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creatorofstarrealm · 5 months

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Star Realm Lore Remastered (2024)

The Nauticas are a fictional race of people created for the purpose of a mortal kombat story called Mk: Star Realm. This is the 2024 remastered lore with updated bio and images.

Biology

Nauticas (Nah-te-car) are a dark skin humanoid race that possess magical powers and who are worshippers of the night.

Nauticas have five different eye colors. Blue, white, green, red and yellow. But all have a bright white glow to them. Nauticas have gold or silver plating on their head, chest and their stomach. Nauticas also have gold or silver shades on their fingertips and toes. Unlike other humanoid races Nauticas bleed blue blood.

Nobody truly knows what makes the Nauticas unique. But Nauticas know their true origins. As unlike everyone else who was created through the aspects of reality, Nauticas are created through the aspects of Time. Which would explain their unique blue blood.

Nauticas possess superhuman strength and have longer life spans. The Nauticas have a deep connection to magic, but they specialize their source of magic through darkness, shadows, time, the night and the power of the moon and stars. Biologically nobody knows how long the Nauticas can live for. Many believe the Nauticas are immortal, while others believe that Nauticas live for thousands or possibly millions of years. Although everyone collectively agrees that Ashful, her father and her sisters are immortal.

Nauticas only exist in a handful of timelines. Usually as an off shot from the KC Timeline. They don’t exist in the original timeline and they certainly don’t exist in Liu kang’s new era. In truth Nauticas can only exist in a timeline if Kronika is present.

Hybrids

While Ashful's second and third child (Sardis and Vitani )heritage the Nautica's dark skin, blue hair and blue blood, Amphisbaena Ashful's first child heritage a mostly human appearance thus giving her white skin as while as her mix purple blood. This makes her appear as an albino Nautica. Vitani Ashful’s third child inherits Shokan traits such as the four arms and blue horns.

Culture and Religion

Star Realm’s culture is entirely dependent on its Religion and Paganism. Without it the poor Nauticas will have no purpose. Pagan practices include, festivals, offering, sacrifices, orgy parties, tournaments and other religious practices. Their culture shares some characteristics with ancient Rome. Their Clothing is a mix between ancient Greece and China. Though they ain’t afraid to show some skin. In fact it is highly encouraged since Nauticas are firm believers that their bodies belong to the gods and so they act as a living daily sacrifices. Whether that be for pleasure, for blood or to simply act as their vessel. Although they have a sense of their own culture they have borrowed a lot of stuff from other realms. Include traditions, history and objects.

Star Realm is ruled under a Monarchy, usually under an Emperor or a Queen. The Nauticas worship a Pantheon of three Gods. Cetrion Goddess of Nature, Shinnok the God of Death and Kronika the Goddess of time and the supreme creator of Star Realm. Much of their customs are based on the Gods they worship.

About Star Realm

Star Realm itself is a beautiful realm dedicated to the celestial realm. The realm has no day or night cycle, nauticas sleep of their own choosing. The realm has a bright green sun, a scarlet moon and a white dwarf star. The sky is covered in a celestial hemisphere much like the Northern skies. The structure of Nautica society is like a medieval sci-fi fantasy Kingdom. To villages, to sacred pagan temples with large statues dedicated to their Gods. Since Star Realm is dominated by a divisive three way religion Star Realm is divided by three domains. Star Realm could be compared to other realms such as Edenia and Orderrealm. However, Star Realm is considered small compared to other realms.

History

Kronika's Revenge and the creation of Star Realm

Being the formal Elder Goddess of Time, Kronika was banished to the Kept as punishment for her rebellion. Enraged by her fellow Elder Gods, Kronika wanted to make them suffer. While in her imprisonment she found the Hourglass, an ancient artifact of unknown origins and with the power to manipulate time and space. Kronika learns that this artifact can create entire realms from scratch. Using the Hourglass Kronika decides to create a realm, one which she will control, and thus she named this new home Star Realm.

The First Prototype

After Kronika had created Star Realm she wanted the realm to be filled with life, she wanted to create her own people. So she started off with a Prototype. This prototype would later be known as Geras. However Geras wasn't exactly what she wanted. So she remade him so many times until he became the perfect blueprint. However it is not Geras's destiny to be with Star Realm.

"The Emperor" Son of the Gods

After creating her prototype it was time for Kronika to create her first real child. She would name him "The Emperor" The first Nautica to ever exist. For years the half brothers were sent to Star Realm to create life. Eventually after a few millennia Star Realm became a thriving civilization with "The Emperor" as its ruler.

The Birth of the Star Sisters

During “The Emperor” reign he slept with many of Star Realm’s people and his people gave birth to two thousand identical daughters. All who share his green hair and all with moon halo. “The Emperor” would name his daughters the Star Sisters. A group of women who would act to his enforcers.

The Great Civil War

One Day Kronika summons "The Emperor" to join Shinnok in his conquest . However the mission ended in failure. "The Emperor" tried to flee but he was struck down and killed by Raiden. His corpse was sent back to Star Realm to be found by his horrified daughters. Hearing the news Geras took his body to the kept to be held by a weeping Kronika. Kronika grieved for her son. After “The Emperor”’ death Star Realm fell into Chaos as his daughters fought each other for the throne. This Civil War nearly destroyed Star Realm. One of the Star Sisters named Ashful seek the aid of Shinnok's Zealots to help end the war. With their help Ashful created the Crown of Power. To get the attention of her sisters Ashful sat on her father’s throne and declared herself Queen of Star Realm. This infuriated the Star Sisters that they stormed their way into the throne room. Now that her sisters had fallen into her trap she used the crown to trap their spirits into the crown, ending the Great Civil War.

