yet her heart swoons as she watches you remove the weeds for her and plant flowers when she can’t

And lastly, as it comes to reading, the loves nothing more than to cuddle up in your fur, warm and soft, and read to you

Usually, she lets you choose what story and book she picks up, should she not be in the mood for something specific already

In the end, both of you know, you’re hers, and she is yours

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #beta reader bc undefined #simp anon #this has been in my inbox for…ages

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ssplague · 3 days

Text

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Warnings ⛔️ A/B/O themes, soulmates, mating, sex, manipulation, power and control.

Honorable mentions 💌 @lalachanya @mrsmelaninhood

@whatdidshesayyy @faemagic88

@viridianhero @alishii @rv19

@maggiecc @crazy-eight17 @nnubee

“All for you, All because of you”

The sight of you standing in the shadows of the hallway, made Bakugou feel as if the breath had been sucked from his lungs. You look from the angry blonde, to the way he holds your green haired savior. A brief flash of anger reflects in your eyes, while your facial features display abject terror. Seeing your display of negative emotions focused solely upon him, had something in the shifter’s chest aching painfully. “Unhand him! Put him down right now!” You demanded shakily, tears begin to well up in your eyes, quick to overflow and dribble down your cheeks. “He was just trying to help by getting me out of the storm! Please don’t Kill him! PLEASE!” You wailed, feeling absolutely helpless.

The original shock that your sudden appearance had brought on was quick to fade. Each of the men regained their composure, each one’s expression was drastically different from the other’s.

Deku being dropped to the floor has you shrinking back against the wall. Done in attempts to make yourself smaller, hopefully small enough to go unnoticed. Only to realize how stupid that thought was, while the one you now knew as a blood thirsty beast approaches. Flames danced within the crimson stare, its intensity was solely focused on you. A chaotic swell of feelings had resulted from the earlier encounter with Shindo. Even after channeling said feelings Into a rage fueled destruction, the continued heart ache had been too great for his mortal self to endure. So Bakugou had let his draconic side bear the brunt of that emotional onslaught, to which the beast didn’t seem to mind. Now however…with you mere inches away, cowering at his feet, the beastly side of him was fighting like mad to remain in control.

We found her!

Let’s take her, mark her, make her understand there is no escape!

Somehow you had managed to hold his gaze since it landed on you. Despite the fact that your body is shaking like a leaf caught in the wind. For a split second the actual scene infront of him is altered; Rather than being in Deku’s shitty second home the two of you were in the dragon king’s most cherished place, with his fangs piercing your neck as he mounted you from behind. Quick as the vision had come, it just as rapidly dissipated.

Obviously this image was forced to the forefront of his mind on purpose. Pathetic, as if he needed any more incentive to take what was already his.

Her eyes are even more beautiful when she cries…Just look at her, poor thing is wound up as tight as a bow string…

Reminds me of a timid little doe in the forest, ready to run at the first sign of danger…

As Bakugou slowly brings a large hand up towards your face, you flinch instinctively.

“Y/N…I would never harm you…how could your opinion of me have shifted so drastically just from hearing some ridiculous stories?” His voice is soft as he speaks to you, the calloused pad of his thumb drying your tears.

“Are they really just stories? You looked perfectly capable of killing Midoryia right now, maybe you would have even enjoyed doing so…” you gesture toward Izuku as you finally look away from Bakugou. Your heart ached with some strange unspoken need to be close to this man, you couldn’t get him out of your head, “Can we talk somewhere privately?”.

“The bedroom in the very back of the house would be a good spot” your host offers, giving you an encouraging smile, despite rubbing his sore neck.

You turn and walk back down the dark hallway, not looking to see if the Dragon king was following you. Opening the door to a tidy old bedroom containing a bed with a purple patchwork quilt spread out over it, and an old wooden dresser.

Taking a seat on the bed you look down at the floor boards, not even bothering to look up when the bedroom door shuts and the lock clicks. The bed dips slightly as Katsuki comes to sit beside you.

A few minutes of silence pass before you let out the breath you’d kept in, “Im sure you’re expecting me to return to the capital with you tomorrow…and the only way I will agree to come willingly is if there are no more lies…I…well I need to be able to trust my king “

My king

The touch of a warm, rough, palm incased your cheek. The feeling of it enough to get you to look up at its owner. Instantly returning the sentimental gesture by intertwining your fingers with his other hand. “I know what they must have told you about me, I’m sorry you were frightened enough to flee…Its true I have killed countless men and beasts alike…but it was all for the sake of my people! To keep them safe, to earn even more respect than the almighty king of the south had during his reign…Our lands have expanded, we have gained even more allies than ever before, its all been for the greater good my love…all for us to rule over together, we’ll make our kingdom the most prosperous of all of the lands surrounding us” Bakugou spoke so passionately as desire sparked in his crimson irises, his words made you feel inspired and excited in ways you never had felt before.

“I need you with me y/n, I need you by my side as my queen! No one on this entire planet could ever make me feel the way you do…my goddess, let me worship you like you deserve” He spoke so passionately to you, keeping eye contact to demonstrate his honesty. A gentle push had you laying back on the plush mattress, lashes fluttering over you’re half opened eyes as you moved further up the bed to make room for him as well. Rather than laying next to you, the imposing man loomed over the top of you. “Katsuki?” his name left your lips in a breathy sort of simper, causing a low rumble to sound in his chest. His reply is just as gruff sounding as he rasped “Love hearing you say my name…wanna hear you say it every day for the rest of my life”.

“I don’t understand why im so drawn to you, I should be afraid, I should want to run away and put distance between us…but im just so relieved to have you with me once more…MY king” it seemed as if you had accidentally envoked a possessive, borderline seductive lilit With the way you had spoke. Surely that explains the sudden surge of confidence expelling any trace of the shaken, timid person you’d been mere minutes ago. Your sudden change didn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou as he studied you carefully, another pleased rumble rolling through his chest as your fingers carded themselves through messy blonde locks. Closing his eyes allowed him to feel his way through your aura; A pleased hum the possessive emphasis placed on your words Vibrates your throat as your spirit attempted to entangle itself with his own.

Not yet.

The sound of your disappointed whine had his crimson irises re-open to lock with your own. The delectable fragrance you emitted seemed to have strengthened and it takes all of the young king’s will power not to let the drool pooling inside his mouth leak out onto the pillows bellow. Your honeyed scent coated his tongue and clung to the passages inside of his nose. No longer laying dormant, your omega spirit had finally exposed itself to him. Now wide awake, it seemed she wasn’t interested in waiting for any sort of proper ceremonial rigamarole to be claimed by her chosen mate.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” Your innocent sounding voice and wide doe eyes aren’t fooling Bakugou in the slightest.

Still doesn’t stop from making you look so adorably fuckable though…

Moving from over the top of you, the extremely turned on dragon shifter lays down behind you.

Turning on his side, slinging a heavy arm around your body and pulling you closer to him.

“Katsuki?” You ask, confused at his sudden change of heart.

“Sleep, we have a long day to get through tomorrow” he grumbled, kissing the junction between your neck and shoulder. The statement had an air of finality to it, and you couldn’t help but be disappointed.

So much for “worshipping his goddess”….

The following morning the Dragon king wakes up to the sound of birds chirping. Feeling his arm still resting on your plush body, he lets out a pleased rumble, trying to pull you closer. Only to realize it wasn’t you beneath his arm, it was your pillow.

“Y/n!” His voice cracked as he hurriedly sat up, frantic eyes scanning the room for you.

“Dammit!”

Instantly on his feet, a frightened but rapidly growing furious Bakugou berated himself for his foolishness.

You let your guard down and look what happened! She could be miles away by now!

Wrenching the bedroom door open and hurrying down the hallway, the wide open front door has panic gripping his very soul as he imagines losing you again.

“Oh uhm good morning Kaachan”

A sheepish Deku greets his childhood friend warily, in his hands are a tray and three empty cups.

Noticing the look on the blonde man’s face, a smile appears on Deku’s, “Y/N is outside with Kirishima, they seem to have taken a liking to one another! I made sure to save you a couple of the pasteries we had for breakfast, I’ll get them for you”. Ducking his head down to awkwardly lean against the door frame, Katsuki watches your interaction with his idiot friend.

