#around for almost a century now so it's a very large field of work that not all of fits into one box if you know what i mean

[thirstydiglett]

IT’S FINALLY HEREEEEEEEE

@badly-drawn-doflamingo asked me for some Corazon x male!reader like a month ago and I SWEAR it was just gonna be a little thing but it got out of control and anyway here it is

————————NC17 minors DNI———————

To Know, To Not Be Known

Summary: You’re a new Ensign at headquarters, fresh from the Academy but not nearly as strong as your fellow Ensigns. Thankfully your kind and very handsome Commander is here to help you train and work on those deep rooted self esteem issues of yours… but only if you muster up the courage to let him in.

Characters: Marine!Donquixote Rocinante, male!reader, Bellemere and Sengoku get cameos because I love them

Pairings: Rocinante x male!reader obivously

Warnings: Graphic violence, minor (original) character death, major character injury, small amounts of homophobia, discussion of trauma especially starvation, sex with an authority figure, oral sex, rimming, minor cum play, anal, Diglett has a size kink so that’s in here too, I think that’s everything but I might have missed something pls let me know

Word Count: 14k hahaha what is wrong with me

———————————————————————

“See ya later, Bellemere!”

You adjusted the collar of your uniform, inspecting it for any stains, and walked out of the dining hall. You waved to your best friend as she bussed her tray and headed the other direction. It would have been nice to have her, you mused, especially today of all days. Frustratingly, you and Bellemere had been put into different squadrons after graduating the academy. There, you’d been attached at the hip, The only two queer (or at least openly queer) infantry in your graduating class.

But now it was a whole new world, and everything was different. Marine Headquarters. Who would have guessed they’d place you here of all places? True, you had a devil fruit and that was interesting, but you’d never worked particularly hard back at the academy. Too busy goofing off with Bellemere and having crushes on boys who invariably turned out to be straight, in all honesty. You’d always done decently despite your slacking off, but never in a thousand years would you have guessed you’d end up at Headquarters. Fucking Headquarters.

Bellemere, on the other hand? That girl deserved it. She was up at 4 every morning to work out before morning workout. She could recite marine history from the end of the void century up until fifteen minutes ago. And her sailing skills? Top notch by anyone’s standards. All while getting more pussy than most of the boys you knew.

When you found out both of you were heading to headquarters together, you’d almost asked if she had pulled some kind of string to bring you along with her. But no—they’d requested you specifically. How the hell could you deserve to be here, with the elites?

Well, you were about to find out. Day one of training with the big boys was about to commence.

As you headed over to the training grounds where your squadron was scheduled to meet—6 AM on the dot—you couldn’t help but be in awe of the men and women around you. A man with hair at least three feet tall was deep in conversation with—holy shit, was that Monkey D. Garp?? And you could have sworn you just walked past a literal giant…This place was going to take some getting used to.

Arriving at your squadron’s assigned training fields—a grassy expanse littered with boulders and submerged in a thick early-morning fog—your heart leaped to realize that everyone else was already there and standing in ranks. Oh shit, were you really late on your first day? Frantically, you glanced at your watch. Nope, still 5:59. Then why…?

“Hey, recruit!”

A truly huge man was staring at you from the field, his coat around his shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze, and not just because he was glaring at you with a vengeance. The man was truly… well, gorgeous. Tousled blond hair fell over his forehead, partially obscuring large, lidded red-brown eyes. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his white shirt barely obscuring his well-defined musculature. You could feel your jaw drop a little as you took him in.

Oh shit. You should probably say something back.

“Uhh—y/n l/n, reporting for duty, sir!”

You jogged over and fell into line, saluting the man who was clearly to be your superior officer. He slowly walked in front of you, towering over you as he glared into your eyes.

“And you’re here thirty minutes late because…?”

You flushed. You couldn’t deny, the way his eyes bored into yours was sending lightning bolts through your stomach. “I, um, I was told to be here at 0600 hours, sir!”

“And unlike all the other ensigns, you didn’t get the memo I sent to the barracks last night that I wanted you here at 0530?”