Queen Ashful's reign

With Ashful as its Beautiful Queen, Ashful brought a prosperous era to Star Realm. While Queen, a male Shokan named Mo'unga Tuno stumbled into Star Realm. He was captured and held for interrogation. But Queen Ashful falls in love with the stranger and pardons his crime. When the two confess their love Ashful made Mo'unga her husband and King of Star Realm. Together the two had three children. Named Amphisbaena, Sardis and Vitani.

Thus ends the Nautica Lore.

*All the images used in this are pulled from the internet, created by A.I or were drawn by me. Images taken from the internet were used for reference purposes with no intent to steal or claim as my own.

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lazyroseart · 2 years

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Neela (The Prankster)

My Nautica! A species made by @creatorofstarrealm , I couldn't help but to make my own.

Follower of Cetrion who can't stay still or not make mischief but it's all in good fun! :3

She would be a fan of Johnny Cage if she watched movies lol.

#art #my artwork #mk #mortal kombat oc #mortal kombat #Neela #creatorofstarrealm #Nautica #Star Realm

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breesperez139 · 22 days

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Dc x Dp Prompt #6

“I’m a twin”, Damian said one night. He could feel the narrowed eyes of his family drilling holes on his back in disbelief. Not that he could blame them. Damian had never so much as implied being raised with a companion, much less a sibling.

“I had a brother”. Damian paused to recollect himself. He had not said his brother’s name out loud in over 8 years.

“His name was… Danyal”. Damian hated the way his voice wavered, but he could not help it. Danyal was everything to him, his other half. Their heart beat as one and when one heart stopped beating, the other one died with it. At least until his family put his heart on metaphorical life support without ever realizing.

“Where is he now?” His father asked, voice filled with knowing grief and a hint of betrayal. It had in fact been 6 years since Damian first showed up on his doorstep.

“Up there”. All eyes shifted towards the specific star he was pointing to. “Right before he died, he promised me he’d guide me from the stars. Unfortunately, the stars are not visible in Gotham, so my brother is unable to be of much help unless I leave the city.”

“Your brother is Polaris, the North Star?” Tim questioned warily, most likely in attempts to not offend him. Damian was aware of how stupid it sounded, but Danyal had promised, and his brother never broke his promises.

“Yes. Danyal is with the stars now, just as he always wanted”

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc fanfic #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc crossover #ghost king danny #demon twin au #danyal al ghul #batpham #they are not in Gotham at the time of this conversation #I’m thinking they’re visiting the Kent’s on their farm but tbh as long as the stars are visible it can be anywhere #Danny did in fact reincarnate as Polaris #sort of #Polaris is more of a title the Realms gave him the day he was crowned #he is the star meant to guide them through a new era #or something like that #But Damian does look up at the stars for guidance whenever he sees them #and before he knows it he’s accidentally begun praying to Danny #it’s his coping mechanism for being unable to speak about him to anyone #but back to Danny - he regained the memories of his time as Danyal Al Ghul when he died in that portal and became a halfa #well it was more he regained the memories of ALL his previous lives but his most recent one holds a special place in his heart #if only because he knows his brother is still alive on whatever earth he was born on #as bad as it sounds Danny can’t wait until he gets to reunite with Damian #he hopes Damian forgives him for not guiding him though #fun fact! Danny was once known as the god Dan-El in one of his previous lives #he’s ALSO the reincarnation of the Greek Titan Astraeus (and he’s pretty sure Dani is his daughter Astraea)#his previous lives are all so interesting (he still can’t believe he was raised an assassin or that he was a god in multiple lives)#but in all honesty it’s even weirder feeling so old and so young at the same time

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rinneverse · 1 month

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Boothill….ougurrr….fucking you as if he’ll get you pregnant….

hey. when i catch you. this has been plaguing my mind ever since i saw the notif for it. mdni / nsfw content ahead. f!reader. mentions of breeding n’ pregnancy.

Boothill knows better.

He knows that it’s entirely impossible—that he doesn’t even have that capability anymore—but every day spent with you he yearns for it more and more.

The thought of seeing you pregnant with his child plagued his mind every single night.

It’s especially apparent in the way he fucks you: slow, deep strokes, pressing his metallic body right up against the flesh of your heated skin, fucking into you with a purpose, no matter if that purpose would be fruitless in the end.

“Sugar,” Boothill groans into your ear, sharp teeth nipping at your lobe. “You’re killin’ me here—fuck—grippin’ me so tight.. it’s like you don’t wan’ me to ever pull out.”

Your fingers press into metallic shoulders as his synthetic cock hits that spongy spot inside of you, a delighted mewl falling from your lips as he mouths sloppily down the slope of your neck.

“Feels s’good,” you whine back, legs wrapping tight around his waist. “Baby, Boothill, please.”

He nearly snarls with an animalistic heat as his name falls from your lips, an angelic plea that he never wants to stop hearing. His hips snap harder, pace growing more ruthless, and your song grows more and more desperate as he brings you closer to climax.

“Never w’nna stop pounding this sweet pussy—mmh, yeah—I wanna put a baby in ya, w’nna make sure you’re nice n’ full..!”

He can feel his sensory receptors working into overdrive as he fucks into you, icy metallic fingertips gripping your hips so tightly that there’s no chance of you escaping him even as you squeal and flutter around him.

“Wait!” you cry. Pretty silvery tears of pleasure line your lashes, threatening to spill over down your cheeks. “T’much, slow down, g’nna cum, wait..!”

Boothill ignores your pleas, snapping his hips with a new fervor as he angles his cock to hit that perfect little spot inside you. He wants you to cum, and he wants you to cum hard.

“You like that idea, huh?” Boothill goads you. “The idea of bein’ pumped full of my kids? Yeaaah, you’re clenchin’ so tight around me. C’mon sugar, cum, I know you can.”

Boothill has never wished for something more as you cum around his cock with a cry. He’s never longed for his humanity more—the ability to empty his load inside your convulsing heat, to make you a mother, to see you so round and full of his kids.

