#Maintainable entropy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

57sfinest · 1 year

Text

theoretical entroponetics: the post

okay. LONG post incoming. i have summarized all available information on the pale, separated into confirmed objective truth & in-canon speculation that may or may not be true, and then appended my own very detailed theory on the pale! this post is meant as a resource; please feel free to add things of your own in replies/reblogs (please tag me if you do!) or point out any errors i may have made. you’re welcome to use any of my personal theory in your own work but please credit me if you do!! (and tag me in that/send it to me, i really want to see what you do with it!)

Here’s what we *know* about the pale, according to in-game and concept art:

It erases data, at least the kind stored on radiocomputer filament and magnetic tapes.

It has no dimensions of its own- pale latitude compressors serve to force dimensions on raw pale and allow navigation.

The pale is referred to in the context of entropy

It arrived with mankind, but not immediately- there are 8000 years of written history, but the pale was first recorded 6000 years ago, implying that pale either didn’t start forming immediately or that it was so insignificant/distant that it went unnoticed for 2000 years.

There exists a group of people who are actively trying to expedite entroponetic collapse; the ideology is called entropolism

To this point, pale isn’t immediately visible. Pale has molecular structure, but manifests as a waveform, and only becomes visible at a certain distance from the origin, once wave frequency is sufficiently high.

During pale exposure, people experience “sense objects”: visual or auditory hallucinations and/or vivid physical recollections of memories. These hallucinations may originate from their own consciousness or someone else’s. c

People require physical and mental examinations before interisolary travel and are allotted a certain number of days per year as their pale exposure threshold.

Overexposure results in a pale “addiction”- these individuals crave pale exposure, and it’s unclear if this addiction can ever be broken. It’s also unclear whether there is a point at which pale exposure becomes lethal, but given that it dissolves matter, we can be fairly certain that a given length of continuous exposure will kill.

Radio signals, cold plasma torches and anodic sound are all used to manage the pale to permit travel through it. Plasma torches destabilize the molecular structure of the pale to create gaps, anodic sound widens and maintains these gaps, and radio signals rationalize the pale into recognizable dimensions.

Radio signals are, in return, susceptible to corruption by the pale, resulting in entroponetic crosstalk, where signals from the past or the future are transmitted to the present. CCP is one such phenomenon and is directly related to the formation of new pale through magpie interpretation.

There is a dedicated Union for people who work in and with the pale (the Pale Workers Union). They have two slogans; “The light purifies; The sound absolves; The pale no more” and “Son et Fureur” (sound and fury)

Here’s what we may choose to believe about the pale, based on the thoughts and beliefs of in-game characters:

In conversation with Soona, the pale is described as a “curdling milk” phenomenon: “repulsive, but natural”

In this same conversation you can theorize that the churches were meant to contain the pale origins; out of the seven churches, six were destroyed during the suzerain or the revolution

The phasmid and whatever other lifeforms it’s communicated with believe that entroponetic collapse is comparable to an oxygen holocaust (i.e. the great oxygenation event), implying mass extinction due to a toxic overabundance of sapient thought

Harry refers to it once by saying “The wolf is at the door. It’s going to eat the sun.” so take that as you will

It’s likely that Tiago’s “Mother” is some manifestation from the pale, if you choose to believe that the 2mm hole is in fact a pale origin point (the concept art does confirm it’s a pale origin, but the game offers other explanations, so I won’t say it’s the only answer)

Inframaterialists believe that revolutionary action (NOT thought) may create a counter-force that will prevent the spread of pale; it’s unclear if any reversal is possible.

The world will be fully consumed by the pale in 27 years (I put it here because you may or may not believe that shivers and harry are reliably sourcing this information)

And now my personal speculation about the pale:

A quick and easy point: it’s confirmed that the pale has a measurable EMF “exhalation” frequency that varies with proximity. Strong enough EMF pulses can actually tamper with magnetic storage- radiocomputer filaments! Electronics! Fortress Accident data loss! This gives us a tangible explanation for why pale can delete data :)

This may also explain its ability to cause radio interference- radio frequencies are just a subset of EMF frequencies, so it’s possible that pale exhalation on *just the right frequency* is what’s responsible for the entroponetic crosstalk we get on radios sometimes

The pale canonically has an atomic structure, but it also has wave properties, so it’s possible that the pale has wave-particle duality on its subatomic level, like photons do

Based on this, entroponetics is likely a very similar field to quantum mechanics, which might be an interesting source of ideas for anyone (like me) who wants to explore pale-related possibilities

The pale could be a manifestation of raw patterns. That’s why math “forces dimensions” on it- it rationalizes or “tames” the patterns, which allows it to be manipulated to a certain degree.

There are several references to the pale that refer to mathematical concepts and patterns, saying that the world dissolves into “a tangle of azimuths and cosines” as it blends into the interisolary pale- more on this later

Steban comments that the pale is commonly theorized to be nostalgia or “historical inertia”, but it’s largely agreed that it’s “the past” in a broad sense. Thinking about the idiom that history repeats itself, it could be that history/the past is part of the pattern that comprises the pale, and that it’s also the type of pattern most readily perceived by people (people don’t viscerally *perceive* math, for example, but we experience memories)

To first define entropy: Chemically speaking, “the measure of a system’s thermal energy per unit temperature that is unavailable for doing useful work. (per encyclopedia britannica).” Physically speaking, it’s a measure of randomness or disorder in a system. Less work/less order = more entropy; it’s a physicochemical “winding down” of a given system

It’s commonly thought that pale is the entropic force, but what if it’s the opposite? (Keep in mind the chemical definition: less ability to do work = more entropy) Consider: the pale as less entropic, a cleanup force, recycling the potential lost by death and destruction in the universe. This in part explains why a dead person’s memory is present in the pale- their potential has been recycled into the pale in the form of their memories (their life’s *pattern*)

Enthalpy is a related concept to entropy and is defined as the total energy contained within a system. Holding the system enthalpy constant- saying the universe will always have the same amount of total energy, no matter what, according to thermodynamics- results in an entropic tug-of-war between the pale and the world. The pale wins through sheer inertia (again, inertia is mentioned specifically in game)

Overall: think of the world as “cooling”, losing heat and energy through war and death and complacency. Think of the pale as steam and heat, melting down old materials to start it all over again. (Kim says, *through entroponetic interference*: “it’s been a long, cold winter.”)

Consider: the pale as a sinusoidal function, eternally repeating. The pale recycling the universe to start a new cycle, “spending” itself, resulting in pale not being present in the beginning. Then, as the new things begin to settle- with the advent of the human mind, specifically- the pale reforming, slowly reclaiming potential, eventually ending the cycle to start again.

In comes CCP and magpies. Consider: CCP as a backwards transmission from the next “cycle” (after all, pale has no sense of time). Magpies as *pattern-sensitive* people who are able to decode CCP into something useful called novelty. They reach into the potential of the next cycle to build the potential in their current one- this paradox could be what creates more pale, because (and this is where it gets weird, I apologize) doing this retroactively increases the total amount of energy/work/potential in the current cycle to have been reclaimed by the pale for the next one.

Think of the pale as the compost bin for every single thought in the universe. The pale is the exact right size to compost every little atom and thought in the universe, and can hold nothing extra. But magpies reach into the future, the next cycle, and bring in extra. This paradox forces the pale to grow to accommodate the additional material, which also increases the starting potential of the next cycle. This process allows each cycle to accumulate minor changes from the previous one, which can snowball over many cycles.

Furthermore, to the inframaterialists’ point: revolutionary action would be such a radical shift in inertia that it would increase the potential in the world, forcing the pale to pause/shrink to “balance the equation” in terms of pale-vs-world thermodynamics. So maybe they’re right after all :)

And some diagramming, to explain the utter bullshit I’ve just dropped:

#disco elysium #entroponetics #the pale #disco elysium pale #the pale disco elysium #sorry idk the tags for this #theoretical entroponetics #this is all based on legitimate quantum physics and stuff so you could definitely go crazy with these concepts #if anything doesn't make sense please tell me!! i don't know how well i explained it #i'll be happy to rework things if i need to #anyway yeah so im deeply in love with the pale. im basically a real life entroponeticist now #also i didnt include in-game screenshot proof for brevitys sake #but feel free to add them or ask me for some and i can put it up! here or in asks #kiwipost #gen meta

1K notes · View notes

pangolin-404 · 1 year

Text

V2 is such a tragic character and I don't see enough people talking about it

It was built for peace (and to recuperate the cost poured into V1). It was built to be kind. It was built in the aftermath of great despair and is the representation of New Peace.

And then humanity dies. Maybe there was another war, maybe the New Peace wasn't as peaceful as it seemed (V2 was potentially used as security), but in the end it doesn't matter because humanity got wiped out and V2 was left alone.

Imagine having your purpose ripped from you, left stranded and alone (divine light ripped away, even). V2 was forced to go against its very nature of peacekeeping, forced to descend into hell along its far more bloodthirsty brethren. It ran on blood just like them, but it had to kill for it, to slaughter the already-dead and its fellow machines alike to stay alive. Without humans to maintain peace with, it is living for itself, which is a fantastic motive to live, but I cannot fathom what entropy splits its mind when initially facing this fact. Humanity is dead and it must kill its dwindling remains to continue existing.

The perseverance V2 displays is astounding. It's smart enough to know when it's losing and to run. It fixes itself with all the creativity of a swordsmachine rebuilding itself, taking scrap to make something new. Built for kindness and a new era, how much was creativity and self-determination drilled into it, encouraged?

It displays so much personality in its quirks and mind, displaying respect wits its bow before combat and intimidation with it cracking its knuckles. It is trying to live, because that's all it has, in this new world so foreign to what it once knew.

surely it's scared. yes it may believe itself a truly incredible machine, the superior magnum opus. maybe it is egotistical in how it views itself, proud of itself, but what else does it have to cling to when everything else about its life has been ravaged beyond recognition? does it view the world around it and feel alone? Such an incredible self-preservation, enough to maim what once tore it apart in an attempt to steal back what was once rightfully its.

did it reside in limbo because it was the most familiar, even if it is fake? how deeply must it miss humanity. never used, scrapped just like its predecessor (its lesser). never got to truly experience that desired peace, now forever out of reach. all it can do is persevere and continue existing clinging to what little of itself it has left, and that is what it does, what it tries to do, and what it fails to do.

#thoughts #ultrakill #v2 #ultrakill posting #got thinking bc I see lots of people portraying v2 as prickly and egotistical and I think it is very caring+creative+SCARED inside #like I think it would take 1 heartfelt peace offering + hug to make that thang break down #I think it misses humanity. I think it misses it a lot

639 notes · View notes

dduane · 5 months

Note

Do you think the Powers that be would ever offer Carmela the Oath even though she’s past latency?

I have to say that I don't see it as something the Powers would do, or indeed, need to do.

Some people, I think, are potentially far more effective without wizardry than with it. We are after all dealing here with a young woman who once yanked out an extremely hidden firearm and shot the Lone Power with it point-blank (and snickered and said "Oops!" afterwards), and who stopped a violent alien insurrection with a block of Valrhona chocolate.

What we have to remember is that, in its way, wizardry's a bit of a kludge. If everything was working as originally intended, it wouldn't have been needed. But then the Lone One came up with that new and interesting concept It added to the worlds, and since the aftermath, all the greater Pleroma's code has needed constant tweaking. (eyeroll) After all, the addition of wizardry to the equation inevitably costs more energy... and the whole concept of things since the Lone Power's annoying addition of entropy has required saving energy. It's a pain to maintain the balance.

Doubtless there are some of the Powers—most likely the ur-demiurge we'd identify with Thoth, this seems like it'd be in Their bailiwick: code is after all language—who sit around tsk-ing at the mess the code's gotten into, and meanwhile side-eyeing with a certain dry satisfaction those creatures creative enough to intervene unusually effectively in the world without needing to have wizardry added on.

My image of the larger meta of this whole situation, therefore, is of the Powers standing around some kind of viewing instrumentality (why do I keep coming back to that pool in Jason and the Argonauts? Who knows) waiting to see what she's going to do next.