You gulped. You’d actually snuck into Bellemere’s room last night to smoke the weed she’d snuck in and watch old cartoons on her visual Den Den Moshi. And you hadn’t gotten back until almost 1, far too late to receive a message.

“I was asleep, sir!” You blurted out, the lie slipping between your teeth with surprising ease. The man staring down at you raised an eyebrow.

“Asleep, eh?”

Oh, shit. He doesn’t buy any of this, does he? Am I about to get killed on my first day? Yeah, this guy looks like he could kill me…

“Be here on time tomorrow.”

The man turned and walked away without another word, leaving you stunned. Did I… Did I just get away with that?

Facing the line of ensigns, most of whom were barely hiding their snickering at you, the man raised his hand. With a quick glance at you and a—was that a smile?— he snapped his fingers.

The world went silent.

Out of nowhere, the voices of the other ensigns were deadened. The sound of the wind, the grass—holy shit, even your heartbeat—had completely disappeared. The ensigns looked around at one another, baffled and frightened. Suddenly, a voice cut through the dense silence.

“Calm down. It’s my devil fruit.”

You and the other ensigns looked up to see your superior officer watching you, a small smile on his face.

“I’m Commander Donquixote Rocinante. I’ll be leading this squadron. We’ll be working here to start with, but we may be going to sea on missions within the next year or so.

The powers that be want me to tell you that you all are here because you’re elite, the best of the best that the academy has to offer. Personally, I think that’s a load of bullshit. You’ve yet to prove you have anything to offer on the battlefield and you certainly haven’t proven that you know anything about executing Justice.

It’s my job to keep an eye on you, and if I see any shit I don’t like, you’ll be up for reassignment in a heartbeat.” (Oh shit, was he looking at you when he said that?)

“Understood?”

Rocinante snapped his fingers, and with a gentle woosh the sound returned to the world.

“Now, let’s get started. Ensigns, give me 100 push-ups!”

The peaceful morning shattered as over two dozen of the Marines’ finest dropped to their hands and toes, yourself included.

____________________________________

The first three weeks of training passed in a blur. Commander Rocinante pushed your squadron hard, working mostly on hand-to-hand combat skills and marksmanship, Rocinante’s two specialties. Everyone else was obviously in the right place—your compatriots were strong and tough, pushing themselves well past their limits for their commander.

And he paid them back in kind. Commander Rocinante was proving to be a surprisingly charming, supportive superior. He often bought the squadron drinks after a long day of training, and his goofiness and clumsiness off the battlefield put everyone at ease. While fighting, like many of the Marines, he was serious and intense—moving quickly and elegantly and using his power to sow confusion and cripple the enemies’ senses—but as soon as training ended Commander Rocinante was the kindest, most open-hearted (and admittedly the most disaster-prone) leader that anyone could ask for.

Except he appeared to hate you specifically.

You knew why—you were by far the weakest member of your squadron. You worked hard, sure, but you couldn’t quite do as many pushups, run as many miles, dodge as many punches. If you were Commander Rocinante, you would have been annoyed too. Of course you would have. But he was just so—so cold to you.

He greeted the others with nicknames, arms around shoulders, jokes about whatever was in the news. You got a chilly nod; you weren’t even good enough for him to call you by your name. After training he was quick to call out the other ensigns for their hard work and improving skills with swords or martial arts. You got a criticism or you got nothing at all. Other ensigns ragged on the commander for his famous clumsiness and he laughed right along with them. You cracked one joke when he tripped on a rug and got nothing more than a dead-faced scowl.

It wasn’t like you didn’t get it. But still, it hurt like hell to be the only one who didn’t have some inside joke with him, the only one who he didn’t personally invite to sit with the squadron at meals, the only one who was this weak and useless and—

“Ensign! Keep your head up!”

At the sound of Commander Rocinante’s voice, you shook yourself out of your thoughts with just enough time to dodge a kick aimed at your left ear. Henri, one of your fellow ensigns, cursed as he barely missed you. “That won’t happen again, y/n!”

You swallowed and tried to clear your head. Maybe this was why you were always fucking up during training—couldn’t stay focused to save your life.