A small pile of wild flowers sit between the two of you, your lips are moving while explaining what your fingers are doing as they carefully braid vines and flowers together. The giant red head is watching intently until you finish the flower crown and place it atop his shitty hair. “I LOVE IT! I’ll cherish it forever!” The fool exclaims happily, sharp teeth on full display as he grins at you. The laughter that follows from you two brings a small smile to the King’s face, shaking his head at the idiot that is Ejiro.

“I poured you some tea to go with your breakfast Kaachan” Izuku calls as he comes down the hallway, appearing with Katsuki’s cloak folded over his arm, “it’s in the kitchen, and here is your cape, it’s all dried now”. Taking the offered cape, Katsuki drapes it over his broad shoulders and enters the kitchen. Grabbing his food to stand at the window where he can continue observing you and Kirishima. It doesn’t take him long to eat the two pastries and drain the cup of tea, and rather than leave the dirtied dishes for the nerd, he washes them.

Glancing out the window once more, Katsuki watches Kirishima attempting to make a flower crown with his clumsy hands and clawed fingers. Seeing the polite smile on your face as you helped shitty scales with patience and undoubtedly kind words…well it did something to Bakugou. The very first time he’d remembered ever experiencing such comfortable warmth extending from the depths of his heart, a feeling of peace that extinguished his always present fury, a softness that cushioned his sharp tongue, was the day he met you….

When word had reached Bakugou that one of the elder dragons was wreaking havoc in the eastern mountain range, he’d immediately felt the need to prove himself once again. It wasn’t just an elderly rogue creature, it was one of the ancient dragons that inhabited these lands long before any human stepped foot upon them. The magnificent beasts are few and far between these days. Some had been slain, others chose to befriend and coexist with humans, the most dangerous had been forcibly sealed away. The latter of which was only carried out when the beast was so formidable that the combined efforts of dragon and human together could not kill It.

Great protest had followed the young royal’s announcement of planning to take on this monster by himself. The naysayers were silenced by the threat of exile or execution should any of them attempt to follow him. The battle between Bakugou and the ancient dragon waged on for three full days, neither of them willing to give up. Once it was all said and done, the Dragon King’s ferocious tenacity won out. With the beast dead at his Royal feet, he shifted back into his human form and set about pulling out teeth, claws, as well as a large gem embedded in the slain beast’s forehead. All of the things the man collected were to serve as more than just trophies in demonstration of his victory. Only when he was finished and the giant satchel was secured around him, did he switch back into his dragon form and take off toward home. It was about halfway through the journey that Katsuki’s vision started to blur, not long after came pain in his limbs. The Adrenaline rush had officially worn off, along with the dopamine high victory had brought about. Seeing what looked like an island below, the black dragon slowly loses altitude, and before it can hit the water, a human body appears in its place. Exhausted as he was, Bakugou kept a tight grip on his satchel as he fought the tide to get to shore, where he immediately collapsed.

Waking up was a surprisingly comfortable experience, whatever the Royal lay upon was soft, the air around him was a comfortable temperature and the smell invading his senses was possibly the best scent in the world. Only the feather light touch of small fingers on his skin made his eyes fly open, a frightening growl comes from deep in his chest. Taking hold of a tiny wrist in his large fist, “What the fuck do you-“ the words died on his lips as he caught sight of you. Pupils expanding due to fear, inside rings of wide e/c eyes stared back at him, before looking down at the wrist he still had clutched inside his hand, “ I didn’t mean to startle you…Im sorry”. The sound of your voice was like music to his ears, a unique tone that was made for him to hear and no one else, he had to of died during his flight home because no shitty mortal could be making him feel this way…”Im y/n by the way…I uh, I came across you passed out on the shore at the beach, and once I got a better look at your injuries...I couldn’t just leave you there” you spoke to him so softly, touched him so gently. The strange sensation wouldn’t go away; This tingling warmth in his chest, the serene calm you brought Bakugou only amplified the longer he spent with you, the closer you got to him.

It made the normally rage fueled monarch relax, it made him want to be a better man and a better leader.

All for you.

All because of you.

The memory made it easier to force himself to turn away from the window and stalk down the short hallway. Pushing open the already slightly ajar door to see the green haired male scribbling down some notes, muttering to himself as he picked up a jar and inspected the contents. Taking a few steps inside Bakugou clears his throat to gain the other man’s attention, “Oh Kaachan! Im sorry I didn’t hear you come in!” Deku exclaims, emerald eyes shifting nervously “Is something…wrong?”. “No…I just need to talk to you…” it comes out rougher than he’d intended but somehow Katsuki is able to get the words out “I wanted to thank…you…for uh…for helping Y/N…and Im s…sorry about last night I…I was worked up and I snapped on you when I shouldn’t have…”. The two men stood and stared at each other for a minute before Izuku breaks the silence “You don’t have to thank me, I was just doing the right thing….And Kirishima filled me in on what happened before you guys ended up here yesterday…It makes sense that you would be on edge after all that….Im sorry I didn’t just tell you she was here right away, I was uh kinda terrified you would think things were different than they appeared to be…”.

“So…we are good then?” The Dragon king replies, narrowed eyes glaring at Deku.

“Yep we’re good” the green haired man says with a nod, smiling as he turns back towards his notes.

Bakugou turns to leave the room, only to pause in the doorway.

Keeping his back towards Midoryia to hide the grimace on his face as he says “If you want a ride back to the capital you can come with us, hurry up and pack your shit cause we’re leaving ASAP” no sooner are the words out of his mouth that his stomping feet can be heard down the hallway, huffing when he hears the nerd happily accepting his invitation. Its gotta be you and your infectious kindness thats getting to him, and that should be a lot more unsettling than it was to him in this moment.

You and Kirishima were far too busy laughing at something Bakugou hadnt heard to notice when he emerged from the cabin. A large shadow falls over the grass infront of you as your laughter dies down into snickers. Which then cease immediately as soon as you notice who stands behind you.

“Oh! Good morning your highness!” Ejiro exclaims as he enthusiastically gets to his feet and smiles at the grimacing monarch. The red head extends his hand to help you up, only to have it knocked out of the way and replaced with the king’s. Taking your much smaller hand in his, Katsuki uses a little too much strength to pull you up and ends up with you falling face first against his hard chest. “G-Good morning my…King” you mumble against his skin as you peer up at him from in between his pecs.

“Missed you in bed this morning my goddess” the king replied, wrapping his arms around your body to keep you held to him. He couldn’t help but smirk at your flustered expression, where was the boldness you demonstrated to him the night prior? “Im not a goddess…yet” you corrected with a sigh “About last night, I….I apologize for behaving in such a provocative manner, it was innapropraite of me to proposition you like that….I dunno what came over me”.

“You’ve always repressed that side of yourself, it only makes sense that being in the company of your fated Alpha would get your omega all hot and bothered” Katsuki massages your hips as he takes a deep inhale of your scent “You handled it pretty well, Although, I wouldn’t have minded if you let the lust get to you, woulda been a good time for both of us…”.

“Is it inappropriate to admit that I missed sleeping beside you?” You nervously ask, shifting your weight from one foot to the other “I haven’t slept that good since the night before you left the island..”.

“No…its fine” he replied, taking notice of the way your eyes briefly fall to his lips “I feel the same”.

Your lashes flutter as you bring your gaze back to his, tilting your chin up slightly, craning your neck upwards to move your face closer. It was like the two of you were the only ones in the world for that brief moment your lips pressed gently to his. When you begin to pull back he stops you by giving you his own chaste kiss, resting his forehead against your’s.

“Will it always feel like this?” You whisper, gently grabbing hold of his cape to ground your out of control emotions. “Most likely” Bakugou pauses to give you that stupid smirk “You’ll get used to it…eventually”.

“Alright I’m ready to go! Sorry for making you all wait!” Calls Midoryia as he locks the cabin up, hurrying out to the field where Bakugou, Kirishima, and you are standing.