...And laying bets. :)

#Carmela Rodriguez #Young Wizards meta

160 notes · View notes

cassiopeiathe1st · 8 months

Text

so as a biology major, here's some things i've been chewing on after reading the unwanted guest. this post is brought to you by the part of my brain that saw the 7th's hereditary blood cancer and thought ok but what KIND of cancer is that.

the phrasing of "permeability of the soul" makes me think of semipermeable membranes and diffusion. diffusion is a passive process -- our molecules, when left to their own devices, want to be everywhere because entropy, but the semipermeable membranes that make up cells organelles etc make life possible by keeping things organized. this dividing & filtering process is required to keep things in place. with me so far?

to me, this concept of permeability emphasizes that souls are objects with boundaries. there's a line somewhere, however blurry (clearly very very blurry) or porous, that divides self & other, and! and!! that line only exists because it is somehow constructed, maintained, enforced. see: ianthe working so hard to convince herself/pal/the hypothetical audience of this play she's putting on that she's just ianthe with no babs mixed in. or john's ritual of retelling his story to alecto/harrow in NTN. something something being the unreliable narrator of your own identity.

palamedes calls the process that merges him and camilla to give us paul grand lysis vs. the "petty", incomplete lysis of eightfold word lyctorhood. lysis = the disintegration of a cell by rupture of the cell wall or membrane. the boundaries of their souls are sliced open so their contents can be poured out & mixed together to make someone new. but even in conventional lyctorhood, there's some kind of exchange of whatever material makes up the soul between cavalier & necromancer. as our boy tells ianthe at the end of the unwanted guest,

This is the real truth of Lyctorhood, Ianthe--it's not some bloodless swapping-out of batteries. It's grafting; transplantation. When you absorbed Naberius Tern's soul, you didn't swallow a diamond. You swallowed a piece of meat...and the longer you digest that meat, the more its proteins and lipids and molecules mix in with yours, until you can't tell them apart anymore.

idk where i'm even going with all of this, i'm just rotating it in my head, but:

tamsyn muir is so precise with her necromancy jargon & anatomical terms that i feel like there's definitely meaning to be found in the imagery here. there is poetry in biology, the universe is made of stories not of atoms, etc etc

it turns out lysis is also the title of a dialogue of plato on "the true nature of loving friendship," so if any classics enjoyers have thoughts on that connection i would love to hear them!

if lyctorhood is transplantation, is it possible for that transplant to be rejected? can the graft refuse to take?

souls are contained within their edges not unlike how a cell membrane contains its cytoplasm. or how a capri sun pouch contains its juice. and lyctors slurp that shit up and digest it baby

why choose to link the soul so closely with water? (the river, bubbles, currents & waves in the river, nona saying the water of the river "doesn't want to touch us.") contents of souls = liquid in the same way that the river is a liquid??? the river = spirit version of the primordial soup???

dulcinea refers to the river having two shores, not just a generic "shore", so it sounds like they're different in some meaningful way. but that may be conditional on what happens in alecto ("if this ends well you'll find that out")? is the point of the river the river itself, or is the point of the river to separate those two places?

#tlt meta #the unwanted guest #the unwanted guest spoilers #the locked tomb #tlt speculation #on lyctorhood #the river #tamsyn i am in! your! walls!!!#(if you have thoughts on any of this please do engage i'm SO interested to hear other people's interpretations)#my posts #necro science #necromancy studies

313 notes · View notes

pin-k-ink · 6 days

Note

Chrollo! There isn’t enough dark content about him. I want to see how Chrollo is, compared to Yandere Chrollo. I love both, but we don’t get enough dark content of Chrollo.

Chrollo is seen as manipulative, and cold. Considering he’s a mass murder, and his empathy is nonexistent to people outside of the phantom troupe. Though, he’s able to act like a gentleman, and a curious man who seems sweet. He definitely isn’t stable, but catching his attention would be terrifying. He collects what he’s interested in. Being in a relationship with him would be interesting, but complicated.

entropy // chrollo lucilfer

tw ⇢ emotional abuse/manipulation, psychological trauma, toxic relationship, mention of self-harm, suicide attempt, dub-con, non-consensual/coercion, stockholm syndrome(?), mention of violence and criminal activities, power play, some unspecified mental health issues, rough sex, cunnilingus, begging, idk kinda rushed ending, narrator’s pov

wc ⇢ 7.1k

a/n: i really liked this idea, anon, so i present you with 7k words of chrollo brainrot. i really tried not to make chrollo a cliche, run-of-the-mill yandere but im not sure i did a good job. its also my first time using y/n and i hated it

The dim lights of the crowded bar cast an amber glow across the room, the air thick with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses. Perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, I nursed my whiskey, the smooth glass cool against my palm, the rich amber liquid swirling hypnotically as I lifted it to my lips. The first sip burned pleasantly down my throat, warming me from within as my eyes scanned the crowd out of habit, taking in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

That's when I saw him.

He moved with a fluid grace that stood out amidst the tipsy stumbles and raucous laughter of the other patrons. Dark hair fell across his face in an artful sweep as he leaned in close to whisper something to the bartender, who nodded knowingly and slid a drink across the polished wood, the crystal tumbler gleaming under the soft light. As if sensing the weight of my gaze, he turned slowly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat, my fingers tightening reflexively around my glass.

A polite smile curved his lips as he approached with measured steps, sliding onto the stool next to mine with a nod of acknowledgment. "Good evening," he said, his voice smooth and cultured, with a faint lilt of an accent I couldn't quite place. "I hope you'll forgive my forwardness, but I couldn't help noticing you from across the room."

I felt a flush creep up my neck at his directness, a heat blooming under my skin that had little to do with the whiskey. But I maintained my composure, lifting one eyebrow in a practiced arch. "Is that so?" I asked, taking another sip of my drink, letting the smoky flavor linger on my tongue. My heart fluttered in my chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness at the attention from this intriguing stranger.

"Indeed. It's rare to find someone so comfortable in their own solitude. It speaks to a certain strength of character." His eyes held mine, dark and fathomless, seeming to search for something beneath the surface, beneath the mask of cool indifference I wore like armor.

I smiled slightly, intrigued by his observation, by the way he seemed to see beyond the carefully constructed facade. "And what would you know about my character?"

"Very little, I admit. But I'd like to learn more, if you're willing." He extended a hand, long fingers elegant and strong. "Chrollo Lucilfer, at your service."

"Y/N," I replied, placing my hand in his. His grip was firm, his skin cool and smooth against my own. A shiver raced down my spine at the contact, a spark of something electric and unfamiliar. I found myself drawn to his enigmatic aura, the hint of danger that lurked beneath his charming exterior.

As the evening wore on, Chrollo and I fell into easy conversation, trading stories and opinions over drinks, our knees brushing under the bar in a way that felt both accidental and deliberate. He was articulate and well-read, with a keen insight that made me feel like he could see straight into my soul, past the walls I'd so carefully constructed. There was a magnetism to him, a pull that I couldn't resist, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I felt a connection growing between us, a sense of understanding and shared secrets that left me both thrilled and unnerved.

We began seeing each other regularly after that night, meeting for dinner at quiet candlelit restaurants or for coffee in cozy bookshops, the rich scent of roasted beans and old pages enveloping us as we talked for hours. Chrollo was always the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out chairs, his manners impeccable, his attentiveness unwavering. But there were moments, fleeting glimpses, where something else seemed to flicker beneath the surface, a darkness that both thrilled and unsettled me. I found myself drawn to that darkness, to the mystery that surrounded him, even as a part of me whispered warnings in the back of my mind.

One evening, we were walking through the city, the pavement damp with recent rain, the neon signs reflecting in puddles at our feet. A man stumbled out of an alleyway, clearly drunk and disoriented, his clothes rumpled and stained. He lurched towards us, mumbling incoherently, his breath sour with the stench of alcohol. I tensed, expecting Chrollo to step in and help, to offer the man a steadying hand or a kind word. Instead, he sidestepped the man neatly, his movements fluid and precise, not even sparing him a glance. There was a coldness to the action, a calculated indifference that left me feeling chilled despite the warm summer air. A flicker of unease stirred in my gut, a sense that there was more to Chrollo than met the eye, but I pushed it aside, not wanting to shatter the illusion of the perfect romance.

Another time, we were at a restaurant, a trendy spot with exposed brick walls and industrial light fixtures. The hum of conversation and the clink of silverware against plates filled the air, a pleasant buzz of activity. A commotion broke out at a nearby table, a woman's voice rising in pitch as she gestured wildly at her companion, her face flushed with anger. Chrollo watched the scene unfold with a detached sort of interest, like a scientist observing a particularly fascinating specimen. When I expressed concern, my brow furrowed with worry, he simply shrugged, the movement languid and unconcerned.

"Some people thrive on drama," he said, his tone indifferent, almost bored. "It's best not to get involved."

I tried to brush off the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, telling myself that no one was perfect, that everyone had their flaws and quirks. Chrollo was attentive and affectionate, showering me with gifts and attention, his touch always gentle, always reverent. It was easy to get lost in the romance of it all, in the heady rush of new love. But even as I surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, to the tender caress of his lips on my skin, a part of me remained wary, a tiny voice whispering doubts in the back of my mind.

But the doubts continued to gather at the edges of my mind, like storm clouds on the horizon, dark and ominous. There were inconsistencies in the stories he told, small details that didn't quite add up, pieces that didn't fit into the puzzle of his past. He was evasive about his work, about his family and his childhood, always changing the subject with a charming smile and a clever turn of phrase when I pressed for more. I tried to ignore the growing sense of unease, the feeling that I was only seeing a carefully crafted facade, a mask that hid the true nature of the man I was falling for.

It all came to a head one night when we were out for a walk, the city streets quiet and still around us. A police car raced by, sirens blaring, red and blue lights flashing against the buildings. Chrollo tensed, his body going rigid beside me, his eyes tracking the vehicle with a sharpness that made me pause, my heart skipping a beat in my chest. There was something in his reaction, a hint of fear or guilt that I had never seen before, and it sent a chill down my spine.

"What is it?" I asked, searching his face for clues, for some hint of the thoughts swirling behind those dark eyes.

He relaxed just as quickly, his expression smoothing into a mask of calm, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing, just lost in thought for a moment."

But I saw it then, in that brief unguarded instant. The hairline fracture in his facade, the glimpse of something raw and real beneath the polished surface. The realization hit me like a freight train, stealing the breath from my lungs - I didn't really know the man I was falling for at all. He was a mystery, a puzzle with missing pieces, and I had no idea what secrets he was hiding behind that charming smile and those fathomless eyes. Fear and doubt coiled in my gut, a sickening sense of dread that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that everything was fine.

The doubt became an itch I couldn't scratch, a constant presence at the back of my mind. I found myself watching Chrollo more closely, looking for clues, for any sign that might confirm my growing suspicions. He was as attentive and affectionate as ever, his touch gentle, his words sweet. But there was a guardedness to him now, a sense that he was always holding something back, always keeping a part of himself locked away. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth.

One evening, we were at his apartment, curled up on the plush leather couch with a movie playing on the large flatscreen TV. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light from the screen casting shadows on the walls. Chrollo's phone buzzed with an incoming message, the screen lighting up on the coffee table. He glanced at it, his expression hardening for a split second, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly before he smoothed it away, reaching for the device with a casual hand. My heart raced in my chest, a sense of foreboding washing over me as I watched him, a part of me desperately wanting to believe that it was nothing, that I was overreacting.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Just work," he replied, his thumb swiping across the screen, his eyes scanning the message quickly before he slipped the phone into his pocket. "Nothing to worry about."

But there was a tightness to his smile, a strain around his eyes that belied his easy words. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me, some secret he was keeping locked away. The doubts gnawed at me, a constant ache in my chest that I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I wanted to lose myself in the fantasy of our perfect love.

As the weeks passed, the distance between us grew, an invisible chasm widening with each passing day. Chrollo would disappear for hours at a time, offering vague explanations about meetings or errands, his tone carefully neutral. He was increasingly evasive about his activities, changing the subject with a practiced ease or deflecting my questions with a charming smile and a clever quip. I felt like I was losing him, like the man I had fallen for was slipping away, replaced by a stranger wearing a familiar face.

I knew I should confront him, demand answers, but a part of me was afraid of what I might uncover. The man I had fallen for, the gentleman with the quick wit and the electrifying touch, felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face, a mask that was starting to crack at the edges. I was torn between the desire to cling to the illusion of our perfect romance and the need to know the truth, to see the man behind the mask, no matter how painful it might be.

The final straw came late one night when I was leaving Chrollo's apartment, my mind whirling with unanswered questions, my heart heavy in my chest. As I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps, I nearly collided with a man coming from the opposite direction. He was tall and lean, with cold eyes that seemed to look right through me, his face all sharp angles and harsh lines. A shiver of unease ran down my spine, a sense of danger emanating from him like a palpable force.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, trying to sidestep him, my skin prickling with unease.

But he blocked my path, his large frame filling the narrow hallway, his gaze flicking past me to Chrollo's door, a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. "He's expecting me," the man said, his voice flat and emotionless, sending a chill down my spine.

I glanced over my shoulder, but Chrollo had already closed the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place loud in the sudden silence. A wave of dread washed over me as I hurried past the man, my heart pounding in my ears, my hands shaking as I jabbed at the elevator button. Questions swirled in my mind, a growing sense of fear and unease that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to rationalize it away.

I didn't sleep that night, my mind racing with possibilities, with questions I was afraid to voice aloud. Who was the man in the hallway? What business did he have with Chrollo at such a late hour? The not knowing was almost worse than the truth, my imagination conjuring up all manner of dark scenarios, each more terrible than the last. I tossed and turned, my sheets tangled around me, my heart aching with the growing realization that the man I loved was not who I thought he was.