In another life, perhaps, the two of you start a happy family together. One where this dream of his can come true.

For this one, he’ll just settle for making you cum until you’re seeing stars.

#oakie answers #☆ oakie writes #boothill x reader #boothill smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #are you guys tired of me plaguing the boothill tags yet #dude i don’t even like pregnancy like that but boothill…. he’s changing me #never irl. but in fictional scenarios… mmmm yum.#cw pregnancy #cw breeding #anon <3 #nereids' realm

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pyralart · 10 months

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I don't think Belos is taking it very well

First part (You are here) >> Next Part

First batch of this little series, inspired by @petitprincess1's idea! I couldn't get this scenario out of my head so of course I drew it.

Get ready because it will have at least 8 pages! Probably my longest comic yet

There will be some angst but the violence will overall be canon-typical!

#the owl house #the owl house spoilers #toh #toh fanart #toh comic #luz noceda #emperor belos #philip wittebane #pyralart #Sooooo many backgrounds in those pages oh my god #Back to the Human Realm #<-- Guess that'll be my tag for it I just came up with it #Also it's my personal headcanon that The Collector would speak with emojis sorry not sorry it's too funny and fitting to me #Little ipad kid and his stars and moon emojis <3 #I need to do more with the collector too I love them #ok ok enough rambling #thanks for reading <3 I love u

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bet-on-me-13 · 1 month

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Starfire is a Halfa

So! We all know Starfire's backstory right? She was the princess of Tameran, sold off as a Slave by her sister, and experimented on giving her Energy Based Powers before she escaped to Earth and joined the Teen Titans.

What you didn't know, is that the Experiments were using a very specific Substance. Ectoplasm.

The Experiments done on Starfire turned her into a Halfa, the 3rd Natural Born Halfa in existence. Not that she knew anything about that, the records of the Aliens who Experimented on her were destroyed when the Ship crashed on Earth, so she didn't know the true origin of her Powers.

All this time she has been using her powers through her Mortal Body, never discovering her Transformed Ghost State even years after the Experiments. She has no idea that she is limiting herself, that she has a whole catalog of Powers that have never seen the Light of Day.

But Raven has noticed something. Her recent Divination Spells have detected the presence of a Powerful Ghost somewhere in the Tower, and she needs to find it.

#Dpxdc #Dp x dc #Dcxdp #Dc x dp #Danny Phantom #Dc #Dcu #Starfire is a Halfa #She is completely unaware of this #Blackfire is too after replicating the Experiments but she is actually aware of her full scope of powers #Raven was just testing out some divination spells on a whim and detected an Infinite Realms Ghost in Titans Tower #She needs to find it #She tracks it to Starfires room and decides that Star must have been possessed recently #Meanwhile in the Infinite Realms:#Danny: WHAT DO MEAN THERES ANOTHER HALFA?!#Ellie: New Sister!

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mideas · 9 days

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. . . . ❝ ᰔᩚ*:･ﾟexplicit drabble, female reader — boothill. ❞

Boothill’s right metal fingers were buried in your mouth and served as a muzzle, suppressing the moans that came from you, his left ones were playing with your bud, folds fluttering every time his digits brushed them.

"I think this prett~y girl is used to me now~"

He whispered those words in a seductive tone as warm, burning kisses were planted along your jawline, till he reach your ear and bit the top of it, stroking his tongue down the helix, before he began to tease your entrance.

Hands pressed against the wall was the only way to keep your balance, but with Boothill purposely taunting you; both hands and legs, curved and slowly slid down.

"Mm~hm, can ya' be louder~? Sound deli~cious down there."

With only two fingers, thrusting in quite in a rapid motion, the cowboy had you dripping on the floor and filled the room with squashing noise.

You avoided to glance at what Boothill was doing despite being able to hear it, but you could imagine his expression behind your back: showing off his pointy teeth with a grin, pale cheeks painted with a flashy red and squinting eyes.

"This...darlin'~...this is tooo~ good."

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #boothill x reader #boothill smut #hsr boothill #nereids' realm

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creatorofstarrealm · 5 months

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Use this Picrew to create some of my mk ocs. Bare in mind some of them were edited.

From top to bottom we have; Empress Mahemis (Protector God of Orderrealm and goddess of winter and moons), Apophis (Formal Protector God of Chaosrealm and God of chaos. )

Lilith (Demoness and Queen of the Netherrealm), Lucifer Hades (Protector God of the Netherrealm, God of Death and King of the Netherrealm)

Hosanna (Formal Protector of Earthrealm and God of the Fire. Now Elder God of the Sun) Issac (Protector God of Earthrealm and God of water) Orisha (Protector God of Earthrealm and God of Earth), Oya (Demigoddess of Lighting and Orisha's daughter)

Queen Ashful (Ruler of Star realm) and her daughter Princess Vitani.

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eggtempest · 10 months

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i'm so so excited to introduce STAR REALM ROGUES!!! a webcomic by me, heavily inspired by the magical girl genre!

the first chapter is up now, it'd mean a lot to me if you'd check it out!!! <33

>>LINK!<<

#original #star realm rogues

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rinneverse · 1 month

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࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞. — 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒌𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒊 ˒ ⊹

series synopsis. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.

[ prev chapter. | don't you trust me masterlist | next chapter. ]

syn. you wake up and are left to ponder the repercussions of staying over at sampo’s. bad decisions are made. (5.6k)

cw. fem reader / alcohol + drinking / food mentions (he makes u breakfast!) / petname usage (doll/dollface, darling, pretty girl, baby, my girl) / oral (f!receiving) / v!fingering / allusions to piv intercourse / reader has bad coping mechanisms i fear / reader goes to the cluurbbb / we also get angsty up in the clurb :3

love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. i... did not mean for this chapter to take so long to come out. and to think i hard part of it written when chapter one dropped. i fear chapter three may take three to five business years. regardless; lots of plot development in this one. i hope this lives up to everynyan's expectations :p

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

You wake to the pale light of dawn filtering in through the curtained window.