Rolling his eyes the king turns towards his companion, “Shitty Scales”. “Right! Give me just a second” Kirishima runs a few feet away, giving himself enough room to shift without worrying he’d hurt you or Izuku.

“Aren’t you going to fly us back?” You give Katsuki a questioning look, eyeing the blonde man wairly lest he shift and catch you by surprise.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t fall off mid flight and die” Katsuki says with a roll of his eyes.

Just as you open your mouth to retort ,magic electrified the air surrounding you. A red flash and an accompanying roar announce the magnificent crimson dragon that now stands where Kirishima had been moments ago.

The beast lowered its head before the three of you, and Katsuki wasted no time helping you climb up its snout. Izuku follows the two of you to the middle of the dragon’s back before pulling a paint brush and jar from his rucksack. “What will you do with that?” You ask, watching the green haired man dip the brush into the jar. “Earlier Kirishima told me he wouldn’t mind if I painted some protective ruins on him to make sure we couldn’t slip or get blown off his back during our flight” Midoryia explains as he perfected the enchantment “It’s just some mashed berries that make up the pigment, something easy to clean off once he shifts back”. Once the brush and jar are placed into his bag, Izuku shuts his eyes and mumbles something unintelligible.

The runes glow bright green before fading to black, your eyes are wide with excitement and you can’t help but to be impressed by that.

“Incredible Izuku! Maybe one day you could teach me magic like that?!” You ask, tracing the symbols that line Kirishima’s scaled back.

Deku didn’t even have to look at the king to know his red eyes were giving him a death glare.

“Oh it’s not that impressive, Kaachan’s magic is much stronger and flashier than anything I could do” the smaller man stutters as he waves his hands back and forth in surrender. Before you can praise Deku’s abilities any further, hands grip your hips, you don’t fight them pulling you backwards into Katsuki’s lap. You lean back against his chest as the King wraps his cape around both of you, probably to keep you warm during the flight. “Alright shitty scales let’s go!” Bakugou hollers, the dragon immediately spreads its wings and launches itself skyward. It’s terrifying at first, but once he’s gained enough altitude Kirishima glides along smoothly. Unable to contain the excitement anymore you begin to giggle, Midoryia sighs with relief and cracks a smile as well. “This is amazing!” You shout over the loud wind surrounding you, glancing over your shoulder to smile at Katsuki. The dragon side of him is proud to see you smiling instead of crying and fearful. “I bet you are much more fun to ride my King, I can’t wait until you take me!” Your compliment is completely innocent, still he can’t help but agree as he definitely anticipated both those things himself. Both In an innocent and not so innocent manner.

Izuku sneaks glances at you two throughout the flight, seeing his childhood friend so happy is a pleasant change to the usual moody Kaachan. Its obvious that Katsuki’s affection for you is genuine and deep; In just the short time you two have known each other its obvious that you have began to change him. The crescent moon on your forehead catches the sunlight just right and a thought hits the observer. Quickly pulling a notebook from his bag the green haired man searches through his notes. Finding the page he was looking for, emerald eyes scan back and forth over the neatly written text.

In this realm,

a blessing descends,

a child of fate,

Whose power immense,

destined to determine

earth’s fate

Born beneath the moon's shadow,

a tale quite bizarre,

A beast hides within,

a spirit touched by mar.

Not at the outset,

but time's relentless flow,

Unveils a name in history's

annals to grow.

Victories numerous,

A heart encased in sin,

With a chance encounter,

love's dance shall begin.

Strings of fate weave

a love, pure and oh so divine,

The dragon king seeking

a mate with whom

Soul shall intertwine.

This love is true,

by impurity shunned,

Great Darkness out shone

by a Celestial radiance

Who’s light could

Outshine the sun

Blessings abound

Once the moon's grace prevails,

A bright happy future

Similar to a child’s fairytale

The prophecy that the oracle spoke twenty two years ago…

These words were something he’d heard since he was a small child. Everyone in the kingdom knew the words to this prophetic message, even going so far as to turn it into a song. For some reason it has always confused Midoryia.

It always seemed like something was missing from it, why does it end so abruptly? Placing the book back into his bag Midoryia chances another glance your way; Bakugou has his head resting on your shoulder, eyes closed and expression relaxed as you speak softly in his ear. Maybe Izuku was getting ahead of himself, maybe there was nothing to be worried about, maybe your love would really be enough to smooth over the dragon shifter’s horrifying and violent tendencies.

Flying over the capital is an experience in itself;The city was vast, stretching out across the land as far as your eyes could see! All those people below looked like ants as they marched through the clean cobblestone streets.

Kirishima lands in the middle of the castle courtyard, lowering his belly to the ground and curling his tail around to serve as a make shift slide. You watch Izuku, then Katsuki slide down before you followed suit, laughter flows from you as you slide across the smooth crimson scales, the latter catches you with ease once you reach the end. Midoryia bids you goodbye and before he can turn to leave you reach out to grab ahold of his sleeve, “You’ll come to visit me right? This won’t be the last time I see you, will it?” You ask nervously, hating to have to part with one of the first friends you’d made here. “You aren’t going anywhere yet nerd, I have something I need your help with so come on” snaps the king, dragging you until you fall instep with him. Approaching the castle, you notice it was tall enough for a dragon to inhabit, and more than wide enough. The dark stone making up the outside held a stark contrast to the granite and marble inside, the floors were polished and clean. The windows each had dark crimson curtains pulled to the side, allowing the natural light to illuminate the gorgeous paintings littering the walls. Kirishima jogs up the slope leading to the back entrance, appearing behind you just as the large back doors are opened. Two servants hold each door and bow their heads welcoming the four of you, you try to catch their eye but it was like they were ordered not to look at you. The further Katsuki led you into the castle the more you noticed that this lack of eye contact was a trend amongst the servants. At least when it came to you it was, they didn’t hesitate to return greetings from Izuku or Ejiro, offering kind smiles and waves along with each exchange.

Just as you were about to question the brooding blonde a loud voice resounds through the palace halls:

“Finally you got back! Was about to send out a fuckin’ search party….speaking of parties, the celebration was called off last night because of the weather so you got lucky Brat, but it will be going on tonight! Move aside so I can get a proper look at my daughter to be”. A female version of Katsuki shoved him to the side, identical crimson eyes growing wide as they observe you, taking your hands in her’s she introduces herself “Im Mitsuki, the last queen and mother of the soon to be king”. “Its lovely to meet you, your highness! I am Y/N…” you trail off, wondering if you should add anything else but Mitsuki beats you to the punch “Daughter of the Moon Goddess Selene”.

“Ah uhh yes” you reply nervously, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

The older woman eyes the crescent moon on your forehead, “Absolutely radiant, I am honored that you chose my son, he is definitely undeserving of someone that projects such outward and internal beauty”.

“Your grace please” you blush at being talked up, covering your mouth with your hand.

“Now that we’ve gotten through introductions, I’ll be turning you over to these lovely ladies to help get you ready for the evenings festivities” your soon to be mother in law gestures to two woman standing off to the side, both looking directly at you wearing warm smiles on their faces “These two are Mina and Momo, no need to worry dear you will be in good hands, now get a move on, I still need to talk to my ignorant son privatley !”.

Katsuki wanted to protest as he watched the two women each grab one of your hands and lead you down the hall.

“She is the real deal, I could sense the ethereal magic as soon as she stepped foot in the castle” Mitsuki notes, before continuing “Katsuki you need to cherish her, that isn’t just any normal earth dwelling woman…if you hurt her or inflict any sort of suffering-“. “Enough old hag! I had to deal with enough bullshit the last two days, and now I have to deal with this stupid celebration tonight-“ Katsuki is cut off by his mother talking over him. “You were the one that insisted the party should take place before the actual wedding ceremony, since you wanted to be able to whisk your mate away as soon as vows are exchanged” Mitsuki rolls her eyes “You’re lucky that I personally saw to a majority of the details to both ceremony and celebration, you should be thanking me profusely”.

“I have something I need to take care of, whatever you need me to do will have to wait until im done, c’mon nerd lets go, Kirishima you stand guard over Y/N, don’t let her go anywhere unattended” the king demands as he heads back towards the door he’d originally entered from, not waiting for the red head to reply. Izuku bowed to Mitsuki before hurrying after the retreating monarch.