You returned Henri’s kick with a right hook, but he ducked before you could hit him. Losing your balance, you were left wide-open, and Henri used the opportunity to strike at you with his short sword. The tip of it brushed your skin as you leaped back with a shout.

“Come on, Ensign!” Commander Rocinante shouted from the sidelines. “Block him! Don’t just dance around like an idiot!”

Your stomach twisting at his insult, you unsheathed your own sword. What the fuck is his problem? Why can’t he cut me a break? With (frankly uncharacteristic) aplomb, you swung hard from overhead. Henri reached up to block, but your strike still had enough force to knock him back several feet.

“Yes!” It was your first solid hit of the fight, and the cheer came out before you even realized it. You glanced nervously back at Commander Rocinante, eager for his approval. Sure enough, the blond man’s lips were curled ever so slightly upward into a smile.

You grinned despite yourself. Finally, you were doing something right. Maybe now you’d feel his hand on your shoulder at the end of training today, instead of watching it touch someone else’s. Now all you had to do was—

“OOF!”

You grunted and stumbled back again as Henri swung back, the flat of his sword hitting you hard in the face. Tripping backward with the force of the hit, you felt your legs collide with something very solid—one of the large rocks that littered the training field. You lost your balance and fell onto the rock hard…

And your sword flew from your grip.

The next part happened in slow motion. You watched, upside down on the boulder, as your sword careened through the air, spinning as it did so. You watched its trajectory as it pointed downward and finally landed…hard…directly in someone’s foot.

Your face turned green when you looked up to see that the foot belonged to none other than Fleet Admiral Sengoku.

“Da-I mean, Fleet Admiral! Are you alright?” Rocinante was there in a second, helping Sengoku over to a rock to sit down. What the hell is he even doing here, anyway?

You were close to being sick with fear when Sengoku took a look down at his foot—and started laughing.

“There’s always one, isn’t there, Commander?”

“Fleet Admiral, we need to get you to the sick bay right now,” Rocinante said frantically, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull in panic as he stared at Sengoku’s wound. “Ensigns Aleppo, Kingston. Help the Fleet Admiral there immediately.”

The ensigns, a short girl with bright green eyes and a barrel-chested young man with a thick beard, obeyed quickly. As they positioned themselves underneath each of Sengoku’s massive arms, your commander turned his attention to you. With the most withering glare you’d ever seen from him, the huge man all but snarled—

“Ensign y/n. Be in my office in five minutes. Understood?”

Swallowing, you nodded. In the distance, you could hear Sengoku laughing as he was helped away.

“I remember when it was you, Rocinante! I remember when that was you!”

————————————-

Tick

Tock.

Tick

Tock.

The silence—broken only by the sound of the clock on Rocinante’s wall—was palpable, so thick you could almost see it hanging in the air. Rocinante stared down at you from the other side of his desk, head resting against tented fingers, his expression unreadable. You could feel the sweat beginning to form on the back of your neck.

Finally, you could take it no longer. “Commander, I am so, so, so sorry—“

“Silent.”

Your voice cut off suddenly. You hadn’t known Rocinante could do that—just shut off your sound like you were some kind of Den Den Moshi.

He stared at you in silence for several excruciating moments, watching you squirm in your seat. Finally, the blond’s lips parted.

“Ensign y/n… What the hell is going on with you?”

You blinked. Not what you’d expected him to say.

“They send you to me and tell me you’re one of the most promising ensigns we’ve ever had. Put me in charge of training you because for some reason they think I’m the man for the job. And this is the kind of shit you pull?”

You visibly gulped, still muted from Rocinante’s silent. What the hell was he talking about, ‘promising’?

“I’ve trained ensigns like you before, ones the Academy calls its best and brightest. They’re always cocky, arrogant little shits who put themselves before their missions and the people they’re pledged to protect. But you…” he leaned across the table, pressing his folded hands to his lips. “You’re clearly smart, strategic, yet you can’t fight to save your life. I can’t figure you out.”

Your face flushed. Him, spending his time thinking about you. The image of him lying on his bed, thoughts full of you, his hand perhaps unzipping his white jeans and —fuck, stop it y/n. Stop wanting stupid shit you can’t have.