With a yawn, you clumsily push down your blanket, fingers curling over soft fabric. You begin to twist onto your other side when you realize that something is very wrong.

Very, very wrong, like the you are not in the safety of your home kind of wrong.

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t dare open your eyes.

There’s a heavy weight slung across your waist and a warmth you’re curled up against that isn’t usually there. It takes you a few seconds of wracking your brain to remember that you never actually made it home last night—that it was Sampo’s bed that you had fallen asleep in, and that was Sampo himself you were currently entangled with. The tension that had seized you quickly dissipates—then it slams back into you with a ferocity as you realize that you and Sampo had fallen asleep curled up together.

That’s not normal. That is so very not normal, and it takes everything in you to not start freaking the fuck out.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, the only movement you risk is tilting your head up a fraction. You find that Sampo is still sound asleep, chest rising and falling slowly against you with every breath he takes. The urge to run your fingers along the smooth skin of his cheek makes your fingers twitch once, twice. You hesitate.

Because for once, Sampo looked… at peace. No scheming, no stress, just… him. His face looked so gentle, so soft, that perhaps waking him up would be a heinous crime. Yet you hold your breath, inching a hand up, up, up, tracing the column of his neck, his strong jaw, the apple of his cheek—

Whatever was running through your head is swiftly cut off when Sampo starts to stir. You feel panic grip and squeeze your heart with clawed fingertips. Shutting your eyes and forcing yourself slow your breathing, you lower your hand to its original position. You didn’t want to be caught staring at him, let alone caught stroking your fingers along his face—the mere thought of that occurring alone was mortifying enough.

A heartbeat passes. Then two. You feel the blanket shifting around, hear how he sleepily mumbles and yawns, followed by the warmth of his body slowly slipping away. You suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine at the cold that creeps in, resist the urge to pull the duvet tighter around yourself; instead continuing to pretend-sleep as you listen to Sampo move about.

You’re about to shed your façade when you feel the bed dip. There’s a warm breath that caresses your forehead—a forewarning before you feel his lips gently press against your forehead.

The world freezes entirely.

It takes a willpower of steel (and perhaps then some) to remain in place, to not even stir, to not snatch his wrist and ask him what the hell he’s doing when he slowly lifts his head. You wait for him to fully pull away but he lingers, his thumb coming up to sweep over the apple of your cheek, then lower to brush against your mouth, swiping gently at your lower lip before he’s truly moving out of your reach.

You’re nearly bursting with impatience when you finally hear the door creak open and click shut.

Shoving yourself up into a sitting position, your mouth drops open in shock as you touch where his lips had pressed against your skin. The feeling lingers, burning like a brand, a mark you felt you would carry with you until the end of time. The thought is enough to have you shaking your head violently.

Suddenly feeling very, very warm, you push the duvet to the side. You clutch your shirt in your hands, balling them into fists—or rather, it’s his shirt that you grasp tightly in fisted hands. His scent still curls around you, utterly maddening, only adding fuel to the fire that consumes you.

If you didn’t confirm it last night, you definitely confirm it then—you were perhaps in the deepest pit of shit known to mankind: having feelings for Sampo. Maybe the revelation of having feelings for the one person you’re not supposed to have feelings for has you imagining things. Maybe you were still asleep and this was just a dream.

You hiss quietly as you pinch yourself.

Nope. This was very much reality.

You sigh.

It takes you several minutes to really process what had just happened—and that you didn’t just make it up in your head. You needed to get the fuck home so you could process it some fucking more. It feels like your entire perception of reality has been shattered with one simple moment of secretive intimacy.

In the distance, a faucet creaks on and begins running, followed by the faint clink of silverware clattering against plates. Whistling. Your crisis is momentarily forgotten as you realize Sampo is whistling your favorite song—it snaps you back into the moment, makes you remember just exactly where you are. This revelation could wait. Just a little bit more, and then you can go home and freak out in peace.

It’s only a matter of moments to gather yourself together and change back into your own clothing thanks to the earlier interaction waking you up entirely. You silently slip out of the bedroom and into the main living area, greeted by a sight that warms your heart.

There Sampo is, in all of his shirtless glory, swaying his hips to the little tune he’s humming as he whisks something together. Food sizzles on the stovetop, adding a quiet backtrack to his song. You lean against the archway that leads into the kitchen area, silent as you take a second to admire him, the portrait of domesticity. Your lips pull into a small, serene smile.

An image flashes before your eyes—a glimpse into the future, maybe—where you could have this sight every day. Sleepy good mornings and quiet embraces, shared laughter and lips pressing together—

The squeak you let out finally alerts Sampo to your presence. He’s quick to turn, whisk in hand and bits of what you assume is flour dusted on his hands, his face—“Doll! How long have you been standing there?”

You stammer dumbly, trying to reel in your head from the outrageous daydream that had barged its way into your thoughts. The outrageous daydream that you know you will never attain. “Um, ah…”

Sampo sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead as he continues, “And here I was, hoping I could surprise you with a little breakfast—I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon!”

He’s quick to set down the bowl and utensils he held as he approaches you. You tilt your head questioningly at him but he doesn’t give you any indication of what he’s up to until he’s a step away from you.

The devious glint in his eyes being your only warning, he’s suddenly twirling you into his arms and dipping you, a firm hand on your lower back as he grips your wrist with a gentle hand. His eyes crinkle with the smile he gives you.

“Sampo!” You gasp out. You’re so startled by the suddenness of his movements that your free hand grips his shoulder for dear life as you inhale sharply with alarm. Sampo laughs, so unlike his other laughs—the ones where he’s charming his way into scamming a stranger, or when it takes on that darker tinge as his schemes unfold just the way he likes—that you’re blinking in confusion, mouth parting with a question you don’t quite know how to ask on your lips.