As soon as Momo and Mina had you behind closed doors they bombarded you with questions:

“How did you and the king meet?”

“Was it love at first sight?”

“How did he propose?”

“How big was his-“ you quickly put an end to that line of questioning.

“I found him injured as I was walking down the beach of an island in his territory, it took some time for us to warm up to each other….Uh he didn’t exactly give me a choice, it was just a mutual agreement, and as for THAT…I wouldn’t know since we haven’t…y’know” you answered their questions lamely, it was embarrassing. If they thought anything negative the women didn’t share it, they just made idle chit chat as they combed out your hair. Taking a deep breath you shut your eyes, a bead of sweat slid from your temple to down your cheek, falling between the valley of your breasts. Had it always been so stifling hot in here? Pleasant scents of sweet almond, and vanilla reached your nose before suddenly being over powered by a lavender fragrance. Glancing around the room you don’t seem to find anything that would have put off the scents, the room was bright with afternoon sunlight illuminating the white canopy of the large four poster bed in its center. A small oak writing desk sat in one corner, and a clothing rack sat in the corner opposite of it, between the two directly across from the door used to gain entry to the room was another slightly ajar door, most likely a bathroom. Bringing a hand up you begin to fan your face, now beads of sweat lined the entirety of your forehead, you dab them away with your other hand before they slip into your eyes. Thats when you felt the sleeves of your dress being pulled down as the back of it had been unfastened, feeling your chest slightly exposed caused you to squeak in concern.

“Sorry my lady, we’re done brushing your hair out and now its time for your bath” Momo explains apologetically.

“Oh okay…I can undress myself” you begin to head towards the open door only to realize that the two of them were following you, turning back around Mina speaks up “Its our job to get you ready for tonights celebration and your wedding tomorrow, so its our job to scrub you down, remove any unsightly hairs, wash, condition, style your hair, and then moisturize you from head to toe, I know its not ideal for two strangers to see your naughty bits but we’ll all be the best of friends afterwards!”. “Mina!” Exclaims Momo as she clutched her chest “Im so sorry my lady, please forgive her indiscretions, she means well!”.

The two of them begin to bicker on what is and isn’t appropriate to say to their future queen, your eyes bounce from one to the other as they speak. The pinkette is outgoing and high energy, while the ponytail is more somber and sophisticated. Mina begins making a game out of saying cruder and cruder things until her partner looks like she might just feint from the naughty language. Your laughter echoes around the bathroom as you strip out of your dress and undergarments, soon dying down into giggles as you enter the large bath, submerging your entire body.

“A thousand apologies my lady-“

“None needed, and call me y/n…I don’t consider myself above either of you…I want to make more friends” you admit this albeit nervously. A huge grin lights up Mina’s face, and MoMo ops for a more polite smile.

“You still haven’t mentioned where we are going Kaachan” Izuku nervously pointed out as he followed Bakugou. One of the kingdoms other shifters had given them a ride to the base of a nearby mountain. Now the two of them had been walking for over an hour, ocassionally having to climb up steep rocky ledges. “I told you already, you’ll find out once we get there! We’re over halfway there, woulda been there already if it weren’t for your sorry ass slowing me down” Katsuki sneers back at his companion. He was already

irritated that Deku of all people accompanied him, and now the worm would know of his greatest kept secret. It couldn’t be helped, the nerd was the only one he trusted enough to assist him with this task.

After climbing one final ledge Bakugou comes to a stop Rubbing vigorously at his temples in attempt to stop the building tension headache. The pain stemming from his draconian sides repeat attempts at taking over his rational mind. Waiting for Midoryia to catch up, the king stood just outside of a cave that led inside of the mountain itself.

“We’re going inside?” Deku panted as he stared at Katsuki incredulously. “Yep C’mon” the king replied, immediately heading inside. Once inside the cave their path was blocked by what appeared to be a wall of volcanic rock. Placing both of his crackling palms atop it, the rock wall seemingly melted away, green eyes grew wide signifying the other man’s amazement.

“This is my horde, tell anyone the location, show up here without permission, or steal something and you’re dead, got it?” The King says with fire in his eyes, drawing himself up to his imposing height to make it easier to look down on Deku.

“I-of course not, I mean yes understood!” The frightened male squeaks, nodding his head nervously.

Turning his back on the cowering man, Katsuki walks further into the cavern. Treasures of all sorts line the pathway, Izuku can’t help but continue to marvel at all of it. A single path branched off the crowded walk way that led further into the cavern. Following it took the two men into what appeared to be a room carved into the rock wal

It wasn’t huge, it was small enough to be considered comfortable. Izuku noticed the various objects and decorations in this area were different than the haphazard treasure piles outside it. These things been placed with care, silk sheets covered the pile of furs and pillows surrounded what was obviously a bed in the center of the room. There was no spot that indicated the bedding had been slept on, and before the green haired man could contemplate this any further, the hulking blonde motioned for him to approach the spot.

“Paint these ruins right here” the king orders, lifting the bedding up and exposing the floor before he hands his subordinate a page that had been torn out of an obviously old book. Taking the ripped page carefully, Deku examines it curiously. Only to realize this was something in an ancient draconian language, raising a brow he begins to ask “What do these-“ only to be cut off by an angry “None of your damn business, just hurry up and come paint them”.

While Izuku set about his task, Katsuki continually left the room and returned with different things.

Arranging the treasures neatly, adding more decor and standing back to look at it satisfactorily.

Only to frown and take it away, going back out into the cave and exchanging the rejected items with something else. Once the runes were transcribed perfectly across the stone floor they glowed red hot, and burst into what had to be flames. This makes poor Deku Yelp loudly, jumping back to avoid getting burned. Quickly he grabs his bag and attempts to smother the flame, “Oi what the fuck are you doing?! Move idiot!” Katsuki exclaims as he runs over. Disregarding the frightened babbling coming from the startled man on the floor. The king takes a breath before closing his eyes in concentration lifting his hand that rapidly began forming into one of a dragon. Using the sharp talons to slice his other palm, blood began pouring out of the wound and dropping onto the burning shapes.

That’s when Izuku realizes that the flames weren’t burning anything despite the intense heat they were emitting. When the drops of blood hit the various letters it would sizzle loudly before extinguishing the flame all together. By the time each letter had been coated and the fire had been put out completely, only a faint outline of ruins appeared etched into the cave floor. The king carefully placed the bedding back in place to cover them up and smirked, very pleased with something apparently.

“Kaachan?”

“Listen up nerd, you’re going to help me haul the rest of the necessities I need up here before the wedding, since you are the only person other than shitty hair that knows where my horde is, now c’mon we have shit to do” with that the king is quick to leave the room, and a very confused Deku inside of it. Something felt off to Midoryia about that enchantment, making sure he had all of his personal items put away before getting to his feet. Emerald eyes notice the old scrap of parchment had drifted a little off to the side during his earlier scare, considering Katsuki hadn’t picked it up or asked for it back, its quickly stashed away in a pocket of his satchel.

“WHAT THE HELL IS TAKING SO DAMN LONG?!”

“S-Sorry! Coming Kaachan!”

Back at the castle Mina and Momo had finished styling your hair and now were dressing you in your formal attire for the celebration taking place in the capital that evening. The white dress had translucent sleeves that billowed outward when you walked, the slits on either side, and cut outs on the sides of your sternum made you nervous.

“You look wonderful, everyone is going to think so” compliments the pinkette.

“I absolutley agree with Mina, you look every bit a future queen, the people will definitely be reassured they’re in good hands with you and the king” Momo adds with a polite smile. Thanking the both of them you glance out the window and notice that the moon has already taken its place high in the sky, shining bright as ever.

Without thinking you strode toward the doors of the small balcony in your room, opening them and stepping out into the fresh night air, closing your eyes and letting the gentle breeze caress your skin.

The two women watched you in fascination, it was as if your were taking in the light from the moon as one would from the sun on a warm day.