The paranoia grew like a cancer, spreading through every aspect of my life, tainting every interaction with Chrollo. I found myself watching him constantly, analyzing every word, every gesture, looking for some hint of the truth behind the mask. Every phone call he took, every message he received, every unexplained absence became a clue in a puzzle I was desperate to solve, a mystery I couldn't let go. I was consumed by the need to know, to uncover the secrets he was hiding, even as a part of me feared what I might find.

I started making excuses to drop by his apartment unannounced, hoping to catch him off guard, to glimpse the man behind the facade. But Chrollo was always one step ahead, his mask of charm and civility firmly in place, his explanations smooth and plausible. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth. I felt like I was losing my mind, like I was trapped in a maze of lies and half-truths, with no way out.

The strain began to take its toll, the constant state of heightened awareness, of second-guessing every moment. I was distracted at work, jumping at every unexpected noise, seeing shadows in every corner. My friends noticed the change, commenting on my withdrawn behavior, the dark circles under my eyes, the way I seemed to be constantly on edge. I brushed off their concerns with a forced smile and a wave of my hand, not wanting to voice the suspicions that consumed my every waking moment.

I started to pull away, to put distance between us, needing time to clear my head, to make sense of the tangled web of lies and half-truths. I made excuses to avoid seeing him, claiming work obligations or family commitments, my voice shaking only slightly as I lied through my teeth. I needed space, needed to step back and look at the situation objectively, without the haze of love and desire clouding my judgment. But even as I tried to distance myself, I found myself drawn back to him, like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of his magnetism.

But Chrollo wouldn't let me go so easily, his presence a constant pull, a magnetic force I couldn't seem to resist. He showed up at my work, at my favorite coffee shop, always with a bouquet of flowers and a contrite smile, his eyes soft and pleading. He promised to be more open, to answer any questions I might have, to lay his secrets bare before me. And for a moment, I wanted to believe him, to fall into the warmth of his embrace and let the world fade away.

I started to dig deeper, to research Chrollo's past, looking for any clue that might explain the inconsistencies, the blank spaces in his history. Late one night, huddled over my laptop with a mug of coffee growing cold beside me, I found it. A news article, buried deep in the archives of a local paper, a few scant paragraphs that made my blood run cold. A string of high-profile thefts, linked to a shadowy group known as the Phantom Troupe, their methods as elusive as their identities. And there, in grainy black and white, a photograph of a man with dark hair and piercing eyes, a face I would know anywhere.

My heart stopped in my chest as I stared at the screen, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place with a sickening clarity. The man I loved, the gentleman with the silver tongue and the devastating smile, was a thief. And not just any thief, but a member of the most notorious criminal organization in the city, a ghost in the shadows, a phantom in the night. I sat back in my chair, my hands shaking as I tried to process the truth, to reconcile the Chrollo I knew with the man in the article.

The reality of my situation crashed over me like a wave, cold and unrelenting. I was in love with a lie, a beautiful fiction wrapped in a tailored suit and a charming smile. The future I had imagined for us, the life I had started to build in my mind, was nothing more than a house of cards, ready to come tumbling down at any moment. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in around me, trapping me in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

And I had no idea what I was going to do about it.

The truth hung heavy in the air between us, a suffocating presence that filled the room and pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My heart raced as I confronted Chrollo with the article, my voice trembling with a potent mix of anger, fear, and betrayal. He sat across from me, his posture relaxed, his eyes downcast, his hands resting calmly in his lap. The silence stretched on, broken only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall, each second an eternity of agonizing anticipation.

When he finally spoke, his voice was even and measured, devoid of any discernible emotion. "I never intended for you to discover the truth this way," he said, his gaze meeting mine, his dark eyes revealing nothing. "I considered telling you, explaining everything, but I couldn't find the right approach."

Disbelief and heartache surged through me, constricting my throat and stinging my eyes with unshed tears. "Explain what, Chrollo? That our entire relationship has been built on a foundation of lies? That the man I fell in love with is nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion?"

His expression remained impassive, unfazed by my accusation. "The connection between us is genuine, Y/N. My feelings for you, the moments we've shared, none of that was a deception."

A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped my lips, echoing harshly in the oppressive stillness of the room. "But everything else? The thefts, the Phantom Troupe? How can you claim that's not an integral part of who you are?"

Chrollo sighed, a subtle indication of impatience rather than genuine weariness. "It's not that simple. The Troupe is like family to me. We have each other's backs, keep each other safe. What we do isn't solely about financial gain or the adrenaline rush. It's about survival, about carving out a place in a world that's never given us a fair chance."

As I sat there, my mind reeling, a chill crept down my spine, raising goosebumps on my skin. Chrollo's dark eyes bored into mine, a glimmer of something cold and dangerous lurking beneath the surface of his composed exterior. In that moment, the true depth of his detachment became starkly apparent, sending a fresh wave of fear washing over me.

"You need to understand, Y/N," he continued, his voice low and even. "The Phantom Troupe is more than just a gang. It's a way of life. A family bound by blood and loyalty. I've committed heinous acts in the name of that loyalty. Acts that would make your blood run cold."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a trapped bird. "And what about me, Chrollo? Was I just another pawn in your twisted game? Another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored?"

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "No, Y/N. Never. What I feel for you is the closest thing to genuine emotion I've ever experienced. But I won't deceive you. I am what I am. That's not going to change, not even for you."

With shaking legs, I stood up, my entire body trembling with a mixture of fear, anger, and despair. "I can't do this, Chrollo. I can't be a part of your world. The things you've done...the person you truly are...I can't turn a blind eye to that."

He nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I expected as much. I knew this moment would arrive sooner or later. I merely hoped..." He trailed off, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "It's irrelevant now."

I took a step back, my mind struggling to process the revelation of Chrollo's true identity. The man I had fallen for, the charming and enigmatic gentleman, was nothing more than a meticulously crafted facade, a mask concealing the cold, ruthless criminal beneath.

"I can't be a part of this, Chrollo," I repeated, my voice quivering with a mixture of fear and resignation. "I can't be with someone who lives a life of crime, who has no regard for the people he hurts."

Chrollo's expression remained inscrutable, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Y/N. You see, you've become quite an intriguing diversion for me, a delightful puzzle to unravel. And I'm not in the habit of relinquishing things that keep me entertained."

His words, spoken with chilling calm, carried an unmistakable undercurrent of threat that turned my blood to ice in my veins. "What are you saying, Chrollo?"

A smile devoid of warmth or humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's quite simple, really. You have two options. You can choose to stay with me, to accept me for who and what I am, and continue to be a part of my life. Or..." He paused, his gaze hardening. "You can refuse, and face the consequences."

My heart raced, a sickening realization dawning on me as the true nature of my predicament became clear. "And what consequences would those be?"

Chrollo shrugged, the gesture casual and unconcerned. "Death, of course. I can't risk you going to the authorities, exposing me and my associates. If you can't be with me, then you can't be allowed to live."

The words hung in the air between us, a chilling ultimatum that left me feeling trapped and utterly helpless. I searched Chrollo's face for any sign of remorse, any hint of the man I had thought I knew, but found only cold, calculating resolve.

"I...I need time to think," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, my throat constricted with fear and despair.

Chrollo nodded, his expression impassive. "Of course. Take all the time you need, Y/N. But remember, the clock is ticking. And I'm not a patient man."

With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone, the weight of his ultimatum crushing down on me. I sank to the floor, my legs no longer able to support me, as the full horror of my situation crashed over me in relentless waves.

I was trapped, caught between a love that had turned to ashes and a fate worse than death. And no matter which path I chose, I knew that my life would never be the same again.

I sat there, numb and disbelieving, as Chrollo's words echoed in my mind. Stay with him, or die. The choice was no choice at all, a cruel mockery of free will in the face of his cold ultimatum. With a heavy heart and an overwhelming sense of despair, I realized that I had no other option.

"I'll stay," I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue, tasting of ashes and defeat. "I'll stay with you, Chrollo."

He nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark eyes, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A wise decision, Y/N. I knew you'd see reason."

But even as I agreed to his terms, a part of me rebelled against the idea of being trapped in this nightmare, of living a life shackled to a man who saw me as nothing more than a possession, a plaything to be discarded when he tired of me.

In the days that followed, I went through the motions of my life, a hollow shell of my former self. I smiled when Chrollo was around, played the role of the dutiful girlfriend, but inside, I was screaming, my soul withering with each passing moment. The weight of my despair pressed down on me, suffocating me slowly, day by day.

I couldn't bear the thought of living like this forever, of being forever bound to a monster who held no love, no true affection for me. In a moment of desperation, I made a decision. If I couldn't escape Chrollo in life, then I would find my freedom in death.

I sat in the bathtub, the steaming water lapping at my skin, providing no comfort to the icy numbness that had settled in my heart. The razor blade rested against my wrist, the metal cool and inviting, a whispered promise of release from the nightmare my life had become. My hand trembled, the weight of my decision bearing down on me, tears streaming down my face and mingling with the bathwater.

But even as I sat there, the razor poised to end my suffering, I couldn't bring myself to do it. My hand shook, the blade biting into my skin, drawing a thin line of crimson, but I couldn't find the strength, the resolve, to finish the job. Sobs wracked my body, my chest heaving with the force of my anguish, as I sat there, paralyzed by fear and despair.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

My head snapped up, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of Chrollo's voice. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a look of detached amusement on his face, as if he'd stumbled upon a mildly entertaining scene.

"Chrollo..." I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken, barely recognizable to my own ears.

He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the bathroom, his movements casual and unhurried. "Did you really think I wouldn't know, Y/N? That I wouldn't sense your desperation, your pathetic attempt at escape?"

I lowered my gaze, shame and despair warring within me, my cheeks burning with humiliation. "I can't do this anymore, Chrollo. I can't live like this."

He crouched down beside the tub, his dark eyes glittering with a cruel sort of amusement. "And yet, here you are, unable to even commit to your own demise. How tragic."

With a sudden motion, he grasped my wrist, yanking the razor from my fingers. I gasped, more from surprise than pain, as he held the blade up to the light, examining it with a detached sort of interest.

"Did you really think this would be the answer, Y/N? That you could escape me, escape your fate, with something as trivial as this?"

He tossed the razor aside, the metal clattering against the tile floor, and cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You're mine, Y/N. Forever. And no matter how many times you try to run, to hide, to end your own miserable existence, I will always find you. I will always bring you back."

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the bathwater, as the hopelessness of my situation crashed over me anew. Chrollo was right. There was no escape, no way out of this hell I had foolishly walked into.

He stood, looking down at me with a mixture of pity and cold amusement. "Clean yourself up, Y/N. And let this be a lesson to you. Your life is mine, to do with as I please. And I'm not done with you yet."

With those words, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the bath, my skin pruning in the cooling water, my heart shattered beyond repair. I had gambled everything on Chrollo, on the love I thought we shared, and I had lost. And now, I had to live with the consequences, forever trapped in a nightmare of my own making.

Chrollo led me from the bathroom, his hand wrapped around my wrist in a grip that was both gentle and unyielding. I followed him numbly, my mind still reeling from the events that had transpired, the razor's bite still stinging on my skin. He guided me to the bed, the plush comforter soft beneath my bare legs as he lowered me onto the mattress.

I sat there, my hands clasped in my lap, my eyes downcast, as he moved about the room, his presence a tangible force, a weight pressing down on me from all sides. Fear and despair coiled in my gut, my heart racing as I tried to anticipate his next move, dreading what new torment he might have in store for me.

"Look at me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for disobedience.

I obeyed, raising my gaze to meet his, my breath catching in my throat at the intensity I saw there. He stood before me, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair falling across his brow in a way that was both casual and calculated.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, his tone almost conversational, as if we were discussing the weather rather than the complete and utter destruction of my life. "Do you see the futility of your actions, the pointlessness of your resistance?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. "I understand that I'm trapped," I whispered, my voice hoarse and raw, barely recognizable to my own ears. "That there's no escape from this nightmare, from you."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good. You're learning."

He reached out, his fingers ghosting along my cheek, tracing the curve of my jaw with a touch that was almost tender. I shivered, my skin prickling with a mixture of fear and revulsion, my stomach churning at the unwanted contact.

"You belong to me, Y/N," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending a chill down my spine. "Body and soul, heart and mind. There is no part of you that is not mine, no corner of your being that I do not possess."

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping to trail down my cheek, the hot sting of it a bitter reminder of my helplessness. He was right. I was his, wholly and completely, a moth caught in the web of a spider, helpless to resist the pull of his power.

Chrollo's lips brushed against my skin, trailing a path of fire down the column of my throat. I gasped, my hands fisting in the comforter, my body responding to his touch despite the revulsion that churned in my gut, despite the voice in my head screaming at me to fight, to resist, to do anything but submit to his twisted desires.