“I had to surprise you somehow,” he says by way of explanation. He twirls you again, pulling you flush to his body, and sways you to the cheery tune he hums.

The pair of you dance around the kitchen, laughing and giggling together like there’s nothing else in the world—like it’s just you and him in this pretty little bubble.

Sampo dips you again, forcing your gaze to his. When you meet his eyes, there’s something glimmering there—something that you’d perhaps call… adoration, as delusional as it makes you feel. You pause there, chests heaving in sync as you stare at each other.

You see his eyes flick down briefly to your lips. There’s a question that lies in his gaze—something you can’t possibly answer.

It’s enough to have you scrambling out of his grip.

“Don’t forget the uhm,”—you clear your throat hastily—”the food on the stove. It’ll burn if you’re not careful.”

Sampo blinks, looking at you as if he were snapped out of a trance. “Right.” He pauses—abruptly laughing nervously, clasping his hands together. “I need to be careful.”

He nods his head. After a few moments of tense silence, he glides over to the stove, quietly returning to his task of making breakfast.

Flustered, you take a seat on one of the stools nestled by the island countertop and fold your hands in your lap. You bite your lip as you watch Sampo work. His broad back is turned to you, faint red lines streaking down the hard muscles that ripple as he moves around the kitchen. Your face heats up as you remember just exactly how he received those marks.

The silence lingers in the air, heavy and oppressive, a tension that pulls all of your nerves taut. You’ve never been the type to stay after a one night stand, let alone stay after a night with Sampo. This was entirely uncharted territory you were currently in.

If you’re honest? You’re terrified. You’re not equipped to navigate the unfamiliar feeling that burns bright in your chest. Actually, to take your own mental confession just a little bit further, you want to flee. Really bad. But something—you’re not quite sure what—keeps you tethered here, perhaps like a string wrapped around your pinkie finger that tugs and tugs and pleads with you to stay, just this once. It wants you to see where this goes. It wants you to take a risk, blindly jump into the unknown with nothing to shield your heart but the precarious walls you’ve painstakingly built up over the years. Walls that are swiftly crumbling with every moment spent with Sampo Koski.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the clinking sound of porcelain making contact with the countertop before you register the plate sliding towards you. The sight is mouthwatering—eggs cooked exactly how you prefer (how did he know that?), accompanied by a stack of pancakes that feature a smiling face made with blueberries.

You stifle a giggle, earning you a funny look from Sampo.

“What’s so funny, doll? You’re not laughin’ at Sampo’s hard work, are ya?” He pouts dramatically.

You press your lips together, but there’s no hiding the laughter that glimmers in your eyes. “N-No, I would never! It’s just… it’s so…” Your voice wobbles with the effort it takes to stamp down your giggles.

“It’s so what?” He squints.

“The pancakes are just so…” You shrug one shoulder, searching for the right word. “Adorable? I never would’ve expected that from you, that’s all.”

“I’m full of surprises darling, don’t you worry,” Sampo says with a wink. He sits down next to you with a plate of his own and the two of you dig in. The silence between you evolves into something more.. comfortable. Something normal.

You’d beg to differ (eating breakfast after a night with Sampo felt anything but normal), but you can’t deny that you’re enjoying yourself next to him. And you can admit he’s not the worst cook in the world.

The moment passes in what feels like merely a blink and perhaps too soon you’re already scooping up your empty plate, walking over to the sink to take care of the dishes. The moment Sampo realizes what you intend on doing he rushes over to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it doll, let me take care of it.”

You look up at him and shake your head. “No, no, let me do it. It’s the polite thing to do.”

Sampo’s eyebrows furrow. “I insist—you shouldn’t have to even lift a finger.”

He moves to take the plate from your hands but you pull it out of reach. His eyes narrow as they meet yours—a challenge gleaming there that you refuse to back down from.

He takes a step towards you. You step back. A step forward. A step back. You continue this little dance until there’s a countertop behind you and nowhere else for you to go. He cages you into the corner with one broad arm.

Sampo’s lips curl up in a wolfish grin as you both realize that you’re trapped. “The plate, sweetheart.”

“You’re a real prick, you know that?”

Sampo’s grin widens. “Only for you, dollface.”

Head hanging in defeat, you hold the dish out to him. He takes it, none too smugly, and sets it to the side. His attention immediately returns to you.

You look up at him and tilt your head.

“You going to let me go now, or..?”

Sampo shrugs. “Why should I? I like you right where you are here.”

He’s so big. He crowds your space, enveloping your senses, mingling with the lingering scent of breakfast. It’s something deep and musky. Mouthwatering, if you dare to admit it.

There’s a smug lilt to his voice as he continues speaking, “In fact, I’m still a little famished. Think you can help me out, sweetheart?”

Your lips part slightly, but the question you were about to ask dies on the tip of your tongue as Sampo’s large hands grasp your hips, fingers digging into the supple fat as he lifts you onto the countertop. His eyes are heavily lidded as he sinks to his knees, looking up at you with hunger glimmering in his gaze.

“May I?” Sampo’s voice is darkened with lust, a sort of purr that sends a shiver racing down your spine. A flash of pink between his lips—his tongue darting out to wet them, leaving a thin sheen of saliva in its wake. The grin he shoots you has heat quickly pooling in your core.

You weakly nod your head, too breathless to speak. Sampo’s smile widens.

He makes quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them off of you in one smooth motion. Lithe fingers dip under the elastic of your panties, pulling it taut and snapping the band against your skin. You yelp softly as he snickers.

“So reactive,” Sampo murmurs, fingers dipping once again to slowly pull the fabric off of you. You lift your hips dutifully—you know where this is going. You feel your core tighten with desire.

He tucks your panties into the pocket of his sweats, shoulders rippling as he pulls you to the edge of the counter and slings your legs over them. He looks up at you through thick, dark lashes.