“Such a warm, gentle light” your whisper is lost on the faint wind, your heart swells in your chest at the fond memories made back then in your true home, the beautiful flowing silver hair and dazzling smile of a women dances behind your eye lids “Mother I miss you…I wonder what you think of all this…I hope you will come to watch me get married….or prevent it if its something that shouldnt happen…”. A ethereal glow surrounds you, making Mina and Momo gasp excitedly, the reassurance you had began to feel seemed to be a good enough answer from the goddess. As you turned to head back inside you paused in the threshold, glancing over your shoulder up at the crystal like light in the sky, the soft breeze blows hard enough to ruffle your dress. The voice that was carried on the winds from the heavens above was for your ears alone.

I will be there

The party was well underway by the time Kirishima escorted you out onto the balcony where two identical blondes sat overseeing the festivities. Katsuki is on his feet before you step through the door, you reach out to him and his expression softens as he takes your hand in his. “You look beautiful y/n” Mitsuki says as she too has gotten to her feet “The people are ready to meet their future queen”. Your stomach fills with butterflies as you take your place beside the dragon king. The older woman gestures towards a blonde precariously dressed man with a thin mustache, he gives a nod before loudly addressing the guests;

“Attention please! The royal family has announcement to make”. His voice has to be magically amplified some how, it’s so loud it makes you want to cover your ears.

“Thank you all for coming to join us in celebrating the unveiling of your soon to be queen” Mitsuki smiles warmly at the crowd below, gesturing for Katsuki to take over.

As soon as the king steps forward the people cheer “Long Live the Dragon King!” “Congratulations your majesty!” “King Bakugou!”.

The smirk he flashes his subjects has many in the crowd swooning, as soon as he begins to speak they all quiet down “I know many of you have long awaited the introduction of a new queen to rule beside me…It took longer than I would like to admit to find her, twas an accident that she came across me grievously injured from my battle with one of the ancient ones” a dramatic pause has the room so silent you could hear a pin drop, Katsuki smiles over his shoulder at you before continuing “It’s by the grace of Selene herself that her one and only daughter would not only find me, but put in the effort to nurse me back to health, I knew as soon as I opened my eyes and beheld the beauty above me that she was the one…my true mate and now your future queen my princess

y/n”. You allow yourself to be pulled forward and now stood at your fiancé’s side, the crowd below erupts into applause, shouting and chanting.

“Goddess Born!”

“Daughter of Selene”

“Keeper of moonlight”

“Long live the King and Queen!”

You smiled and waved to the people, happy when Katsuki holds you close to him. You glance up to admire your handsome fiancé, without thinking you lean upwards and he meets you halfway in a passionate kiss that has the citizens cheering even louder.

Pulling away the two of you touch foreheads briefly before waving to the crowd once more and moving away from the edge of the balcony.

“Should I have said something?” You wonder aloud, glancing over your shoulder wearing a confused expression. “You did fine darling, if you had addressed them they would have went berserk with excitement, we don’t want the castle getting torn up before the wedding” Mitsuki reassures you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Handfuls of nobles and commoners alike swarm to shake your hands and introduce themselves when you briefly come down to mingle among them. You spot Izuku’s green curls across the room and are quick to excuse yourself, happy to see a familiar face. He’s talking to a woman whose cheeks are bright pink as she giggles at something, only to immediately pause after catching sight of you.

“Midoryia!” You called out, smiling once you reached him.

“Princess! Hello!” He stands up straight, greeting you warmly “This is my good friend Ochako Uraraka”.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you your highness” the pink cheeked girl says shyly.

“You as well, no need to be so formal! Please call me y/n” you reply happily “I’m relieved to see someone familiar, I’ve met so many new people tonight already!”.

“The whole kingdom is buzzing with excitement, I bet it’s overwhelming!” Ochako exclaims, glancing around the room “Most of us didn’t think Bakugou would ever end up finding his fated partner”.

You chuckled at that, it certainly made sense why they would feel that way. Before you could continue your conversation you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder “Come now y/n, let’s get you back to Katsuki, Ejiro just informed me that he’s getting pissy” Mitsuki says with a roll of her eyes, Kirishima nervously scratches the back of his neck behind her. It takes the couple by surprise when you hug each of them “Hopefully we can have a longer conversation next time, bye Midoryia, nice meeting you Ochako!” You say quickly, flashing them a dazzling smile before taking hold of Mitsuki’s hand, Kirishima following closely behind the two of you as you head back towards the raised platform.

Katsuki was slouched in his chair, two of his knights you hadn’t met yet, along with Mina, all appeared to be teasing him. If the scowl on his face was anything to go by that is. “I brought her back just as I promised you damn cry baby” Mitsuki snapped as she released her hold on you. Gracefully moving past the older woman you were about to take a seat beside the brooding king, only to let out a startled yip as his large hands took hold of your hips and yanked you into his lap. “Yeah what happened to only five minutes? It’s been at least an hour, she’s not your show pony old hag” Bakugou sneers at his mother, making you gasp,

“My king how could you speak to your mother in such an awful manner?!”. This only makes the woman smirk at her son as she looks down her nose at him, “Listen to your wife Katsuki, she’s got a much better head on her shoulders”.

“Yeah yeah” the disgruntled blonde huffs, waving his mother off.

“We haven’t had the chance of meeting yet my lady” the yellow haired male says, immediately moving closer to take your hand.

“Denki Kaminari at your service” he presses a kiss to the back of your hand before bowing low. “Let go of her hand before I take off your head DunceFace” Katsuki snarls.

Kaminari is immediately bumped out of the way for his black haired counterpart to stand before you, “Hanta Serro, pleasure to make your acquaintance my lady”.

Serro bows to you, flashing a toothy grin as he does so.

“Nice to meet you gentlemen” you say with a polite smile.

“Now piss off you all” Bakugou grumbled “Want a minute to speak to my women without any comments from the peanut gallery”.

Both knights give him a mock salute, and wave at you as them and Kirishima leave you two.

Immediately you feel warm hands squeeze at your sides and you lean your forehead against their owner’s. “You okay? I thought you would get overwhelmed meeting so many people” Katsuki asks, admiring your beauty as you close your eyes. “It wasnt that bad, I’m fine now though” you reply, a pleased hum followed it as Katsuki’s hands began to brush across the skin of your hips that was exposed from the slits in your dress. His hands are warm as they trail down your thighs, leaving tingles in their wake as they travel back upwards. He decided to continue this action, caressing your exposed skin, allowing the skin on his palms to slightly increase in temperature. A prideful smugness begins building inside of him after noticing with each pass over your hips you’re leaning further into him.

Soon your head comes to rest between his neck and shoulder, the relaxed sigh you emit has your breath ghosting across the sensitive skin. Without thinking he grabs a bit too harshly at your hips, causing an adorable squeak to come from you. So he does it again, only this time it gets a much different result.

The cute little “humphh” was there, but what followed it was….teeth.

Your teeth grazed the skin of his neck before nipping it. The pain was nothing to the dragon king, but combined with the warmth of your tongue poking at it, that was everything.

Katsuki abruptly got to his feet, his grip shifted beneath your ass in order for him to swiftly carry you out of the crowded ballroom. The two of you are out the door you’d entered to reach the balcony before you could properly access the situation. Carrying you a little ways down the castle hallway, the king stops at a small alcove. Deeming the small space good enough to press your body against the polished stone wall. “My king?” You ask nervously, his body pressing against your’s even though he was as close to you as possible already.

“Won’t everyone notice we left?” You only get a rumbling growl In response, your body tensing as the king squeezes your hips again, his nose coming down to sniff at your neck.

Still haven’t claimed her yet? Coward, I’ll have to change that.

“M-my king?”

Feel that?

Your core grows wet with slick as you begin to lose yourself in these

new pleasurable sensations caused by your lover’s continued motions. They fueled the aching need between your spread thighs, little whimpers escaping as you begin to rut against his abs.

I think she likes me more than you…think I’ll claim her, since you have been dragging your feet…Let me show you how it’s done.

Crimson eyes begin growing black they eat up the sight of you breathing heavily and growing desperate.

One of his fingers slip into your wet hole, earning a gasp from you. His eyes drinking in your appearance, enjoying the moment.