"You will never leave me," he whispered, his words a dark promise, a vow etched in blood and tears. "You will never escape. You are mine, now and forever."

And as his mouth descended on mine, his hands roaming over my body with a possessiveness that bordered on violence, I knew that he was right. There was no escape. Not for me, and not for anyone else who crossed his path.

I was his. And there was nothing I could do about it.

His kiss was like a drug, the taste of him addictive, the feel of his hands on my body intoxicating. I tried to resist, to push him away, but it was a futile effort. My body betrayed me, arching into his touch, craving more.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire, his breath ragged against my skin. "You can fight me all you want, Y/N. But in the end, you'll give in. You'll surrender to me, just as you did before."

"I won't," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

He smiled, a cold, cruel smile that sent a chill down my spine. "We'll see about that."

With a growl, he claimed my mouth again, his lips rough against mine, his teeth nipping at my skin. I cried out, my nails digging into his back, my body surrendering to the pleasure even as my mind screamed in protest.

I knew this was wrong, that I should resist, should fight him with every fiber of my being. But the line between pain and pleasure was blurred, the boundary between fear and desire a thin and fragile thing. And as he ravaged my body, his touch bruising, his voice a low and menacing growl in my ear, I realized with a sickening jolt that a part of me wanted this.

A part of me craved the pain, the darkness, the twisted power play. And that realization, more than anything else, was the final nail in the coffin of my doomed resistance.

Chrollo's hands moved over my body, his fingers tracing the lines of my hips, the curve of my breasts, a strange mix of gentleness and possessiveness in his touch. I gasped, arching into him, my pulse racing, a dull ache building between my thighs.

"That's it," he murmured, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck. "Give in to me, Y/N. Surrender."

His teeth grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine. I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair, his name a whisper on my lips.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice rough and low. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," I breathed, the words tumbling from my lips without hesitation, a damning admission of defeat. "I'm yours, Chrollo."

He kissed me again, hard and possessive, his tongue delving into my mouth. I surrendered to him, my body and mind consumed by the raw, primal need that burned between us.

He pulled back, his gaze dark and hungry, a satisfied smile curving his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing across my swollen lips. "Now, let's see just how much you're willing to give me."

He moved with a predatory grace, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, his body a weapon honed to lethal perfection. He knelt before me, his fingers deft and sure, as he spread my thighs, his lips ghosting across my heated flesh.

I cried out, my back arching off the bed, as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves at my core. He growled, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me in place as he feasted on my body, his tongue and lips working their dark magic on me.

Pleasure rippled through me, hot and urgent, my skin tingling with electricity. I gasped, my hands clutching at the sheets, my body writhing beneath his touch.

"Chrollo," I moaned, my voice hoarse and desperate. "Please, please..."

He laughed, a dark and dangerous sound, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and amusement. "Please what, Y/N?"

"Please," I begged, the word a broken whisper, a plea for release. "I need you."

"What do you need?" he asked, his tone mocking.

"I need you inside me," I gasped, my body aching with desire, a dull, throbbing heat pulsing through my veins. "Please, Chrollo, I need you to fuck me."

His eyes darkened, a look of pure, animalistic lust flashing across his features. With a low growl, he rose to his feet, his fingers digging into my hips, lifting me effortlessly, and drove himself into me, the sudden fullness tearing a cry from my lips.

I clung to him, my nails scoring his back, my body shuddering with the force of his thrusts. He claimed me, his mouth hot and hungry on mine, his hands gripping my flesh with a bruising intensity.

The room was filled with the sounds of our bodies colliding, the scent of our desire hanging heavy in the air. I cried out, my voice hoarse and raw, the waves of pleasure crashing over me, drowning out all thought, all reason.

I lost myself in the moment, in the feeling of him inside me, filling me, completing me. For a brief, shining moment, there was nothing but us, our bodies moving as one, the line between pain and pleasure blurred and meaningless.

And then, with a cry, I shattered, my body convulsing, the release tearing through me, an explosion of sensation. I felt him follow, his movements growing erratic, his breath a ragged gasp in my ear, his release hot and intense.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, the sweat cooling on our skin, the aftershocks of our shared pleasure still rippling through us. I lay there, breathless and spent, a strange mix of emotions churning within me.

I was disgusted with myself, with the way I had surrendered to him, with the pleasure I had found in his arms. But beneath that revulsion, buried deep beneath the surface, was a sense of shameful satisfaction, a twisted sort of gratification.

I had given in to him. I had surrendered to the darkness, the madness, the primal desire that raged between us. And as his arms tightened around me, his breath warm against my skin, a part of me reveled in the knowledge that, no matter what happened, he would always be a part of me.

"Are you satisfied?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning, with implications. I glanced at Chrollo, my gaze flicking over his naked form, his skin still flushed with the aftermath of our encounter. He was watching me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the challenge clear in his dark eyes.

"No," I replied, meeting his gaze evenly, a thrill of anticipation running through me. "I'm not."

Chrollo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest sparking in his dark eyes. "Oh? And what more could you possibly want, Y/N?"

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest as I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I want the truth, Chrollo. The real you, not the mask you wear for the world."

A slow smile spread across his face, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Careful what you wish for, my dear. The truth can be a dangerous thing."

I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I knew the risks when I chose to stay with you. I'm not afraid of the darkness."

Chrollo chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Brave words, Y/N. But we both know that's not entirely true, don't we?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, his fingers trailing along the curve of my jaw. "You may think you want the monster, but can you truly handle the reality of what I am?"

I met his gaze unflinchingly, my pulse racing with a heady mix of fear and desire. "There's only one way to find out."

With a sudden movement, Chrollo pinned me to the bed, his body covering mine, his eyes glittering with a dark hunger. "Then let me show you," he murmured, his mouth descending on mine in a searing kiss.

As the hours passed and the shadows lengthened, we lay there, entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of our mingled desire. Chrollo traced idle patterns on my skin, his fingers moving over my body with a familiarity born of countless encounters. But there was a distant look in his eyes, a contemplative expression that I hadn't seen before.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, curious despite myself.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze focused on something far away. "I was wondering," he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "how things might have been different, if we had met under other circumstances."

I felt a flicker of surprise at his words, a strange sensation of hope and longing stirring in my chest. "What do you mean?"

Chrollo sighed, his fingers stilling on my skin. "If I wasn't who I am, if I wasn't a criminal, a member of the Phantom Troupe... could we have had something real, something genuine?"

I swallowed hard, my heart aching at the wistfulness in his tone. "I don't know," I replied honestly. "But I'd like to think so."

He smiled then, a sad, fleeting thing that barely touched his eyes. "In another life, perhaps I could have truly fallen in love with you, Y/N. Without the lies, the secrets, the constant threat of danger hanging over us."

I reached up, cupping his cheek in my hand, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palm. "But this is the life we have, Chrollo. The one we've chosen, for better or worse."

He leaned into my touch, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. "I know. And I don't regret it, not really. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder..."

His words trailed off, the unspoken possibilities hanging in the air between us. I knew what he meant, knew the bittersweet ache of imagining a different path, a different fate. But we both knew that there was no going back, no changing the choices we had made.

"We have each other," I said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "Here and now. That's what matters."

Chrollo smiled, a real smile this time, his eyes warm and fond as they met mine. "You're right," he murmured, pulling me closer, his arms tightening around me. "And I wouldn't trade it for anything."

#hxh #hxh x reader #hxh x reader smut #chrollo smut #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader smut #hxh smut

80 notes · View notes

darsynia · 1 year

Text

Hand(s) Off Masterlist

Summary: Bucky Barnes is the most important person in your life. When he confesses to you that he lives at the Avengers tower, and the ‘Steve’ you’ve been hearing about for months is actually Steve Rogers, you think that nothing can top that revelation– and then you find yourself trapped in Captain America’s bedroom getting a second-hand dose of NYC’s favorite new aphrodisiac, Mistress.

Notes: Bucky Barnes & Reader friendship, Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Consent conversations, explicit sexual situations (they don’t succeed in resisting, folks), MINORS DNI

Fill: Masterlist for the March adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @nekoannie-chan @caplanreads

CHAPTER ONE: AGONY

CHAPTER TWO: ECSTASY

CHAPTER THREE: ALCHEMY

CHAPTER FOUR: ENTROPY

CHAPTER FIVE: CHEMISTRY

CHAPTER SIX: FANTASY -new 4/6

Edit 4/10: It only took HOW MANY WEEKS for me to realize I'd marked the series as two different names?? Arms vs. Hands. I promise I am actually more diligent in my editing and writing than this would make it appear...

This story is the first part in an eventual Stucky x Reader endgame series called Safe In My (Our) Arms. I just finished the graphic for it, I'm quite excited! Ordinarily I wouldn't put a four chapter piece in its own masterlist but it's less work for the maintainers of All Caps Bingo, I think

SERIES MASTERLIST

#allcapsbingo2023 #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america smut #captain america x f!reader #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #sex pollen #humor #romance

410 notes · View notes

y-rhywbeth2 · 5 months

Text

Gods and Clergy: Myrkul

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Now this is what I call a proper death cult. Now that I'm pretty sure I have all information on this asshole, here's Myrkul to finish off the Dead Three - He offers free hugs sometimes. Do not accept one.

Intro: We have too many death gods in this setting.

Clergy: Stuff like kindness is for the people who are currently dead, to hell with everybody who's alive.

Gray Ones: I know clerics usually make better necromancers than wizards who specialise in it, but come on.

Myrkul: Bane's got issues, but I think Myrkul might actually be the most effective villain here.

---

"Know me and fear me. My embrace is for all and is patient but sure. The dead can always find you. My hand is everywhere - there is no door I cannot pass, nor guardian who can withstand me." - Myrkul's dogma

"Make certain daily that all fear the Lord of Bones—who cannot be evaded, hidden from, or shut out. For the dead are his subjects, and the slide into death his pleasure and his dominion. Speak daily to all you meet of the Doombringers to come and Doombringers past— those moved by Myrkul to bring death, delivering souls to the one who shall have them all in the end, the mighty and the low-born, the cloaked in proud Art and the barely able to speak. Silently remind folk of death by your garb, the skulls you carry, and the finger bones you trail behind you as you travel. You fear nothing, or to harm you is to die." - more dogma

Myrkul's dogma that has caused a lot of confusion.

"Myrkul was the god of the dead, as opposed to the god of death [the instance of death and the transition between [life and death]], which was the province of Bhaal."

Bhaal is the god of death with a focus specifically on the moment life ends, he doesn't care about the before or after, only the moment of death. Myrkul was the god of those who have already died, shuffled off their mortal coil and joined the choir invisible - he's just a sadist about it and wants you to be aware of your mortality while you're still alive, and also enjoys it when you die. Kelemvor actually holds dominion over the dead at the moment, but I'll get back to him.

Myrkul is very keen to be feared; to remind the living that their time alive is finite, and once Bhaal ends that fleeting life then they will be in Myrkul's kingdom.

His divine portfolio includes aging, exhaustion, decay, the hours of dusk and the autumn months - things that remind mortals of the entropy looming over them throughout their every living moment, bringing you one step closer to his kingdom. Another portfolio of his is parasites: the hidden thing inside you, sucking your life away. It's so important to Myrkul that you remember that you are ageing. You are always dying, slowly.

To this effect he really enjoys crashing funerals, manifesting in front of the grief stricken funeral goers to remind them that one day they'll die too! He'll also drop by at night and visit you in your nightmares, for the same reason.

He lost rulership of the dead when slain in the Time of Troubles by Midnight (soon to be Mystra), and the portfolio eventually passed to Cyric and later to Kelemvor.

Now that Myrkul has returned, Kelemvor remains god of the dead, but Myrkul maintains his older domains. He is the god of the slow march of life into death, with all the aspects mentioned.

He's also the most sadistic asshole, but I'll talk about that further in.

Temples of Myrkul begin with a mausoleum built above ground (as big as possible and decorated with the most intimidating statuary the builders can think of), which extend into necropolis underground, which are guarded by undead. The temples are often filled/covered in smoke from the crematoriums inside. The walls are decorated with images and statues of people of all genders, races and ages depicted in various forms of death and stages of decay.

Myrkul and his worshippers, known as "the Anointed" are and always have been extremely unpopular. He receives offerings at funerals, but nobody particularly wants to worship him, and those that do are regarded with fear and the subject of rumour and horror stories.

His few priests come from people of a morbid bent, who enjoy the fear and the tales of how they can sicken and kill others through a mere touch, or that those who offend them in any way will die - and that all Anointed will know when one of their own has been killed, and by who. Anointed don't actually kill anyone as a rule, that's a job for Bhaalists, but they do make a special exception for people who pretend to be one of them in order to exploit their intimidating reputation. Such people die in spectacular, public fashion - as painfully as possible.