“Doin’ okay up there, pretty girl?” He asks, the deep baritone of his voice making your stomach flutter.

“Mhm,” you respond, biting your lip. You ball your hands up into fists, thighs twitching with the urge to press them together. Sampo seems to notice, because broad hands come up to grip your inner thighs, kneading at the supple flesh. He watches your expression for a moment longer before his eyes dip down to the prize in front of him.

“Thanks for dessert, dollface.”

Sampo’s words linger in the air, a promise of what was to come as he leans forward. His breath is hot as it fans across the apex of your thighs. He presses a kiss to your navel, then dips lower, tongue darting out to drag hotly along your weeping slit.

“Fuck,” you hiss at the contact. Your spine curves slightly, a silent plea for more. His chest rumbles with a dark chuckle as he makes another pass, letting his tongue linger at your clit, lazily lapping at it while your hips tremble.

God. He’s criminally good at this.

“Atta girl. Feeling good?” Sampo murmurs as he slips a finger into your tight heat. It draws a low moan from your lips, one that pulls his mouth into a smug smile before he wraps his lips around your clit. One of your hands grips the edge of the counter for dear life while the other entangles itself in Sampo’s hair as you tremble with just how good he’s making you feel. One tug has him groaning into you, a pleasant vibration that makes you throw your head back as you continue to card your fingers through soft blue locks.

“Feels great,” you murmur, exhaling shakily. Each drag of his finger is tortuously slow, the calloused pad crooking and prodding against your sensitive walls. You tug at his hair again, earning a pleasant moan from him.

You swallow thickly as he adds another finger. He takes it nice and slow with you, a teasing pace that makes you want to beg. You buck your hips slightly to urge him along, to give him the hint, but he’s relentless in his pursuit to drag this out as long as he possibly can.

“You want more, pretty girl?” Sampo purrs softly, pressing a chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs.

“Mhm,” you sigh. He makes a contemplative noise, and then…

He stops.

You let out a cry of outrage as he sits back on his haunches with a smug grin.

“Hey—!”

“You can use your words, can’t you?”

Your mouth drops open, and Sampo can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at your look of shock. He tilts his head as you lean back, chest heaving as you catch your breath.

Fuck, you were getting so close—for him to pull back like this…

“Please…” A quiet, desperate plea. He stares at you expectantly.

You gnaw on your lower lip as he watches you with sharp eyes, glimmering pools of emerald that track your every movement; the way your chest rises and falls with each labored breath, the way your hands press against the cool marble countertop beneath you, the way your eyes glimmer with wanton desire for him.

His grin widens.

“Sampo…” you start, your voice coming out in a shaky warble. You’re none too proud of it, but there’s no room for pride when he dangles your orgasm out in front of you so teasingly, so close and yet so far all at once.

Bait.

And you take it, because you know that Sampo can give you what you need with ease.

“Fuck—” your chin dips slightly as you look down at him, face heating with shame. “I need you, Sampo. Please.”

“Need me to what, baby?”

His voice has lowered an octave—and he crooks his fingers inside of you, giving you a preview of what you could have should you comply with his request.

That subtle nudge is enough to make your hips jump slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat.

You wanted it. You wanted him.

“Need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe. “Sampo, baby, fuck me.”

His resulting grin is feral, eyes glimmering with a wild desire that makes your core clench.

“Whatever my girl wants—”

He withdraws his fingers and stands to his full height. Your eyes rove over his figure, the various love bites littered across his fair skin. Marks you’ve left on him. It sends a sick sense of possession zipping through your veins, and paired with the way he says “my girl”, you wonder what it would be like if he truly was yours in that way. A dangerous train of thought.

You’re distracted, long enough for him to pull his leaking cock out from the confines of his sweats; you’re brought back to reality by his tip pressing to your slit, catching against your clit teasingly.

“—my girl gets, yeah?”

You find yourself in the bathroom again.

This time, you are in your own home.

The rush of water pouring from the faucet is near deafening as you stare at yourself in the mirror. The porcelain is cool against the tight grip you hold on your sink. You glance at the hickeys that litter the expanse of your neck, your shoulder, while you retrace your steps throughout the past week.

You had returned home a couple of hours ago. Only now have you brought yourself to start processing things. You’ve been dreading it, really: coming to terms with something you know will end. As things always do.

You can’t have him. It would never work out.

Sampo is sweet. Kind, even, despite the false benevolent demeanor he displays in order to con poor souls into giving him money. But he’s also as fleeting as a sweet nostalgic memory. The kind of person who comes and goes in your life as they please. You’ve quickly become accustomed to the way that Sampo will sometimes disappear for days, even weeks at a time, and then waltz right back into your life as if nothing happened.

And he does this without any qualms, because this is a casual thing to him. You constantly have to remind yourself that you had told him, “No strings attached. I don’t want feelings involved. This is purely physical.” And he had agreed without further thought, because you’re friends. Friends don’t fall in love with each other.

Friends also don’t eat you out until you’re seeing stars, or fuck you on the countertops so good that you’re babbling and crying, but that’s beside the point.

You think back to how easily the words “my girl” fell from his lips. It’s almost malicious, what that does to your psyche. The way it makes your head spin. The way your heart pounds against your ribs at the mere thought of it.

You frown deeply and shove your hands into the sink. The cold water shocks you momentarily, and the thought fades away, to be shoved in a box and locked away in the deepest recesses of your brain.

Then you scrub your face with the freezing water that pours from the tap. It’s refreshing against your balmy skin, not to mention it doubles as a wake up call for your lovestruck head. Whatever feelings you harbored for Sampo were doomed to die. You may as well just get over it now before it can do any real damage.

And the easiest way to get over things?

You give yourself an uneasy smile in the mirror after drying your face with a towel and shut off the faucet.

The bass thrums through your body as you enter the packed club.