You opened your mouth to respond, and mentally kicked yourself when you remembered that you were still muted.

“Oh!” Rocinante laughed suddenly. “Sorry about that.” With a sheepish grin (goofy and endearing despite the tenseness of the situation) he snapped his fingers. “Go ahead and speak freely, Ensign.”

You sighed. You’d felt your frustration building since the beginning of your conversation, and finally it began to spill over.

“First of all, rude putting me on mute like that.”

Rocinante looked away, traces of a smile still present on his face. “Sorry about that.”

“Second of all, what the hell do you mean calling me the best and brightest? I was like, a C student at best at the Academy. I have no idea why they sent me to headquarters of all places.”

Rocinante blinked, his expression shifting into one of surprise. “Did they… did they not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Rocinante bit his lip, as though trying to decide something. Finally, he appeared to come to an answer.

“Ensign, you scored higher on the intelligence test than anyone has in the last three years.”

Your mouth dropped as he fixed you with that intense stare.

“I’m sorry, what??”

“Problem solving, pattern recognition, navigation, strategic planning… you scored almost perfectly in all of them. People don’t just get that kind of result unless they really are something special.”

“I…” your mouth opened and shut dumbly, like a fish.

Rocinante waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t care about any of that one way or another as long as you show your worth in my squadron. Your fighting skills right now aren’t up to par, and you know it.”

Your eyes were beginning to feel hot, and you detested yourself for having such a childish response to all that was going on. Fucking hell, you were supposed to be a Marine.

“Commander—I can be better.”

“You will be. Get to the training grounds an hour early starting tomorrow.” He scowled and looked away, gritting his teeth for a moment. “I’ll be—uh—training with you privately in the mornings from now on.”

You felt yourself flush from head to toe. Private training with Rocinante? Every fucking day? You tried to ignore the image filling your head of your tall commander bending you face down over one of those boulders, filling you up with his surely massive cock, his hand tangled hard into your hair. Calm down, y/n, Jesus. The guy fucking hates you anyway.

You swallow, returning your attention to the man in front of you.

“Yes, Commander.”

“Good,” Rocinante said curtly. “Go get lunch. I’ll see you at our afternoon duty.”

You stood up, stumbling a little, unable to believe everything that had just happened. You hadn’t even gotten in trouble.

“Oh, and Ensign y/n?”

You turned back to look at him. “Y-yeah?”

“Those tests weren’t wrong. The-“ he bit his lip—“the intelligence ones I mean. Just because you’re not fighting yet doesn’t mean you’re doing poorly. Even the other ensigns can see it.”

It was all you could do to make it out the door.

Leaving your Commander’s office, your mind was filled to the brim with thoughts about him. The way he’d laughed kindly one minute—rich and melodic, like water filling a stone bowl—glared at you the next. His claims about your intellect; his judgement of your failures. Why couldn’t you get a read on him? God, why did that only make you want him more?

Sitting on Bellemere’s bed that night, you were even less sure.

“So he really didn’t even reprimand you for stabbing the Fleet Admiral? And you’re still convinced this guy hates you?”

“You don’t know what he’s like, Belle-chan!”

“I’ve heard stories about him. Everyone has. He’s supposed to be a pretty good guy. Didn’t he, like, get his promotion to commander because he helped smuggle a whole town’s worth of people off an island that was being destroyed or something?”

“And then he fought to grant them asylum and Marine protection, yeah. I’ve heard the story too.” You pursed your lips, looking down. “What I mean is, you haven’t seen what he’s like around me.”

Bellemere chuckled. “Ah. Yeah, fair.”

A moment of silence—silent like Rocinante silent like that impenetrable bubble around his office silent like his footsteps on the training field silent like his—passed before she spoke again.

“You like this guy, don’t you?”

Your pulse quickened. “What the hell are you even talking about?” You snapped, more aggressively than you intended.

Bellemere bursts out laughing. “That’s exactly what I thought.

“Look, y/n. The way I see it, you have a golden opportunity here. Personal training, every day, from a guy like Rocinante? I’d kill for that. Work hard. Be a better fighter. Show him he was right to give you the second chance he gave you today. Maybe he’ll respond to that.”