They also make an exception for law keepers and others in positions of power who try to oppress the study and practitioners of necromancy, although finding non-lethal means of making these people change their ways is common enough.

Myrkul's followers are to speak as little as possible, and when they do speak they speak as softly as they can while being as laconic as they're able. "It is poor form among the Anointed to show emotion when one can instead speak coldly and flatly, and maintain apparent calm."

At this point, people are so desperate to stay away from them that a Myrkulite can flat out just walk into your house and take whatever the hell they want. You like being alive and look forward to a happy afterlife and are not going to stop them. Many Myrkulites get extremely rich this way, and Old Lord Skull himself doesn't seem to care.

When in public they Anointed always wear skull half-masks, coating every inch of exposed flesh on their body with ash. They also carry human skulls with them - due to the skulls, they've often known as the "Grinning Anointed". While at the temple, or on ceremony, they wear full body, deep hooded black robes, tied around the waist with a white sash, and forgo shoes in favour of being bare foot.

Their entire job, as far as the living go, is basically to torment people and remind them that their life is ultimately pointless and that they're going to die.

While they're absolute monsters towards living beings. whom they and their god abhor, the Anointed typically hold those who are dead in reverence. Resurrecting the dead is a blasphemous act forbidden by the faith, and Myrkul only rarely permits it in exceptional circumstances (although a technical loophole exists in that you can get a priest of a different god to bring back a dead person for you.)

Other, less sadistic, duties include carrying out funerals and seeking out and burying the lost dead. They seek to make the dying comfortable in their last moments, and help them get their last affairs in order - a duty that they now, presumably, share with Kelemvorites. Myrkulites will typically go out of their way to make sure that the last wills and testaments (and similar) have reaching effects after a person's death, so that they may hold influence on the living from beyond the grave. Another thing they share with Kelemvorites is that they personally do not view death as unnatural or something to run from. Where they differ is that Kelemvor teaches the living not to live in fear of death, while Myrkul wants mortals in constant dread.

Myrkul's priests are often blessed with a high tolerance for disease, which makes them particularly useful for disposing of the bodies of plague victims.

Myrkulites often have a special reverence for necromancy, again due to its ability to allow the dead to affect the living. They call it "the sacred hand that reaches from the grave."

They are also charged with spreading tale of those the faith reveres as "Doombringers" - those driven to avenge the dead; friends, lovers, mentors and other loved ones sent or driven into death one way or another by the actions of their target/s.

A Myrkulite can be hired as a doombringer, the cost of which is sometimes called a "skull fee", however they will not work for the still-living. They can only be hired on behalf of the dead, or in advance of one's death.

Myrkulites should not expect much of a social life outside of the other Anointed, and most will leave wherever they were raised and/or lived, as their communities certainly wouldn't appreciate having a Myrkulite in their midst.

The clergy contains many titles, each conferring a specific necromantic spell taught or priestly duty (most of which are not actually described). Once these were in rank, however in recent times the hierarchy has become a loose grouping by age and experience into Initiates, Lesser Anointed, Anointed and Higher Anointed. Myrkul did away with the concept of high priests after certain incidents involving a rebellion against him.

The titles used to be: Daring One, Night Walker, Bone Talker, Shroud Wearer, Crypt Carver, Bone Dancer, Ritual Consecrator, Undead Master, Withering Lord, Deathbringer and Elder Doom (the later of whom have influence beyond a single temple or settlement).

Bone Dancers perform ritualistic dances that animate the dead as guardians of a site. Ritual Consecrators are basically the clergy's craftsmen, responsible for dedicating the altars, making the scythes and preparing the materials for magic. Withering Lords use magic that causes living flesh to wither and die, and Deathbringers can cause you to drop dead by pointing at you.

Anointed greet their equals and juniors as "Death [Surname]" and their senior clergy as "Most Holy Death [Surname]."

Lower ranks owe little in the way of reverence to their seniors, aside from obeying reasonable instructions and offering aid, money, food or shelter when the moment calls for it. The senior clergy should not be living off of the backs of the lower ranks, and if they attempt to abuse their power then the junior clergy are free to defy them.

Initiates to the faith are taken into the crypts, to meet the corpse of a former high-ranking priest. There, the ritual spell speak with dead is used to allow Myrkul to address the initiate personally, imparting his dogma upon them.

Myrkul is known to visit his favoured followers to give them a hug. Said hug is full of necromantic magic and is highly likely to kill you. If it doesn't you will be horrifically withered and traumatised for life, but Myrkulites consider survivors to be blessed.

When Cyric took over as god of the dead, unlike their Bhaalist and Banite counterparts who had schisms and purges over it, the Anointed simply carried on as usual. Their complete indifference was about as close to enthusiasm as Myrkulites get. While many were just as indifferent when Cyric was replaced by Kelemvor, he proved to be a bit more controversial, due to the ban on necromancy.

Myrkul is worshipped at dusk every day during a ritual named the Dusking. Grave dirt, or the bones and ash of the cremated, are offered to a black altar decorated with bones. Above the altar a human skull is enchanted so that it floats and glows dimly. The purpose of the daily ritual is to remember that death follows closely behind all living creatures, and those who don't chose Myrkul as a patron deity are encouraged to give their own offerings. The begining and ending of the ritual is marked by the toll of a bell (a deep, reverberating one, not a high note). Each time an offering is made the bell is tolled again. Particularly devout Myrkulites will hold a personal prayer at any time during the hours of darkness that night.

There is only one holy day, held during the Feast of the Moon when everybody honours the dead. Myrkulites call it "the day the dead are most with us." It's believed by them that the dead walk the world as ghosts to seek their loved ones, enemies and descendants - either to observe or to pass on messages. They celebrate the dead with chants, prayers and hyms and end the day with a ritual called the Flagons of the Fallen, where they set glasses of wine on fire with magic to grant the spirits a momentary respite from their "eternal chill."

The priests that dedicate themselves to Myrkul alone amongst the gods are the Grey Ones (also known by the nickname, "fingerbones")

Grey ones are master necromancers, and can command far larger hordes than normal. They are also masters of lore regarding undeath, all forms of undead and the outer planes and the fate of souls.

They're resistant to any spell effects that cause death

They do not display any negative effects of any diseases or parasites they may be hosting, although they can still contract them. For example, an Anointed could visibly have leprosy, and it will kill them, but they won't feel it or be bothered by it until it actually kills them.

They can magically put themselves into a state where they appear to be dead to onlookers.

They can summon Deaths to serve them - grim reaper looking undead who serve Myrkul.

They can wither living flesh at a touch.

Once a tenday they have access to a unique spell called the Hand of Myrkul, this wreathes their hand in flame. If they touch a living creature with this hand, then the victim must make a successful roll or they will die. If the target dies, the Gray One must also make that same roll, or be slain themselves.

They can stagnate water and create or worsen structural weak points in inanimate matter.

They can turn wounds and injuries necrotic.

They have a unique version of the spell finger of death where the priest points a finger bone at the target, says the incantation and if the damage caused kills the target then they can't be resurrected. If they don't die, then the Myrkulite can perform a ritual involving holy water that will turn them into a living zombie under their command.

Myrkul himself is a Neutral Evil deity and his domain is in the Lower Planes on the Grey Waste of Hades. Born Myrkul Bey al-Kursi, a talented necromancer and Crown-Prince of a kingdom called Murghom. His kingdom was a vassal state of the ancient empire Mulhorand, and the prince wasn't satisfied with such meagre power. So off he travelled, eventually running into Bhaal and Bane, who were already allied and being compelled to seek out and slay ancient gods due to horrific visions being inflicted on them by the god Jergal. This, of course, is what we call an opportunity for better power, so Myrkul joined them and the three went on to steal divinity from many beings and ended up becoming the Dead Three. He was slain by Midnight, who would become Mystra, in a battle in Waterdeep during the Time of Troubles.

Myrkul's personality is described as cold and malignant, and the god himself is known for his cruel intellect. He never gets angry or raises his voice, only ever speaking in a whisper. Whenever his plans are foiled by mortals he only ever responds with amusement.

Sometimes, just to keep mortals on their toes, he pretends to be kind.

Myrkul's avatar is much like the traditional grim reaper (scythe included), but with four arms, and his face still has some skin - flaking, withered skin covered in lesions and his lips and black and cracking. His sunken eyes "gleam with a cold, evil light." He levitates rather than standing on the ground. His touch is lethally icy, both physically and on a spiritual level. He can also inflict a flesh-eating disease on people though touching them. Regardless of how much damage it inflicts, after being in physical contact with Myrkul, a living being sees all other living beings around them as corpses for a varying period of time. His scythe causes fatigue and weakness in those it touches.

All skeletons and zombies obey him absolutely, regardless of who created them. Much like Bhaal, Myrkul can create any form of undead by touching a corpse, and sapient undead such as mummies and vampires created this way are bound to his will for a single task after which they are fully free willed. He can reduce all undead to dust with a touch, and they cannot harm him in any way.

Myrkul also manifests as a flying human skull with lights in its eye sockets, and can vary in size from normal skull to being six foot tall. He can also manifest as a skeletal arm wielding a scimitar, which has much the same effect as the scythe.

Myrkul can cast any spell except those that create light as a primary effect.

Naturally his divine servants and messengers are undead, and he's been known to unleash armies of the dead on the living.

Various things Myrkul will send to his faithful to show his favour or disfavour include; bats, panthers, hell hounds, nightmares, black roses, jet, obsidian, onyx and corvids. The animals will aid his faithful, if in favour and cause harassment or harm to show his disfavour. They can also be sent to attack his followers' enemies.

His top hits in contribution to the Realms include:

The Wall of the Faithless. Nobody actually asked for the souls of those who cannot be claimed by any of the gods to all be packed together and turned into a mouldy, eternally screaming wall where they will experience agony untold for millennia as their memories and sense of self are slowly eaten away until nothing of them is left. But Myrkul is the gift that keeps on giving, so he gave the Wall to the Realms anyway.

The Spirit Eater Curse: So one of his old Chosen, raised from birth to serve him with blind loyalty, got a girlfriend. Then this girlfriend ended up in aforementioned wall of screaming souls. Said Chosen rebelled in order to rescue his girlfriend, so Myrkul did the only reasonable thing and put him in the Wall (even though this is a breach of divine cosmology) and then took him back out when his personality had been erased and dumped him back on Toril. What was left was a soul eating parasite - a void that feels only hunger and can never be filled, ruining thousands of lives and leaving spiritual desolation wherever it went. Did this have anything to do with being a punishment for the former high priests rebellion? Sort of, but ultimately, not really, no. This was Myrkul's equivalent of Iyachtu Xvim and the Bhaalspawn; as long as the curse exists, a fragment of Myrkul remains in the world and he cannot die.

The Crown of Horns: Originally crafted by Jergal. A circlet made of electrum, with four bone horns at the corners and one large black diamond centred over the brow, radiating necromantic energy. Before the Second Sundering, the crown hosted a portion of Myrkul's essence. The crown has mind-affecting magic that sows discord amongst all in its vicinity who don't worship Myrkul, who it can bind to the yugoloth fiends of the Lower Planes, and its power also drives them to covet the crown. All who wear it have their minds consumed by Myrkul as it slowly turns them into a lich. They usually then start acting as an evil necromancer overlord, raising the dead and trying to take over the nearest city/kingdom/whatever. At their worst, wearers of the crown have been strong enough to challenge Bane's church (although I don't think they've tried).

Myrkul's been keeping the crown teleporting around the world, post Time of Troubles, landing out of reach of meddling Harpers and kept within reach of idiots.

#I'll say this for Myrkul - he actually made something of a functioning religion #Are you sure you're in the right religion Ketheric buddy?

96 notes · View notes

starryficsfinishwen · 4 months

Text

✧。◟[NSFW] ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪᴅᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ — lee x reader [PGR]

so I'm coming home to you

synopsis ; there are answers far beyond words in between turbulences. you are looking for those in lee's battles, in the way he sat beside you, yet what can you say, when the ride home is silent?

alternatively: starry was unsatisfied because we never knew what happened after the epilogue and got a time skip instead, so she is writing it down on her terms LOL

a.n. - this idea came to me while I was cooking breakfast. I nearly dropped the bowl. I nearly dropped my eggs 😭 also I wanna suggest listening to fallingforyou by The 1975 for this too if yall wanna. I wanted this to be an angst to fluff but I decided to make it in a separate post LOL ALSO I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS EARLIER AHAHAHA I'm sorri oh well

pairing - lee hyperreal x f!commandant

words - 7,691

warnings - WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 21: SPIRAL OF CHRONOS. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, NSFW THEMES: soft sex hehe, body worship, cunnilingus, creampie-, vaginal penetration, squirting, virginity loss but it's the both of them LOL, lee being so soft and gentle. semi-established relationship, mutual pining.

edit - dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

The ride home is silent.