“O-ohhh Katsuki!” Your mouth hangs open, your nails bite into the skin of his biceps “I…please Katsuki I need more…want you my king”.

Bakugou finally regained control over his body, not that you know he had ever lost it. The sight of you growing so needy from his touch was overwhelmingly gorgeous.

His lips crash into your own as he begins sisscoring you open.

“Mmm princess…tell me what you want…just tell me and I’ll give it to you y/n…you look so beautiful like this” Katsuki moans as one of your hands tangles in his hair, forcing his head forward to continue the kiss.

“I want…hahhh…want you” you whine into his mouth before curling your tongue with his “I want you to ravage me King Katsuki…show me how a dragon makes love” Surely he couldn’t fuck you right here in this hallway? After all the work he’d put in back at the mountain to make your first (and only) mating perfect….

“Katsukiii”

He couldn’t.

“I want you to.. I want you to fuck me”

He can, and he will.

“Whatever princess wants, princess gets” the king replied, one hand wrapping around your throat and gently beginning to apply pressure.

“Oh? You like this, don’t try to bullshit me when you keep squeezing my fingers” he applied a little more pressure as his other hand moved to free his aching cock. “M’gonna fuck ya right here, right now…don’t care who sees do you? Begging for me like a desperate little whore”.

Your whines are growing higher in pitch as you begin to fuck yourself on his fingers. “Gods princess you look so good like this, I got what you need right here baby” he mumbles, guiding the head of his dick towards your slit. Gathering some of the wetness leaking from you, both of you were holding your breath and watching the spot where you would be conjoined. Just as you felt the tip of him against your fluttering entrance, did you both notice the sound of footsteps approaching. Katsuki releases his hold on you, making sure you could stand alright before stuffing his dick back in his pants. You leaned down to grab your ruined panties off the floor, sticking them deep into his pants pocket. Smoothing down your dress, you moved forward and grabbed his hand pulling him along. You both appeared calm when you met Kirishima as he rounded the corner.

“There you guys are! Sorry to bother but Jeanist and Aizawa wish to meet with you before the night’s end My king” the red haired man says, his large smile is a bit sheepish as he looks anywhere but at you.

“Take her back to her room, I’ll tell pinky to join you” Katsuki orders his knight, who nodded before moving a slight distance down the hallway.

“I know you must be worn out princess, it’s been a long day…” the king began, dropping your hand to touch your cheek “Get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow”. As he leans down to kiss you he is abruptly thwarted by your hands pushing against his chest, “Tomorrow?!” You practically squawk at him “What am I to sleep alone?!”.

Blaming your heightened emotions on your guy’s previous actions, tears well up in your eyes,

“What was all that for if you just planned to abandon me afterwards?”. Later that night as you lay awake staring off into space, your reaction would embarrass you.

That would be then, this here was now.

“We shared the same space throughout our time together on the island, slept side by side! Now that you’ve uprooted me and brought me here to this foreign land, where I have no family or allies, you leave me alone and refuse to share a bed?! This is where you draw the line?” You kept your volume at a harsh whisper to avoid attracting any unwanted eavesdroppers.

You pulled away as Katsuki reached out towards you, “Go and handle your business, I refuse to stoop so low as to disrupt the order of your kingdom, Goodnight King Bakugou”. “Y/n wait! You can’t just say all that and walk away, we aren’t done with this conversation! Get back-“ the king went silent as he heard a door open further up the hallway, his arm dropping back to his side. Turning to leave, the last thing he sees is Kirishima following after you.

Should have just let me handle it.

“Shut the fuck up!” Katsuki snarls, stopping just outside the door he’d carried you out of previously “Don’t think you ever are going to pull that same bullshit again, that’s my woman!”.

You forget, I am you….

Before he can respond the Door opens and his mother stares back at him “Where’s y/n?”.

“I sent her to bed, she was tired”

The clipped tone of her son’s voice was nothing the older woman wasn’t used to. Something wasnt right, as she moved to let her son pass by her eyes scrutinized him.

“Oi what’d you two old bastards want? My intended is upset with me now thanks to you assholes” the King snarls, approaching the two men that stood waiting.

“Hello to you too your majesty” Jeanist replies, pushing his dark blonde bangs further to the side.

Aizawa only rolls his eyes, “Let’s move somewhere quieter, too much going on down there”.

“Y/n seems nice, how’d you two meet? I figured Bakugou would have kept her hidden until tonight” Ochako asks, excitedly taking a large bite of cake. “Hmm? Oh well long story short I gave her shelter when she had been caught out in a storm” Midoryia replied, absentmindedly glancing around the ball room. “What was she doing out in a storm?” The witch asks around her fork, savoring the first bite. “Oh uh well” Izuku chuckled nervously “It was just due to a misunderstanding, no big deal or anything”. “Bakugou upset her and she took off, got lost, only to be found and saved by you…right?” Ochacko asked, fixing him with a narrowed eye stare. “Right” the green haired man sighs.

“I just dont get it Mina….how could he just dismiss me like that after…well you know! I just dont understand what I did wrong” you lament to the pinkette brushing your hair out. “You didnt do anything, im sure that he was seconds away from whisking you off to his chambers, if the two of you hadnt been interrupted” replies Mina, briefly glaring at the bedroom door Kirishima was currently posted outside of. “Typically our people dont wait for marriage to mate, mating often times proceeds a formal marriage, but you are someone special, and I believe thats why the king is waiting until after the wedding to break your back” she explains, wrapping the silk scarf around your tresses.

“W-What?! Break my back??” You stammer fearfully.

“Its a figure of speech, basically he’s going to do it so good you wont be able to leave the bed afterwards, rumor has it the king is rough, and likes to get a bit freaky too, so good luck with that” Mina teases as she knots the scarf, tapping your shoulder with the brush as she chuckles.

“Mina! I might be offended if I knew what any of that even meant” you whine, shaking your head back and forth.

A/N: I hope the length of this made up for the last one! I tried to find out if there was a form of A/B/O for dragons so I could use those terms, but I guess they go by the same things? I dunno 🤷🏼‍♀️ Thanks for all the love and support you guys show me, it makes me happier than you know ❤️‍🔥

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha #fantasy au #bnha #dragon bakugou #dragon king bakugou #royal au

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gilded-garnet · 10 months

Text

Beastly Behaviour

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

WC: ~1.5K / Themes: (Fluff 💚 Light Violence 👊)

Summary: If there's one thing MC can't stand, it's a bully. During a Beasts Class, she takes defending Sebastian's honour into her own hands - literally.

(Yep, someone is getting punched and Sebastian is smitten.)

---

"Why did you decide to take Beasts Class again? I never got the sense you were that interested," MC asked on the way to their first class of the year.

Sebastian shrugged non-committally. "I got a good enough grade and I'm keeping my options open. The extra studying's not an issue."

"Riiiight. And it wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that I happen to be taking it, would it?" She asked, shooting him a sly smirk.

She expected him to deny it; she was only teasing, after all, but he returned her gaze seriously, wearing a fond expression.

"It may have had a small influence on my decision," he admitted, and she scoffed to hide her blush.

They arrived at the class and MC gave Poppy a quick hug in greeting before Professor Howin rounded them up.

"Everyone, follow me! I have a special lesson planned to welcome you all back." She led the trail of students out beyond the paddocks and through the tree line of the forest, finally coming to a stop at a grassy clearing. MC smiled when she saw what awaited them there.

"Here we are!" Their professor declared, holding her arms out in rather dramatic fashion.

There was a heavy pause before someone spoke. It was that haughty Slytherin boy who had harassed that Kneazle and Poppy back in fifth year. MC had never bothered to learn his name. "Um, professor, not to be rude, but there doesn't actually appear to be anything here," he sneered, and a Ravenclaw girl by his side snickered loudly. What in Merlin's name were those two doing in this class, anyway? Seeking to torture harmless creatures for sport, no doubt.

"Perhaps not to you, Mr. Parkinson, but I'll wager there's at least one person here who can identify the magnificent creatures before us," Professor Howin replied, looking at the rest of the class expectantly.

"Thestrals," MC answered, instantly.