“And maybe he won’t.”

“So who gives a shit?? At the very least you’ll be way stronger than you were before. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

You didn’t know what you wanted anymore. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Bellemere tilted her chin up playfully, giving you her trademark cocky grin. “I’m always right.” She turned to look at you. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Are you gonna ask me about my crushes like a ten year old at a sleepover again?”

“I’m just wondering if…like, if you’re trying to be stronger… why aren’t you using your devil fruit?”

You frowned immediately, turning away. “You know it’s not safe.”

“Maybe not at the academy. But here there’s people who might be able to help you hone it. Maybe even… Commander Rocinante?” She wiggled her eyebrows teasingly to emphasize his name.

“Look, I just can’t, ok? I already accidentally hurt someone today, I don’t want to do it again.”

Bellemere shrugged. “Alright. Work harder not smarter then. Your funeral.”

You laughed despite yourself at the face she made. “Nothing wrong with doing it the old fashioned way.”

“I guess. But if I had a devil fruit you’d bet your ass I’d be using it.” Stretching, Bellemere put her feet up on her desk. “Anyway, you wanna hear more about this girl on my squadron? We had a drunk makeout session two nights ago and I haven’t even gotten to tell you yet.”

Smiling, you shook the thoughts of Rocinante and devil fruits from your head, at least for now. “Do you care if I open this sake I brought while I listen?”

“Bitch you had sake this whole time?? Give it here!”

——————————————————————

The next morning, despite your slight hangover, you somehow made it to the training grounds fifteen minutes before Commander Rocinante asked you to be there—the ungodly hour of 4:15 in the morning. Between sips from your thermos of coffee, you stretched, twisting your arms above your head, bending from side to side. You were completely bent over into downward dog—Bellemere had gotten you into yoga recently—when you heard the sound of a throat clearing behind you.

Whipping around (and nearly falling on your face as you did so), you see your commander towering over you, an uncomfortable blush on his face, his eyes directly on your… fuck.

“I’m, uh—glad you got here early, Ensign.” Rocinante bit his lip awkwardly, turning away to look anywhere but at you. “Let’s—let’s get started then.” He jogged toward the middle of the training field, making it about three steps before his foot caught on a rock. He went down hard, directly on his face.

Why the hell was he so bumbling and weird all the time? You pondered to yourself as you ran over to help the hulking man to his feet. He shrugged you off immediately as you touched his shoulder, flinching away from your touch. “I’m fine, Ensign. Go grab one of the weapons I brought from the armory.”

There were several different types of weapons for you to choose from, a mercy you were grateful for. Headquarters was so insistent on every Ensign being able to use a sword, but you’d always preferred something smaller, something for closer quarters. Picking up a pair of short-handled broadaxes on a whim, you followed Rocinante out onto the field.

He smiled a bit when he saw your choice. “An axe man, eh? Why didn’t you go for the halberd?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s too big. Too hard to hit someone, I guess.”

“Not that you’ve been doing much of that anyway…” Rocinante chuckled.

“Hey! I hit someone yesterday, didn’t I?” You couldn’t help but grin along with him.

Rocinante laughed out loud. “That’s the most impressive thing you’ve done since you’ve gotten here. Sengoku is fine, by the way—you barely scratched him.”

“So he’s not gonna discharge me or anything then?”

“Nah. To be honest, we’ve seen recruits do worse than that.” Rocinante unsheathed his broadsword, examining it habitually for sharpness and cleanliness. “If you’re gonna fight with a weapon you like, I’ll fight with my favorite weapon too.” He set the sword down on the grass beside him, then cracked his knuckles.

Your stomach dropped. It was well-known that Rocinante was almost as deadly a martial artist as he was a sharpshooter. Crouching nervously, you balanced your weight and prepared to fight.

Rocinante struck first, a hard roundhouse kick aimed at the left ear. You just barely managed to duck, his black loafer skimming the top of your head. You swung one of your axes at his stomach (considering Rocinante’s height, this was about as high as you could reach) but Rocinante grabbed it, twisting it hard and throwing you off balance.

You hit the ground with a thud. One of your commander’s massive shoes rested on your chest, pinning you. Already??