A gentle lull of a torrential downpour, multiple raindrops pattering on the aircraft's window. Apart from the tired snores and occasional groaning of both constructs and commandants, you are certain: everyone on the aircraft was alive. Miraculously, even if the chances of being so were as small as a pea.

A sharp pain in your mind knocks on your head. Ah, right. Although the realization finally hits you, the piercing pain in your head has yet to dull, after all of the events that unfolded. You wondered, how lucky you were to be alive, despite connecting with so many constructs, all the while maintaining a deep M.I.N.D. connection with Lee. Perhaps, the gods listened to your selfish plea.

After all, Lee came back alive. And he is sitting, silently beside you.

Arms crossed as he leaned on the chair you both sat in, his frame never leaving a hint of space between you. His mesmerizing cerulean eyes were hidden, eyes closed as he breathed so softly.

It's the first time you've seen Lee's frame up close. The first time as a hologram, the second after he emerged from the tower. And now, one glance away.

His hair was a lighter shade of blonde, long bangs covering up until his eyes. Face more defined, looking more mature, yet still so youthful. There weren't any scars on Lee's face anymore, unlike his Entropy frame. Despite his cold and neutral face, as he slept, you can't help but notice that he looked more gentle, softer. Your hand reached out carefully trying not to disturb his sleep, fingers lightly tracing from the top of his head, to the side of his face, to his lips— a thought passed your mind, but you shook your head instead.

As you pulled away, Lee's hand grabbed yours.

“You are shaking,” a whisper that tickled your ear brought you back to reality, “are you alright, my Commandant?”

My Commandant. He only called you that in a fierce, stoic tone. But now, his voice is so tranquil, you might have mistaken it as a phantom. A ripple rumbles through your chest. Lee's voice, although you've heard it so many times, never failed to make you shake, never failed to make you sigh of relief. Unlike his Entropy and Palefire frames, what changed? His new frame is gentler, softer, too. Grasping the warm blanket wrapped around you, you felt Lee lean closer to you. You looked back at him, finding a worried expression across his face.

A face you've seen for the first time, should have made you afraid. Yet, the new face is looking at you, the same way he used to. A sense of familiarity, a sense of comfort.

“I'm okay,” you admitted, “Please don't worry.”

The windows were tinted dark, a few shimmering stars outside. In the dim light of the evening haze, cerulean eyes looked down on you, calculating and quiet. “Is there something wrong? You seem distressed.”

Apart from all the events that conspired earlier, it's probably safe to say that you were far from okay. But you still held onto your words, “Nothing. I just...wanted to see you up close.”

Sturdy, mechanical arms wrapped themselves around your frail, tired body. The gesture made you sink into Lee's chest, a new wave of comfort entangling itself on both of your bodies. Yes, this was— and still is— the man you liked for a long time. And this was the same space you've always loved to drown in, away from the cold, war-struck world.

“Wasn't it you who told me not to shoulder everything,” Lee chuckled, “You can tell me the truth, my Commandant. I am here to bear it all with you.”

His words made you snort. “Oh, now you take my words?”

“I remember everything you say, orders and everything.”

The turbulence seemed to hit a little harder, as Lee held you tighter in his embrace. You found yourself nestled in his lap eventually, cradled like a child in your teammate's arms. You still looked at Lee, searching for something. Two awake individuals now converse in hushed tones.

“You're making me quite nervous, Commandant.” Lee spoke as you continued to stare at him.

“I still can't believe that you are here.” You childishly poked his puffed cheeks, “Are you sure you're real?”

Ah, there he is. His usual stoic expression as he looked at you nonchalantly. But they were quickly replaced with a warm smile, eyes softening at your antics. “My Commandant, I believe that we are still connected right now. Do you wish to check it?”

As far as you were concerned, what Lee said is true; the connection with him is still a brightly burning flame, signaling its closeness with you right now. Yet, as you continue to gaze at your teammate, who was looking elsewhere, another realization dawned on you. Reaching out to touch his neck, his shoulders, his metallic chest— all hardened, like a cyborg. But you can still feel it, in your fingertips, his heartbeat reflecting yours, a cadenza of fluttering butterflies.

“Commandant,” Lee took your shivering hand, looking at you as he brought the back of it to his lips, “I'm here, okay? I'm back. I'm holding you like this.”

He is. As you gazed at his face, the whims of today that brought cold demons do not sway so easily, your heart crumbling once more— the fear that gnawed you left and right back when you were at the foot of the impenetrable tower, helpless in front of bloodlusted monsters. The thought of earlier when blood spilled your hands came back to haunt you: an unprecedented future where Lee did not emerge from the tower, a grim call for humanity...what did it look like?

“Hearing you say that,” your voice cracked, a fresh wave of tears now threatening to spill from your tired eyes, “brings me so much comfort, Lee.”

How ironic. A few hours ago, you bravely put on your facade, welcoming Lee back when he emerged from the then-heteronomer tower. Your smile was bigger than all the countless turbulences you've faced, a plethora of hope that baptised the witnesses there. But with the silent ride home to Babylonia, Liv and the other healers now resting, all the other conscious and unconscious commandants and constructs, you couldn't help but break down now, an endless stream of worry, fear, and relief as a storm in your body. Silent sobs wreck through your body, but Lee— your Lee, yours— held you so tight.

“I'm sorry,” even in the gentlest tone, his apology only made you sob more, “I know I should have thought about it thoroughly, I should have planned it with you. But it was the only solution.”

He kissed your temple, his cold fingers interlacing with your shaky ones, “...to keep you alive.”

You should be happy; Lee is right. He's alive, everyone else is alive. The tower was now a purification one. Yet why, out of all the things you should be crying about, an unfathomable thought that crossed your mind— something about death, something about a dogtag drenched in the bluest vital fluid— made you cry more?

“Commandant [Y/N],” Lee calls your name, that it catches your attention, a skip in your heart, “You're so brave. I'm sorry that you went through so much. But right now, everything will be alright.”

As your sobs slow down, Lee leans closer to your face, a finger wiping away the stream of tears, his lips kissing them away. Wait. Have you ever been so intimate with Lee this way? It suddenly baffled you; sure, you were both aware of each other's affections, sneaking away to be with one another. The furthest thing you've both even gone to, was a simple kiss on the cheek in your bedroom, before Lee went away, claiming his cooling systems malfunctioned. The gravity of the situation made you snap out of your sadness.

“W-wait, Lee,” you weakly shimmied out of his embrace, “I-I thought you didn't want this-”

You vividly remember Lee hates public display of affection.

But right now, his expression was puzzled, as if confused with your reaction. “And?”

A timid blush creeps in your cheeks. Somehow, you were the one getting embarrassed.

“I thought you didn't want people to see this kind of,” you coughed, “...display.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I am just taking care of my Commandant. There's no other explanation.”

Ah, what a fickle mind you have. Embarrassed, you sunk deep into his arms, pouting as you hid your face in his chest. “Ah...sorry.”

Lee coughs, “But there is something I do want to talk to you about.”

Peering up at him, you cocked your head to the side, “The mission? Or...what happened earlier?”

He looked at you with a small smile, before a faint pink tint in his cheeks appeared. He tucked the blanket to your chest, before returning his fingers to the gaps in yours. “We will arrive in Babylonia soon. It may be a hellhole right now, but...your rest will be the priority.”

“Hey, what-”

“-Get some sleep for now, Commandant...”

Gentle cerulean eyes looked at you with an unfamiliar emotion. Was it really unfamiliar, or were you slowly succumbing to the lull of a well-needed sleep.

It felt like a dream. His touch, his voice, his gestures. Your mouth opens, trying to call out Lee's name. But the way his thumb caressed your intertwined hands, the safety of a cradle as he held you close, the faint smell of his scent—

You fall asleep by the time the aircraft docks at Babylonia's hangar.

You remember the day you realized you liked Lee.

It was a little crush that bothered you like a bunny, hopping around the corners when it saw food nearby. You tried to ignore it, favoring the quiet, tranquil field, your battlefield for the fight against the virus. Yet, the longer you lingered in the field, the more of that man in blue with a cold facade and steeled eyes seem to capture your attention, far longer than any lesson you took in the F.O.S.

“Do you have any wish?” You remember Lee's sudden, peculiar question one day, at the Gray Raven lounge.

You were both chilling there, across one another; you were by the table, doing your paperwork, and him on the sofa, polishing his weapon. The question was so out of the blue. A few weeks after your initial meeting, and he was still in his Palefire frame. In honesty, what was your greatest wish? You were merely a fresh graduate, finally with a team assigned to you. You've been through the simulations, memorized every nook and crook of the books, and can even recite the constitution and the laws. All of this for the sake of humanity.

“Retaking Earth, having a future of peace.” was a simple way to put it.

But Lee only had a cold expression on his face, despondent eyes looking at you with judgement. You recognized this look, one that he'd been wearing every time you were around. You admitted him, earlier, his frigidity nearly makes you wet your pants. But when the last word escaped your lips, the expression changed for a split second— relief?— before it returned to its hardened state.

“I'm not asking you to do a pep talk.”

You pondered once more. Sure, humanity is needed. But guess not for Lee. What did you want, really? Ah, you remember the parcel you ordered, and the many more that were to come. Your wallet had been growing slimmer, too. Smiling, a stupid, yet practical idea sauntered to your young mind.

“Retiring as early as possible to get my pension?”

A life of pure ecstasy and glory. It wasn't so bad. But that look on Lee's face seemed to insinuate that he'd probably kill you and stage it as something else.

“Can you just give me one that is actually achievable?”

Is retiring early too much? When you looked up to Lee for another witty remark, you found yourself frozen. What once were steeled eyes were a noticeable shade of indigo, complimenting the blue patterns on his outfit. A clenched jaw, soft skin, a remarkable face that seemed to know so many things at once. You've always known you had a little bit of admiration for your team, with the tasks assigned to you little by little. But did you ever have your heart skip a beat whenever Lucia or Liv was around? You remember fierce and timid eyes looking at you, but never this cold. No, only Lee.

Only Lee could do that.

What little crush became a massive infatuation.

“Then,” sheepishly smiling, you felt your cheeks tint in the lightest shade, yet you still looked at Lee, “your smile?”

The question caught him off guard. Taking advantage of the situation, you decided to tease him further, “I want to see you smile more, Lee.”

You've always wanted to see him smile. One that was genuine, not commanded, nor forced. For the first time since your first meeting, there was a crack in his expression, a thin shade of pink dusting his own cheeks; a seemingly thin facade that only motivated you to open the lock that was presented to you.

“W-what-”

“You will scare everyone off with that intimidating look on your face,” you smiled, “So, please?”

Before the next moment could happen, the memory goes dark, and you open your eyes.

Your senses are out of place, lost as you tried to regain everything. First, your sense of smell returns as the scent of vanilla fills the room. Next is your hearing, the white noise of the air conditioner overwhelms the empty space. The feel of your bones and muscles, albeit sore and tired, felt weightless as you tried to lift your arms and legs up. The soft grasp of cotton and the mattress. When your vision returns, the white ceiling is adorned with the many trinkets you could remember sticking onto the top, the feeling of home asking to be welcomed. The comforts of the bed seemed to beg you to stay more, but you forced your body to sit up, the familiar scene of your room at the Gray Raven base now into view.

Did you...fall asleep? What time is it? You didn't want another lifetime of scolding waiting for you outside of your door. Lucia and Liv could be in the training room. And Lee...

An ominous feeling rattled your body. When you look down at your hands, a silent scream on your lips as you jump from the bed— your hands are tainted with a mixture of blue vital fluids and the brightest red.

Nearly falling onto the floor, lucky enough that you landed on your mattress. You suddenly remember everything—

“Lee!”

You forget your dignity. You forget your bare feet, you forget everything else. You had to find Lee. You had to. Running out of the door, you bolted to find the blonde man, the fear that you were too late to save him.

But before you could reach the last door that held all the answers you were looking for, a tall, study cushion prevented you from doing so.

“...dant! Commandant!”

A familiar voice. Snapping out of your fear-stricken trance, you felt yourself being pushed off slightly. A pair of worried cerulean eyes looking down at you.

“Commandant, I'm here!” A baritone voice, ones that made your eyes blur from the tears, “I'm here. I'm back.”

A comforting hold over you. A towering figure. The presence that could only make you crumble. Your teammate. The one that filled your quiet days.

“You're,” you choked, the dam of tears that spilled senselessly, “Lee, you're alive.”

He sighed in relief. Looking at you with a small smile, he said, “...You must be confused. Let's eat before we talk.”

Sunnyside up egg and bacon, the other kind of egg being scrambled. Two plates, two pieces of toast. A coffee and a glass of milk. And you finished it all, your share with the sunnyside up. The other was close to finishing, with Lee still tinkering on the small robot that was on his side.