Professor Howin smiled at her, nodding her approval, though there was was a tinge of sympathy in her eyes to accompany it.

"Indeed! As many of you will be aware, Thestrals can only be seen by those who have witnessed death. Of course, that has earnt them a rather negative reputation..." Professor Howin went on to speak of how Thestrals had unfairly cemented their place in wizard folklore as harbringers of misfortune. Sebastian listened with his arms folded, a small frown on his face.

"You really don't like Thestrals, do you?" MC stated more than asked, leaning her head towards his ear.

"I don't dislike them. They just...remind me of what I've lost, that's all. The very concept of them is macabre," he replied.

"But they're such gentle creatures," she insisted, though she soon realised that her timing was rather questionable when Professor Howin began tossing raw steaks into the clearing. The Thestrals descended upon them with gusto, and the 'unsighted' in their class let out gasps of fear and amazement as the the meat seemingly began to levitate and then vanish before their eyes.

Sebastian's lip twitched, and he looked at her with dry amusement. "Ah, yes. Look at them ever so gently ripping apart those steaks."

She rolled her eyes and swatted him on the shoulder, causing him to chuckle.

"What is even the point of this? Most of us can't even see the damn things anyway," Parkinson muttered irritably under his breath. He looked around the clearing before his eyes alighted on another, much more visible form of entertainment.

He sauntered over to MC and Sebastian, a gleam in his eyes that she very much did not like the look of.

"Sallow, you can see them, right?" Parkinson asked in an exagerated whisper, practically pushing her aside in the process.

Sebastian frowned. He had no patience for his housemate at the best of times. "Just what exactly are you getting at, Parksinson?"

"Is it true that your parents got themselves killed playing around with a muggle contraption?" Parkinson probed, lowering his voice even further. She saw Sebastian tense and felt a wave of apprehension overcome her.

"Did your uncle go in an equally tragic way? Perhaps he tripped and fell on his garden shears outside that quaint cottage of yours?" Parkinson continued with a cruel smile, his words sickly. MC was equal parts shocked and outraged by his brazenness.

Sebastian hadn't reacted yet, but she could sense the warning signs: the darkening in his expression and the twitch of his fingers towards his wand. She, however, acted first. Without a word, she marched over to Parkinson, wand forgotten, and punched him square in the face.

She heard (and felt) a rather satisfying crack before he stumbled backwards onto the floor, clutching his nose. The Thestrals bellowed, spooked, and fled from the clearing in a rush of hoofbeats and leathery wings.

"Wh - what the hell?!" He spluttered with outrage, but the heat of his accusation was largely undone by his nasally voice, now thick with blood.

"Muggle enough for you?" She spat, glaring down at him. She was acutely aware of Sebastian's eyes on her back and looked over her shoulder to see him staring at her with eyes wide and mouth agape.

Professor Howin pushed her way through the circle of students that had formed around them. "And what, exactly, is going on here?" She demanded, glaring daggers at them both.

Parkinson jabbed an accusatory finger up at MC, his other hand still clutching his streaming nose. "This lunatic attacked me!"

"Only because he was saying some truly vile things," she retorted, her temper rising again. She obviously hadnt hit him hard enough.

"Enough!" Professor Howin shouted, her voice firm. "Both of you will serve detention with me for a week. I will not tolerate such beastly behaviour in my class."

"What? Why me?!" Parkinson spluttered.

Professor Howin looked down at him with a withering look. "Because I have no doubt, Mr Parkinson, that you did in fact say some rather vile things to earn that broken nose."

Sebastian snorted with laughter, and a few other students couldn't stifle their giggles. Behind his hand, Parksinson's face turned even redder. The Ravenclaw girl dutifuly arrived at his side, attempting to hook her hand under his elbow, but he shook her off impatiently. He staggered to his feet and glared at MC and Sebastian before he marched away, muttering a stream of curses.

With the subject of their lesson now notably absent, Professor Howin promptly called an end to the class and they began to trapse back to the castle. Sebastian and MC walked together, shoulders brushing.

"It was very good of you to defend my honour like that," Sebastian remarked. "That punch was much better than anything I could have come up with."

"Yes, well, I've never been able to stand that prat. Been itching to do that since last year," she replied, flexing her now aching hand. She'd apparently managed to injure herself in the process.

She sucked in a surprised breath when Sebastian gently cradled her injured hand in his own, running his thumb soothingly over her stinging knuckles. She looked up, her eyes meeting his.

"I'll be sure to find a way to express my gratitude," he commented, eyes twinkling with mischief in a way that made her heart flip. An abundance of scenarios came immediately to mind as to just how he could thank her, but she buried those thoughts deep.

"You really are amazing, you know that?" He continued, looking at her with such sincerity that her mind struggled to form words. He was so close, and his lips looked incredibly soft.

But then Sebastian's eyes became unfocussed as he clocked something over her shoulder and he smirked, releasing her hand and taking a step back. "Watch out, I think your number one fan is on their way."

"Wha - ?" She didn't get to finish before something small and solid collided full speed with her waist, forcing the air from her lungs.

"Oh, MC, that was simply marvelous! I wish I had your courage; I would have done that a thousand times over by now," Poppy enthused, hugging her tightly.

"It was my pleasure, Poppy," MC replied, still catching her breath, for more reasons than one.

---

Sebastian wasted no time filling his best friend in on the day's events whilst in their dorm room.

"...and then, Ominis, she punched him, square in the face!" Sebastian enthused, unable to contain his euphoria.

"She what?!" Ominis spluttered, pausing as he rummaged through his bag.

"I know!" Sebastian answered, laughing. He threw himself back onto his bed with a blissful sigh. "Honestly, I couldn't believe it, but I think it might just be the best thing I have ever seen. She's incredible."

Ominis scoffed, but smiled all the same. "You're both utterly mad. You deserve each other, honestly."

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow x mc #honestly I don't think this is great but I wanted to post it anyway!

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my--moon · 3 months

Text

❝ Annabeth Chase 2.0? ❞

Chapter 1; Annabeth Chase 2.0? SUMMARY; When Percy and Annabeth are taken by the Empusa—a figure slays the beastly woman and saves them. Why does the new figure look so similar to Annabeth?

The mighty son of Poseidon—hanging upside down beside his friend, Annabeth, tired up.

“...Remind me again. Why are we tied up.” Percy asks Annabeth with a blank stare, studying the rocks in front of him like it's interesting.

“Because, my good friend.” Annabeth answers through slightly gritted teeth—as if holding herself back from slapping Percy. “You decided to bring me along for a quest. We got trapped by the Empusa.”

Percy stayed silent before trying to ask another question. Annabeth cut him off. “Percy. If you ask what an Empusa is, I will punch you.”

“Wha—I didn't even say anything!” Percy sad in defence. The blonde glanced back at the ravenette.

“You've got that look in your eye. It's the same look every time you ask me something.”

Percy couldn't argue with Annabeth's reasoning, but it still hurt. “...Do you think she's coming back?” The daughter of Athena looked back at the Son of Poseidon.

“I'm not sure. I think she's gone out to find more of us. Just in case there's any others.”

The pair sat (hung) in silence. The blood rushing to their heads, long locs of blonde and black gravitating towards the floor.

“How did we even get trapped by an Empusa? I thought we dealt with them back at the Labyrinth?” Annabeth questioned.

Percy sighed and shrugged. “I wasn't thinking properly. My head was in a different place.” Percy couldn't help but think back to this dream from the night before.

Walls painted grey with dim, red tinted lights lit up the room. About five people stand around, all doing their own things—but their faces and hair are blurred out.

Only one figure has their hair visible—long white curls cascading down to the figure's hips. The figure has their back turned, their face hidden.

Voices call. “Boss! A little birdy told us some Half-bloods are going on a quest..” The voice was scratchy and low.

The white haired silhouette turned their head towards the voice, but the face of the white haired figure covered with a cloudy blur. “Hm?”

The other voice sees this as a way to keep talking; “Poseidon and Athena. Those are their parents, apparently they've been friends since 12, and—”

They cut themselves off as the original figure pulls their hand up and makes a 'shh' motion. “Alright. Thank you, Nicki.”