You’ve decided on a rather obscenely short black dress for today—something flattering, something that makes you feel good. You would need some confidence with the goal you have in mind for today.

A goal that feels a little stupid, now that you’re physically here and you’ve sat with it for a little bit. It’s not like Sampo is aware of your inner turmoil; nor would he care that you’re planning on going home with someone that isn’t him. You never agreed on being exclusive when your little arrangement first started.

(Maybe there’s just some sick part of you that hopes that he would care—that it would make him jealous.)

You shake the thought from your head as you weave through sweaty bodies. Whatever kind of goal you set for yourself, it doesn’t matter. There’s truly only one thing that you absolutely need to make happen tonight:

You need to get over Sampo Koski.

And if that involves sleeping with some stranger, so be it. Or perhaps just getting so drunk you forget for a little while. Whatever works.

You steal a seat at the bar and order your usual. Your mind wanders as you wait patiently for your drink—gravitating towards how you felt almost… dramatic, childish even, for feeling so strongly about this.

You can’t help it. You’ve never truly let yourself indulge in romance before; you’re not even sure if this is what it was supposed to look like. If it was supposed to be this aggravating. If you’re supposed to feel as miserable as you do right now.

The clink of ice jostling around as a glass is set in front of you pulls you from your brooding. You swipe up the drink with a quiet “thank you”, turning in your seat to survey the room—and more importantly, the people—around you.

Your frequent spot is busy tonight—bodies upon bodies on the club floor, grinding and dancing salaciously to the bass heavy song that pounds through the speakers. The low lights that glimmer along the ceiling cast deep shadows across everything, making everything look much more dramatic than it really is.

You raise your glass to take a sip when suddenly there’s a hand clasping your shoulder.

“Wha—!” you jump, nearly spilling the liquid all over yourself. You turn to glare at whoever had the balls to just come up to you like that when you’re met with a none too pleasant surprise:

Sampo. Fucking. Koski.

“What are you doin’ here, doll? Especially without even inviting your dear old friend?”

His voice is a smug croon, hard to hear above the club music that envelops you in its embrace. You can hear the hint of surprise, though—and you spot the way his eyebrows are raised, eyes wide and shimmering with curiosity.

So much for escaping him tonight. You resign to your fate with a sigh, settling back into your seat and sipping on your drink properly. Sampo immediately takes to your side, invading your personal space with no regards for your feelings on the matter.

(Usually, you don’t mind. Tonight, it grates on your nerves.)

“I wanted to get out of the house n’ I didn’t wanna bother you. Simple as that.”

Your words are clipped, even if you know you don’t have any right to be upset with him. He hasn’t done anything wrong; you just happen to be in a sour mood.

That he caused.

Indirectly.

“You wound me, doll! I’d never say no to your pretty face, you know that.”

(You want to call him a liar.

You don’t. You smile, and you nod, and you clench your drink so tightly your hand starts to tremble.)

You shrug your shoulders, forcing your gaze back out to the dance floor. Your stomach feels heavy with a feeling you can’t quite put a name to.

All you know is that it does not feel good.

“Sorry, Sampo. I’ll invite you next time, ‘kay?”

Maybe he senses how off your energy is tonight, because typically he’d press the issue further. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Sounds good, pretty girl. Save me a seat, ‘kay? I’ll be right back.”

He pushes off the bar counter, making a direct beeline towards the restrooms. You let out a deep sigh, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in the first place.

You turn towards the bartender and move to flag him down, but—

You only get a few moments of peace until a presence returns to your side. You can’t help but scoff, turning to say, “Sampo, what the hell do you—huh?”

You pause as you turn to a person that is very much not Sampo Koski.

Your face blanches.

The stranger offers you a nervy smile, the portrait of bashfulness.

How fucking horrifying—you can feel your face heat up with shame as you stare dumbly at him.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you. I just thought you were really pretty, so I was hoping you’d maybe let me buy you a drink?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are stained a pretty red and his big brown eyes are wide with an eagerness that makes you shake off your mortification and force yourself to smile gently.

“Oh! Uhm—yeah, that would be nice,” you gesture to the open seat next to you. “Sit?”

He tells you his name, something you’re sure you’ll forget later, as you paste a pretty smile on your face and lean forward in your seat. You can see the way his flush deepens, hear the way he stumbles over his words—it’s endearing. He’s like a puppy.

You exchange small talk over drinks, and he’s true to his word: he puts your drink on his tab, and even offers to put the next few on him, too. He’s a little bit odd, but he makes good conversation, so you entertain him, idly stirring the straw that came with your drink.

You’re about to answer his next question (a question that was rather.. strange, you note to yourself), but your reply dies on your lips as Sampo returns.

And he looks none too happy.

“Doll!” Sampo exclaims loudly, pressing into your side. He slings an arm around your waist as he casts his glare upon the stranger you were just chatting up. “Who’s this, baby?”

This might be the worst possible outcome. Mortified, your shoulders hunch slightly as you try to grow smaller, cringing at the venom that coats Sampo’s usually honeyed tone.

“Sorry, you are..?” The stranger asks, bewildered.

“Her boyfriend. Who are you?”

You cringe even further, turning your gaze. The words falling from Sampo’s lips feels like a lead ball dropping in your stomach. You think you might be sick. So sick, in fact, that you tune out their ensuing conversation as your head spins.

Abruptly you stand, chair clattering loudly with the motion. Both men stop and turn to look at you.

“I—” you pause, inhaling sharply through your nose, “am going to go now. Bye.”

You turn on your heel and all but scramble out of the situation, heels clacking against tile flooring. Your heart is about to burst from beneath your ribs. Your face is hot—you feel like you might melt and never recover.

You burst through the door and the cold air immediately hits you. It’s refreshing and miserable all at once, cooling down your heated veins and making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

You’re about a couple feet down the sidewalk when hurried footsteps sound behind you. Your head whips over your shoulder, eyes wide as you stare down who approaches you.