A part of you thinks rationally, as you shouldn't eat like a pig when in front of someone else. But you can't help but strive to satiate the hunger that was distracting you from doing anything else. Apart from that, the raging headache was now gone.

You noticed something different, though.

“Did you enjoy it, Commandant?”

You glanced at Lee, before looking back at your clean plate. You wanted to retort, but, you awkwardly laughed instead. “Thank you, I really enjoyed it, Lee.”

“You looked like you tasted something else though,” you raised your brow, before he added, “Your expression changed.”

“Ah,” you absentmindedly toyed with your fork, “...it tasted different. Did Liv cook this?”

A faint blush adorned his cheek. “I was the one who cooked the food. Liv did not participate at all.”

You blinked in surprise. Lee? Cooking?

“Really?” Bewildered, you reeled back, “It tasted so good. I want a second serving...”

You had nothing against Lee's skills. He followed all of the nitty gritty details of the cookbook he used, making the dish taste too bland or too dry. But the one you tasted seemed different.

“I can cook more for you then, Commandant,” Lee prepared to stand up, but you grabbed his arm.

“Later, later!” You beamed at him, “I'm quite surprised as it tasted...”

What were the right words? As his hand loosened on your grip, you blurted out, “Warm.”

“Did it now?” A teasing tone. You huffed out, which made him grin.

“I'm glad you think so. After all, you were asleep for two days.”

The events of before came rushing back, nearly overwhelming you. But Lee's hand in yours strengthened your resolve. There were still a few questions on your mind, like—

“I checked you up on the Star of Life.” Lee continued, “I couldn't leave you there, as they were still packed with all the other victims. They granted you to rest here, where we watched over you.”

“What about the other people with us at the surface?”

“They were treated as well, Commandant. Right now, they gave us a two-week rest, with everything trying to settle down and rebuilding whatever we can.”

You touched his hand, “What about...you?”

And he touched yours back. “I did, as soon as we had you here.”

“I see, thank you,” you looked down on the oversized shirt, before glancing at Lee's now reddening face.

“I- um, we helped you clean and dress up. Mostly Liv and Lucia.”

“Where are they now...?”

“They might be helping with the rebuilding. It's my turn to watch over you.”

You hummed, retreating your hand, a small sense of disappointment. A comforting, yet anxious silence enveloped the environment; you fiddled with your hands, trying to find the right words to say. But the longer you dwell, the more your anxiety grew.

“...I didn't think that my shirt would look good on you.”

Your feelings dissipated. You looked up, Lee looking away to hide his blush, “I wanted to give it to Murray, but I'm glad that I still had some left.”

“Th...thank you, Lee. It feels very comfortable.” It was normal, right? Wearing boyfriend shirts has been a trend lately. So why are you blushing like a tomato? Well, at least the two of you look like tomatoes.

“...I still have a few more,” Lee said, gathering the courage to look at you, “If you're not closed to the idea of having shirts like the one you are wearing now, then, let me know.”

The cloth did feel quite comfy, never mind how it rested above your knees. It also smelled like Lee— apple blossoms and summertime. You were hoping you could keep the shirt hidden, but you were glad you had his confirmation.

Another silence. At this point, you'd rather be swallowed by the ground whole than be stuck with the awkward air. As you thought about it, deeper in thought, you felt Lee's fingers reach for yours, index finger wrapped around your pinky. Looking up, Lee already had his eyes on you, cerulean eyes looking with the same unfamiliar emotion.

“Commandant,” Quietly, as if the glass in front of you would break, “...Are you scared?”

“No,” you shook your head, sighing, “I was only worried. I thought...”

“So, you are.” Tenderly, he brought your hand closer to his face, “I feel that I can't apologize enough.”

“No, no, Lee,” What were you doing? Your vision nearly blurs, guilt clawing at the back of your throat, that your voice feels so small, “It's okay, it really is...”

“You told me yourself that you'd allow me to share all my burdens,” Gently, he kisses your fingers one by one, his eyes closed, “That we're doing this together until the end. You and I— you are no exception.”

Lee doesn't leave any finger unkissed, warm lips on your fingertips, before he trailed his kisses to the side of your hand, to the pulse on your wrist. Ah, he knows. He knew about the flash of blood on your hands, the haunting memory between the both of you. The first drop of your tears escaped. Then another. Until it became an endless stream, running down your face.

“I'm sorry, Commandant, for scaring you.” He opened his eyes, revealing glossy ones, mirroring your sad expression, “But I assure you; I am here, I'm sitting with you, I'm next to you now.”

Two of his hands are now on your wrist, hovering over his jaw, words brewing at the tip of his tongue. Does he know about your hammering heartbeat? How this very gesture, so intimate, so real— there are words far beyond comprehension, beyond verbal communication, that wishes to be said. But all it took was the way he looked at you, your hands on his. He pulls you closer, eased comfortably in his awaiting lap.

“In the tower,” he admitted, “The frame knows something, and I can't tell Asimov unless I tell you first.”

“What do you mean?”

His fingers are now on your cheek, wiping away all of your tears, looking at you with such sincerity, it nearly breaks your heart, “I saw the future.”

It made you freeze. The future? It didn't seem true. But you trusted Lee, and you would safeguard everything he said to protect him.

“Like...you saw it happen?”

He nods, “I do. I can even go back into the past. I used to remember it all so clearly, but...”

A twinge of dread sinks in your stomach, whispering, “you can't anymore?”

“...In the end, I can still remember the worst that happened.”

Lee's free hand cups your cheek, and you only noticed it now, the vibrant color of his cerulean eyes, reflected so bright. “I lost you in all of them.”

It hits you faster— you weren't the only one who suffered. Lee, your Lee, battled his own demons inside of the tower. It made your stomach sink, your heartbeat wild in your chest. Your Lee, who had always been so calculating and ahead of everything, had the fear that you also had.

The vivid thought of your hand wrapped around a bloodied dogtag washes over you. But you tried to push it away from your mind, opting to cup Lee's cheeks.

“Lee,” words die on your throat, “I'm...”

“That's why I need to tell you this, Commandant,” he inhaled deeply, that a shiver ran down your spine—

Was he going to ask to step down? To leave Gray Raven, to leave...you?

His face was dangerously close to yours now, your breathing tangled with yours, your warmth clinging to his skin, “I never want to be away from you again, Commandant.”

You held your breath. In the heat of the afternoon haze, Lee's arms are on your waist, the other on your cheek; you, on his lap, holding his face. All of the thousand words, unsaid during the ride home, poured in like a fountain. His thumb wipes away the last tear from your eyes, mouth curling into a smile.

“I may not hold what lies in the future, or how long until our end will arrive, but right now, I will not hesitate to spend all of our precious time together. I want to protect you. I will do everything I can to keep on saving you, even if I have to give my life.”

He drives the final nail onto his words, “I like you. I like you far too much, that if I don't see you anymore, then I will never know what to do.”

A confession. Lee was never this honest or upfront. It rattled you to the core, that a simple event made him change like this. Honest, upfront, intimate. But you only shook your head, the hold over him tightened.

“No,” you breathed out, “I can't lose you like that, Lee. I never want to lose you.”

“Save me all you want, but you know that I'll do the same,” you muttered, leaning to press your lips onto his cheeks, “But I won't only die for you. I will live for you.”

“I-”

“I like you, too, Lee. I like you that I would rather watch the world burn than to see you gone from me.”

In this very small space, you could hear his heartbeat echo alongside yours. His grip on your waist tightens, and you are leaving kisses on his face. There is a feeling that bubbles inside of you. You wanted to call him that word— something you've been craving to say that it aches too much in your mouth, asking to be confessed. But you already know that neither of you are ready to say it, nor accept it.

“Commandant-”

“Say my name, Lee,” your voice breaks, as your hands itch to wrap them around Lee, too touch-starved to care if this kind of intimacy breaks both of your boundaries, “I want to hear you say it.”

“[Y/N],” Lee's voice said your name so softly, that your heart flutters, “[Y/N],”

You've only heard Lee call your name with your title. But now, in the heat of this moment, as he calls your name, you never wanted anything more than to kiss him. Already leaning to close the missing gap, but you hesitate. You were really going to break all of the other boundaries you've both set for one another. So you lean away, slightly disappointed.

“[Y/N]?”

“I'm sorry, Lee.” A small pout on your lips, “I really...want to kiss you.”

“...I do, too.” You notice the pink in his cheeks grew darker, “...I want to kiss you. I want to do many things with you, [Y/N].”

Ah, a clear sign. One that makes your heart erupt with joy, one that made the grin on your face uncontrollable.

“Then, kiss me, Lee,” you said, cupping his cheeks, “I want you to kiss me.”

And he does. Your arms are wrapped on his shoulders, his lips on your waist. Closing the aching gap, that your bodies are pressed onto each other, it reminds you of the collision of stars— merging into one. Kissing Lee for the first time is soft, gentle, with a hint of neediness and satisfaction. One where the longer you've kissed, breaking away only to find a string of saliva on your lips, an unbearable need to kiss each other once more, that it deepens.

It distracts you, however— his hands tease along your bare thighs, fingers lightly tapping on your skin. You only move closer, his hands finding themselves wrapped on the back of your thighs.

“Lee,” you whispered, pulling away to find a string of saliva as you catch your breath, “can you touch me more, please? I want to know if this is real.”

“This is real,” he affirms, guiding your legs to wrap themselves on his hips, “...And I am touching you right now.”

He wastes no time kissing you again, one hand on your cheek, the other caressing your hips. Your hands, however putty, start to pull on his own clothes, finding where his buttons could be. Lee must have noticed it, when you breathe for air, he chuckles.

“Hyperreal isn't like my Entropy or Palefire, [Y/N]. Seems like I'll be the one taking them off, as you don't know where.”

“Such a tease,” you pout, “You should have asked Asimov to put some buttons or zipper somewhere to easily take off your clothes.”

“Well,” Lee coughs, “I honestly did not think that I would be making out with my Commandant in the future.”

It made you laugh loudly, fingers grazing his chin, “Cute. Well, I guess your prophecy skills are a bit too rusty, hm?”

“Mm,” Lee leans to brush his nose on the side of your face, “I did not forsee that an attractive girl like you would be on my lap right now, being so receptive and kind to me.”

The statement made you blush. “Cut it, and I thought you were the one who gets flustered easily.”

“Th-” Lee pulls away, revealing his adorable pout, paired with the raging blush on his cheeks, made you want to remember this sight forever, “That's because there is something wrong with my cooling system.”

“Even now on your new frame?”

He sighs. “I'm starting to think that it's not because of the cooling system...”

“Oh, you admit it now?”

“...Yeah,” he takes a strand of your hair in between his fingers, twiddling, “I think it's because of you, [Y/N].”

“Why is it my fault now?”

“You...” Lee pauses, before looking at you, “...you make me think of things to the point of overthinking. You keep overriding my logic, always skewing my predicted data.”

“I'm sorry?” Awkwardly applogizing, but Lee only laughs.

“Do you know what you're doing to me, [Y/N]?”

“Mm, no,” your hands play with Lee's hair, behind his ear, “Pray tell?”

“You skewer with the data because...you create scenarios in my M.I.N.D. You drive me insane to the point that I have to investigate the data, correct it again, so that it won't interfere with mine.”

“What kind of data tampering do I do, Lee?” You were teasing at this point, Lee's ears turning red, “Explain it more.”

“You...” He wanted to throw a retort, but your teasing is relentless, that he only looks deep in your eyes, “You make me think of things that I want to do with you, that only lovers do.”

There you go. Your stomach flutters at the thought that you both shared the same sentiments.

“What kind, Lee?” You dropped your voice into a whisper, leaning to his ear, “Can you show me?”

“No, I-”

“-Don't hold back on me. That's an order.”

Under the light of the dining room, Lee's cerulean eyes turn into a darker shade, a low growl on his throat. Not a moment later, he hoists you by your ass and carries you onto the table, large hands touching your bare thighs. His face was still dangerously close to yours, lips touching, but not enough to leave a kiss.

“I'm not sure if I can please you enough,” he whispered, “But God, I want to touch you, [Y/N].”

The desperation in his voice. The slight shaking in his hands. Eager lips waiting to kiss you over and over— what a perfect concoction to appease the growing greed that was brewing down there. You decided to close the gap, hoping it was enough to answer the question Lee asked.

“Touch me more, Lee,” you whined when you pulled away slightly, hands all over his chest, “I want you. I need you so much.”

Lee doesn't waste any time. He kisses you once more, before carrying you once more in his arms. You leave it up to him, as he carries you back to your room, albeit clumsily as you feel yourself gently be squished in between the walls as he fumbles with the direction. But you don't mind, not when the kiss becomes fervent enough, tongue dipping to taste Lee's, to taste where you could reach. Your whines grow louder when you feel yourself lowered onto the soft surface— the bed— and the click of the door shut.