The dream panned out, the whole scenery faded and became black—until a lower, deeper voice rang.

“Revenge and Vengeance. Bitter but Sweet—Child of the Sea, She shall meet. To connect with the water, she'll need help. In trying times, she will yelp.”

When Percy jolted awake, he could still hear the words echoing through his skull. Is this a new prophecy? Who's 'She'?

“Seaweed Brain. Earth to Seaweed Brain!” Annabeth called to Percy, clicking her tongue to get his attention.

“Huh?” He snapped out of his daze. “Ah, sorry...” He mumbled, before noticing a sound.

Small snaps and caws from outside range throughout the cave—the yelp of the Empusa caught their attention.

“What was that?” Annabeth asked—glancing back at Percy, a bead of sweat ran down her forehead. Percy stayed silent for a second before answering.

“I'm not sure... But I feel like we should find out.”

“Mhm, I argee with you—but one thing.” The blonde hummed before motioning to their hanging position. “How do we get out?”

Percy hadn't thought that through yet, he shifted around, attempting to break free from the ropes. “Great question! I don't know.” Annabeth rolled her eyes.

A crack echoed from the cave's doorway, making both the demigods perk up in fear—was the Empusa returning?

No. It was a short, humanoid figure dressed in ripped black tights and a oversized white shirt—with Metallica written on the front.

The person ran over to the demigods and cut the rope—making Percy and Annabeth hit the ground with a thud and a groan.

Percy's eyes flickered opened and was met with the image of a young blonde girl. “Annabeth?” He asked.

A hand tapped his shoulder, he glanced over to spot the real Annabeth poking his shoulder blade. “Percy, that's not me.”

The two stared at each other before scanning the new blonde girl with confused eyes. The girl looked about 15, with short curly hair and choppy bangs framing her olive complexion.

The olive coloured girl bent down to their eye level as they were still lying down from the drop. “Are you two Half-bloods?” Her voice was slightly higher pitched than Annabeth's—with a almost southern drawl.

Percy blinked up at the girl. “Um. Who wants to know?” He raised a brow, basically saying “who tf r u” without actually saying it.

“Me. I do.” The southern drawled girl replied—before picking the two up by the collars, she was quite strong for someone of 5'6.

Percy snapped out of his confused daze and ripped himself away from the short female. “Hey hey wait!” He protested, Annabeth did the same and stood slightly behind Percy.

“Who even are you? And why do you look like me?” Annabeth interjected. The strawberry blonde girl blinked before realising she never introduced herself.

“Oh!” She exclaimed before clearing her throat. “So, I'm apart of this group called the Dalmatians! Anyway, Ca—I mean Boss wants to see you. Sh—They think you know something.”

The CHB pair stared at the girl with pure confusion. “...?” Their bewildered stares and silence made the girl awkwardly chuckle.

“It's fine, you'll get used to it.” The girl started to walk out of the Empusa's cave, before glancing back at them—“Are you coming?”

Percy furrowed his brows at Miss “Annabeth 2.0”—though she didn't seem as smart as Annabeth. “Um..”

Annabeth, however, was curious. “We're following, don't worry.” She answered, grabbing Percy's wrist and pulling him along.

“Beth, are we sure we should follow a random girl that suspiciously looks like you..?”

“Percy, when people see two blonde kids everyone automatically thinks they're siblings. It's fine—besides, I wanna know what this "Dalmatian" group is.” Annabeth replied, still dragging Percy along.

The crunch of the leaves underneath their feet, the wind whistling through the trees, the smell of damp wood after rainfall. Every sense that they had was filled with sounds and smells as the silence took over.

The girl—who they still didn't knows name—was practically skipping along the footpath, her boots making small "clack" noises as her feet hit the ground.

Her sandy curls bounced on her shoulders, her eyelids open and staring at the path infront of her, watching where she walks as her eyes barely look back to see if Percy and Annabeth are following—she just assumes.

But she can hear them follow along, she can hear their sneakers run into small pebbles as they walk, old leaves crunching under their feet. She knows they're following her.

Then, the pathway comes to a stop. The rocky floor ends as the concrete now replaced with green, lush grass. The girl whips her head around to face them.

“We're here!” She exclaimed with a smile.

Annabeth's eyes scan over the display—it's a brick wall. “What do you mean here?” She asks, narrowing down at the girl.

“Oh right.”

The girl holds out her hand; a star (★) shape is carved in the centre like a scar or tattoo. She places her hand on the wall, before her flashed a blur of colour, yellow.

The mortar molds into a yellow before returning back to it's regular grey. Nothing happens. “Is this some kind of joke—” Percy tried to say before the bricks started to move.

The bricks unshuffle themselves, taking themselves apart and opening a doorway, a dark hall with a red dimmed light.

The blonde leans forward and looks back at Percy with a shit eating grin. “What were you saying? Did you say something?” She teased before walking in.

Annabeth glanced at Percy before following after the girl, Percy rolled his eyes and followed after them. He didn't want to be left behind.

As they walked closer to the light, soft rock music could be heard—the soothing strings of a guitar being plucked filled his sense of hearing.

“What song is this?”

He asked the girl in front. She doesn't turn around but she responds, you can hear her smile through her voice. “The President Has A Sex Tape - K.Flay. It's my sister's favourite.” Percy nods, confused by the title but shrugged it off quickly.

They enter the scene, it honestly looks like an abandoned bar that's been used as a apocalyptic bunker.

Random old milk crates placed around a small coffee table while an abandoned game of Uno sits, collecting dust. A bar stand, with medication and ambrosia stored in jars behind it instead of alcohol. The lights are dimmed to a light cherry red, the whole place looks like a mix between a club, a stoner's basement and a bunker you see on those zombie games.

Few people, around 5-6, stand around the place—talking with each other or staring at maps and other papers lying around on the big (used to be) pool table.

Two people, a boy and a girl, argue over the maps, something about horrible placements—I don't know, I wasn't listening.

But something catches Percy's eye, two dark, yellowish, cat like eyes—staring at him and Annabeth as they walk in with the girl in front.

The eyes creepily watch them shuffle past—before blinking and from what Percy could tell, raising an eyebrow?

The blonde girl in front lead them to a table. The large pool table with papers spread out across the green carpet. “Just sit tight and I'll get the Boss!—Oh!”

The girl attempted to turn around and grab this 'boss' Character, before running into and being buried into another figure's chest.

She pulls herself out from the figure's body and looks up, smiling at the sight. “Cass!” She exclaimed with a bright grin.

The girl 'Cass' looks back at the other female, nodding in acknowledgement—and from the other's reactions, that's a sign of respect.

'Cass' walks forward, her eyes landing on the two Half-bloods as they sit on the old barstools the other girl gave them. “...Hey.” Percy breaks the silence.

Annabeth elbows him in the ribs—making Percy yelp in response. “Hey!” he glared at his friend. Annabeth makes a 'shhh' expression with her finger and eyes as she looks back at the woman in front of them.

“Um.. Hi, Miss...? We didn't mean to intrude—your friend? Employee? Co-worker? Found us and took us here.. We mean you no harm!” Annabeth tried to explain before the figure walked forward.

She was a pretty girl, around 5'9—5'10. With long, dead straight white hair falling at her waist, with a black streak close to her eye.

A pale olive complexion and cat like eyes—watching their every move. She was the one he spotted before. She crossed her arms before speaking; a low toned (slightly Australian?) accent came along.

“You must be Jackson and Chase.”

The pair look at her for a second, not speaking—taking in her appearance. Long white hair tied back in a ponytail, a decently toned figure with calculating eyes watch for their reactions.

'Cass' wears a pretty casual outfit. Sporting a black halter top with basic jean shorts, and black boots with funky patterned socks.

Annabeth is the first to snap out of her daze—elbowing Percy to speak, making him yelp again before clearing his throat. “Oh. Um, yes?”

“Mhm. We've heard a lot about you.”

Before Percy can answer, Annabeth cuts him off. “Wait, I know you.” She says to the girl opposite of her. “You're that demigod that went missing from camp.”

'Cass' raised an eyebrow, before chuckling and turning to the other people that watched the scene. “Told you they'd be interested.”

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