What a joke. You know fully well Sampo can mask the sound of his footsteps—he’s letting them ring out for you.

The weight in your stomach increases exponentially. You turn forward and pick up your pace. You think your vision is swimming.

“Doll!” Sampo pleads, reaching out to grab your shoulder. You jerk away and swivel on your heel to face him.

“What? What is it now?” Your voice is downright venomous. It comes out much harsher than you intend, but the words are out now and it’s too late to take them back.

“Pretty girl…” He starts, and then shakes his head. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then:

Your name. Said so softly, falling like a prayer from his lips, and yet it’s an explosion of color in your world. Your eyes widen.

“Sampo,” you respond with equal softness, your voice trembling as you ball your hands into fists. Chest heaving, you stare at him, meeting deep pools of emerald green that look at you with such desperation it makes you want to crumble into pieces.

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Sampo frowns, a dusty pink blush settling high on his cheeks. There’s genuine remorse in his eyes, so you listen, inclining your head as you wait for him to continue. “You just.. you looked uncomfortable, and you’re my friend. I was just tryin’ to give you an out.”

You’re my friend.

Friend.

Nausea claims you again, hitting you with the force of a freight train. But you force yourself to smile, and nod, and again your hands tremble with the effort of keeping them at your side.

No matter how much you wanted to reach out to him.

To touch him, to hold him.

You can’t.

“It’s okay.” You can’t help the way your voice strains, so you keep as quiet as possible, voice coming out in a mere whisper. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It doesn’t seem okay—”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, shaking your head.

Sampo’s eyes search your face as you stare at him. You need to steel your resolve. So you say:

“I think we should take a break from seeing each other.”

It’s like you’ve dropped a bomb.

The way his face falls makes your stomach twist itself into knots. But this is for the better. Until you can get your shit together.

But fuck, he looks so sad, it makes your heart ache.

“Oh,” is all he says.

You gnaw on your lower lip. You taste a hint of metal on your tongue—you’ve broken skin. You nod your head slowly. You need to steel your fucking resolve. The decision is out there, and you cannot take it back.

“Mhm. Just for a little bit.”

He inhales slowly, and on the exhale he manages to mask the desperation he let you get a flash of. It’s too late, though: the feelings are out there, and he cannot hide it.

“For a little bit,” he echoes. His eyes have lost their spark. Your heart withers in your chest.

The pair of you cannot hide your true feelings from the other. Not for long. Not like you hoped you could. You pray to some long-forgotten Aeon that the space can give you the willpower you need to maintain your walls, at least for a little bit longer.

“For a little bit.” You confirm. “I’ll… see you later, okay?”

He’s silent. Then, he dips his chin. A silent farewell.

This time, his footsteps don’t make a single sound as he walks away.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

#sampo koski x reader #sampo x reader #sampo smut #sampo koski smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #sampo x you #sampo koski x you #☆ oakie writes #☆ series: don't you trust me?#dividers via cafekitsune :p #nereids' realm

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puppetmaster13u · 5 months

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Prompt 187

Clockwork would openly admit that he couldn’t see Danny’s timelines. Not since the moment he stepped into that portal and became something more. A child of Infinity, of the very Realms itself.

But he’ll also admit that it always meant that the child surprised him all the time. This just happened to be a startling surprise, and an admittedly amusing one, even if Danny was openly complaining about the situation.

“It’s not fair! You have to be able to fix this, right? Right?!” the ghostling, quite literally now, practically yanked at his cloak. “Clockwork, I was going to graduate, I can’t be two! Please, you’re the master of Time, you can fix this right!?”

No, no he could not, seeing as young Daniel was in fact, immune to timeline machinations, doubly so for his own. To the ghostling’s open distress, which he did his best to soothe. What he could do instead, was stop time in his home dimension, and instead let him age back up again.

Which the young halfa wasn’t happy about, but it was the best thing they had, so Clockwork supposed he had a ghostling now. A tiny adorable ghostling who kept pouting each time his much younger body had any sort of effect on his behavior.

He’d never exactly had a ghostling before, nevermind one who was part human, but he would admit he honestly was enjoying it. Most time was spent alone, something he hadn’t realized until Danny ended up crashing into his unlife.

Honestly he would openly admit that he absolutely adored his little ghostling. Who was now around four, at least physically, and had gotten into the adorable habit of curling up in the pendulum in his chest. Which was honestly the safest spot in Long Now, he’d admit.

The singular issue however, with this habit, was that when someone attempted to summon him, they got his ghostling as well. And well, normally he could very much control himself for these summonings that happened every few hundred or so years, but well. There was a reason why even the Observants had stopped popping in the moment they realized he had a ghostling.

Nesting ghosts do not mess around should they feel one is messing with their very vulnerable child, and really it’s not his fault the mortal cultists woke up and startled Danny. Perhaps deleting them from the timeline was a bit too far, if the other mortals rapid paling was to go by, but oh well.

#Prompts #Dcxdp #Dpxdc #Danny is so embarrassed the first time he accidentally calls Clockwork father #Clockwork on the other hand was utterly delighted and treasures that moment forever #Space core Danny #I just think it’s poetic of him being Space and CW being Time #JL & JL Dark arriving just in time to see idiots summon the “Realm Regent” are freaking out #Danny was Napping and isn’t pleased to be woken up #But then his toddler-influenced brain notices Bright Colors and also sees STARS out the window and gets excited #Yes a few Observants got killed by a very unhappy Clockwork who might have unchained himself since he now has something besides himself #Yes Danny is technically 17 and 4 and hundreds of years old all at once #But Mr Time-shifting form CW does not mind nor care lol #No Danny is not ghost king #Nor will he ever be ghost king #CW is regent because his husband (they never finished that divorce) is in a sarcophagus of sleep rn

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hetascanlations · 3 months

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