When you opened your eyes, Lee was already in the middle of taking off his upper clothes, revealing bionic skin in his shade, a glowing mark in the middle of his chest. Nevermind the way his arms looked, but the sight as he slowly undressed himself was enough to make your mouth (and probably your private area) water.

“Do you like the view?” Lee teases. Mindlessly, you nodded.

“Pretty...” you dawdled, admiring the glowing mark on his chest, “you're so pretty, Lee...”

“You should see yourself, [Y/N].”

Grasping to touch yourself, you realized that the shirt you were wearing was already raised to your tummy, revealing your panties. You didn't know what you looked like, really. But you trust Lee.

“I can't,” you smugly smiled, “Mind telling me what I look like now, Lee?”

As soon as he was finished in taking off his upper clothing, he leaned down, caging you in between his buff body. “Beautiful,” he said, thumb caressing your lips, “You look so delectable.”

Kissing you once more. Heat settles in between your pressed bodies, incessant hands reaching where they could. Gently, Lee's lips kissed your jaw, trailing to your ear. Softly, slow hands fiddling with the hem of his— now yours— shirt, teasing by the dip of your stomach. Butterfly kisses along your neck, nibbling so little, in a place where only Lee can see. A primal need gnawed at your heart; perhaps Lee's mark could be enough to satiate the need, right?

You craned your neck to him, muttering, “More, please.”

Hesitation sits where his lips were, short breaths fanning it. “Are you...are you sure?”

“Please,” your pleas somehow sound like a breathless moan, “We have two weeks to be here, right?”

You didn't see what his expression looked like, but he seemed convinced, teeth grazing on one particular spot that made you moan. And Lee devilishly nibbles on it.

“As you wish then, Commandant.”

Ah, the title again. You wanted to answer back, but Lee seemed to know where your weak spots were, with you writhing from pleasure. After the assault on your neck, his trail of kisses paused as he lifted off your shirt, revealing your breasts in their naked glory. Shimmying out of the shirt, you felt embarrassed already, covering yourself, in nothing but your underwear.

But Lee only held your hips, “Let me see you, [Y/N].”

“I-I don't think I have the best body, y'know,” you admitted, looking away, “It might not be perfect.”

Lee doesn't say a word. Taking your hands, he looks at you, before bringing it to his lips.

“[Y/N], look at me,” you do, mouth shut, “Tell me what you think of these hands?”

“Um,” you ponder for a moment, “For patting you?”

He smiles a bit, before kissing the back of your hands. “They can be used like that. But these are gentle hands, ones that use weapons to protect her comrades.”

He begins to trail kisses again, on your arms, to your shoulders, to your neck. You softly moaned as he kissed the side of your head, hearing him say, “Your arms are strong enough to carry your teammates, shouldering your strength that helps those you've always wanted to reach.”

“You're incredible, [Y/N],” he purred, kissing your clavicle, kissing you all the way, in between the valley of your breasts, “You are so beautiful, so powerful.”

Kissing and kissing your breasts, fondling them with care. You cry out his name from the sensitivity, the fluttering feelings all around you. He doesn't break eye contact as he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking it, and playing with the other.

Your mouth is a chorus, now— babbles of "Lee, Lee", "more, please", that the way he caged you perfectly in between his legs, you couldn't help but drown in the way he's holding you.

A while later, his lips travel to your stomach, your waist, a teasing little kiss on your hips— hoisting your legs up to his broad shoulders. He looks at you, as if asking you to not look away.

“[Y/N],” his voice sounds so sultry, mesmerizing you, “You may think that you're not perfect, but to me, you've always been so...holy, divine.”

Lee pressed a kiss to your ankles, to your legs, your knees, “I could worship you forever like this,” a few more kisses on the back of your legs- “I'll do this just so you know how much I adore you.”

How intimate, how devoted your Lee was— with your legs so close to his chest, you could feel his heartbeat thrumming. It was beating so loud like yours, a perfect mirror that rumbled in every part of your body, pulsating with so much want and need, that it made you want to pull him closer.

“Lee,” you moaned, feeling his lips slowly kiss your knees, trailing to the inside of your thighs, “Lee,”

“I'm right here,” He pressed a kiss to your weeping, clothed cunt, sending a jolt throughout your body, “Let me hear you more, my [Y/N]. Don't cover your mouth.”

You don't. Not when he sucks your clothed cunt with such vigor, your back arching for him. Your hands find themselves seeking respite in his hair, as he pulls down your soaked underwear, agonizingly slow. Wiggling out of it, you peered down to look at Lee, nearly drooling at the way your pussy was displayed all for him. You felt yourself dripping with want.

“God,” Lee groaned, a mix of a breathless moan and sigh, his fingers experimentally rubbing your labia, “You're even so beautiful down here, my [Y/N].”

You moaned at his words, hole clenching around nothing. You've touched yourself down there on fairly lonely nights, wishing it was Lee's hands instead of your own. But right now, as he rubs your slit with your slick, how lewdly your own mouth betrayed you, you may as well wish those lonely nights won't return, as the real thing was far better than your imagination.

“Lee, stop teasing,” you whined, “Touch me more.”

“I am already doing that,” he said, “Do you not feel it?”

“Well, honestly, with the way you're- nngh-”

He licked a long stripe on your slit, causing you to moan out loud. Hearing your reaction, Lee licks the same spot once more, making you twitch. But his hands are faster, holding your hips.

“Delectable,” He said, licking his lips, “I want to taste more.”

His lips latch onto your peeking clit, lapping at you like a starved man. It's messy, yet so hot— fingers prodding your hole, Lee's mouth on your needy pussy. You've lost all common sense at this point, fingers grasping tightly on his hair, babbling senselessly for Lee, tears crying as he works you out of your climax. You badly wish it wasn't a dream; your fingers could no longer do justice to the way Lee was taking you right now. It doesn't take any longer, though— you tried to warn Lee, but you came so unexpectedly, squirting uncontrollably with a loud cry of Lee's name.

You tread the wonders of your high, shaking with ultimate pleasure, as Lee dutifully coaxed out your juices, licking you clean. When you've come down, you've noticed Lee hovering above you, cerulean eyes still clouded with lust, yet with appreciation.

“That's it,” he cooed, fingers brushing away the hair that covered your face, “you're so amazing, my [Y/N].”

You moaned as he leaned down to kiss you, hands wrapped to cradle you, and you could taste yourself, cum and slick, on his lips. But you never minded that— let alone how hot it felt.

“Do you still want to do this?” Lee asked, looking at you with concern, “We can call it a day when you're overwhelmed.”

“No,” you said, pulling him closer, “We're past the point of no return. Besides...”

Placing a hand on his cheek, to which he leaned, you spoke, “I want you to be my first, Lee.”

He freezes. Looking up, he muttered, “A-are you sure? I don't want you to regret it.”

“I will never mind if it's you.” You smiled, “If anything, I want to give it all to you. I...adore you far too much. You'll only make my wishes come true.”

Lee thought for a moment, before looking back at you. “We're the same, then.”

Swiftly taking off his boxers, Lee's cock stands tall and proud, bouncing off to his stomach. You marveled at the sight, mouth-watering once more. You reached out to wrap your hands around the shaft, causing Lee to moan.

“Pretty,” you massaged the shaft, smearing the tip that had his pre-cum, “you're so big, too.”

Tall and long, and you feared he'd be too big to fit inside of you. It was veiny, with the fat mushroom tip with a lot of pre-cum. You wanted to put him in your mouth to return the favor, but with your cunt crying out loud of his cock, you wanted nothing more but to ask him to bury himself inside of you.

Lee looked like he could cum from your touch alone. But he doesn't want to— no, he had to be inside of you. He swallows his moans down, but the longer you jerk him, whiny groans and whimpering began to overwhelm him.

“Let me- hah,” Lee steals one last kiss on your cheek, before preparing to align himself to take your maidenhead, “I want you, [Y/N].”

“And I need you, Lee.” You cupped his cheek, whining as you felt his tip catch your clit, cock rubbing your drenched pussy, “I need you inside of me.”

Lee helps himself, guiding his cock in. You moaned out loud as you felt the tip prod your quivering hole, hands tightly grabbing onto his shoulders. Lee immediately holds your hips, a few shallow thrusts to help you accommodate his size. Your mouth slips out moans, eyes rolling back as half of his cock is already inside of you. But God, did you already feel so full, brushing a soft spot inside of you.

“[Y/N],” Lee stutters, heavily sigh that became a moan, “You feel so t-tight, hah,”

“Lee,” you cried out as he thrusted shallowly, weakly pulling his arm, “you're so big...”

“Shh, I'm sorry, I'm almost there,” he cooed, kissing the corner of your lips, “A little bit more.”

You scream his name as Lee finally bottoms out, triggering your second orgasm. Lee could only moan as he grasped your hips, groaning at the way you tightened, squeezing him without mercy. But he still rubs your hips, easing you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Blurring out, but hearing him curse, made you involuntarily clench around him, “You're not only tight, but you're nearly killing me here.”

“S-sorry,”

Lee only thrusts into you as an answer. Squeaking from the sensitivity, you tried to reason out, but failed as Lee chuckled.

“It's not your fault, [Y/N]. I guess it means I'm good, hm?”

Bastard. Still so cocky. You pouted, “You are mean.”

“And you're so pretty.”

Lee resumed thrusting in and out of you, the recoil making your breasts bounce. One hand holds your hips, the other on your hand, taking them to his lips. As pleasure starts to build despite your sensitivity, you somehow recognize the gravity of the situation: Lee's smell, your nearly-fucked out senses, the creak of your bed, and the way he was still making love to you, your virginities now given to each other. Lee fucks into you just right, the cock hitting all of the spots that made you babble. Everything was overwhelmingly good, that you arched off of the bed, his cock hitting inside of you deeper.

“Lee,” you cried out, “Lee, God,”

“I'm here,” he leaned to you, “I'm here.”

You never wanted this moment to end. You forget your responsibilities, you forget the war— even just for a moment, everything was perfect for the both of you. As Lee settles your legs in his shoulders, the intense feeling is knotting at the bottom of your stomach, waiting to snap.

“[Y/N],” Lee cooed, “Are you going to come?”

“Y-yes,” you moaned, “I wanna come with you-”

“I'm almost there,” as if adhering to your needs, Lee slips his fingers to your clit, rubbing it, “You can do it.”

Your climax really is coming, alongside Lee's. But before the knot snaps, you realize that Lee is still speaking.

“[Y/N],” in between moans and your whining, Lee gripped your hands, cerulean eyes glimmering. “My [Y/N]-”

“-I love you.”

You teetered so close to the edge that you couldn't process his words. But it was enough to reach your climax. Writhing, you felt yourself be filled with something down there, you and Lee moaning each other's names. He rests his head in between your shoulders. And you were perfectly content with the weight on top of you.

It takes you a few moments to process it. In between catching breaths, his hair in your fingers, your other hand fiddling with his own, the message seems clear.

“Are you okay?” Lee asked as soon as he was back on top of you, still sheathed inside of you, “Did I hurt you?”

“No...” Your eyes must be glimmering like his, as your tears began to blur your vision, “What a charming man you are, Lee.”

Lee understood, but he still feigned ignorance. “Hm? How so.”

Pressing your hands flat on his chest, you felt his heartbeat, slowing down to a normal one, and it made you wish that you could stay like that forever.

“I love you, too, Lee.” These were words you've longed to say after all. “I will always love you.”

Lee only smiled, cheeks tinted in the bright shade of pink, “...I'm glad you heard that, then, my [Y/N].”

How funny that the ride home seemed silent. But the words were far better spoken out loud in the end.

BONUS:

“Lee! Commandant! We're back!”

The sound of the door opening at the Gray Raven lounge reverberates. Two figures emerge inside, carrying a bag full of ingredients.

“Lee?” Liv asked, looking around, “Where is he?”

“It's unlike him to leave so abruptly.” Lucia shrugged, “Let's check on the Commandant.”

Leaving the bag on the table, Liv and Lucia trotted to the Commadant's room, finding two figures sleeping next to each other.

“Oh,” Lucia whispered, beckoning Liv to be silent, “They're here. Lee's sleeping next to the Commandant.”

“I see...” Liv looks around to find clothes all over the floor. “Did someone break in? Why is the floor messy?”

“I don't know. Lee was probably trying to dress the Commandant.”

“I noticed the plates were also unwashed. Did the Commandant already wake up?”

“We'll just ask later when Lee's awake.”

When the door of the Commandant's room finally closed, a loud slap could be heard.

“Ow, [Y/N]-”

“I am never going to go out of this room.” You sighed in embarrassment, remembering that the hickies on your neck are very visible, and you're probably aware that you couldn't walk. “I'm screwed.”

“We just did.”

“Lee!”

— starry

#pgr #punishing gray raven #punishing gray raven imagines #pgr commandant #pgr global #pgr lee #pgr hyperreal #lee brainrot because I HAVE HIMMMM

108 notes · View notes