“Get back up. Let’s go again.” He offered you his hand, and you took it, letting him pull you to your feet. His hand was broad and very rough—years of fighting and sailing mapped in calluses across his fingers and palm—and you suppressed a shiver as you noticed how small yours was in his.

“Fighting stance, Ensign.” Rocinante prepared himself to battle you again. Shaking off your momentary reverie, you picked up your axe.

Here we go.

The first week’s training was full of many, many losses for you. The axes were definitely an improvement to the short sword, but not enough of one to make any real difference against an opponent like Rocinante. It amazed you how agile he was, how he attacked fluidly from all sides, how he dodged your blows so effortlessly.

How he tripped and fell flat on his face the second he was no longer in attack mode.

Hard to figure out, that man.

It went on like that, day after day of waking up at the crack of dawn, heading to the training fields to invariably get your ass kicked. But oddly, you didn’t mind. Rocinante was beginning to get more and more friendly toward you, letting that indecipherable guard of his down bit by bit as the days blended into weeks. Once he even cracked one of his terrible dad jokes about an admittedly unfortunate pair of shoes you’d chosen to wear—and you laughed despite yourself. Even if you weren’t getting any better, at least you were finally forming some sort of connection with your commander outside of the suffocating tension you were used to.

It was nearly a month into your personal training sessions that you finally had your breakthrough.

Rocinante was challenging you today. Keeping his distance, always slightly out of your range. At first it had been smooth and elegant, but at this point he was basically just teasing you—sticking his tongue out at you, taunting your attacks, giving you a hard time. You were finally starting to see that goofy side of him that everyone else loved, but you were so frustrated that you couldn’t enjoy yourself. You’d been getting faster. Why couldn’t you hit him even once?

“Ensign, think,” Rocinante advised you, continuing to duck and dodge around your attacks. “Find a way to hit me from a distance.”

Oh god. He wanted you to…

“I, uh, I don’t throw things. Like ever.”

“Bet you’ll be wishing you did when you’re dead on a battlefield.” Rocinante remarked. “Come on, show me what you’ve got.”

“I said no, ok?”

“Fine,” said Rocinante with a somewhat childish smirk. “Then we’ll resume training as soon as you’re willing to do that for me.” And with that, he straightened up and walked over to a nearby boulder where he proceeded to sit there, staring at you, head in his hands. Fucking asshole.

With a sigh, you dropped your weapons to your sides. “Look, Commander, I… do you not know about my devil fruit?”

Rocinante blinked. “Your what now?”

“It, uh… should’ve been in my file.”

“Trust me, I read that thing cover to cover. The Academy must’ve forgotten to mention it, especially if you don’t use it very often.”

He read my file cover to cover he read it cover to cover “I, uh… I never use it, actually.”

Rocinante gestured to the boulder beside him Holy shit he wants me to sit next to him what if he puts his arm around me I will die I will truly die and you came over, dropping down beside him with none of the grace you were hoping for.

“So what’s the fruit then?” Rocinante asks, his tone not unkind.

“It’s called the Pitch-Pitch fruit, sir.”

“So I imagine it has something to do with throwing?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Wanna show it to me?”

“No, not at all.”

“Y/n…”

You turned to look at him, your mouth dropping open. He’d never called you by your name before, not without “Ensign” in front of it.

“I was terrified of my devil fruit when I got it. I was just a kid, and at first I hated the silence. When there’s no noise, your brain kinda fills in the blanks with whatever sounds you’re most afraid of. It was horrible for a long time.”

He’d never spoken to you so candidly before. Hell, you weren’t sure if you’d ever heard him speak to anyone so candidly before. While the commander was friendly and kind to all, you had to admit that you couldn’t recall a single time he’d ever spoken about his own past. Why to you?

“But my da—I mean, Fleet Admiral Sengoku—helped me turn my power into something good for me.” He chuckled and looked up, reminiscing. “I was almost a worse fighter than you are back then. Used to be as clumsy and awkward on the battlefield as I am off of it. He showed me how to use my fruit in combination with observational haki to give me a huge advantage.

“Now when I use my power, I can feel things with that haki to ‘hear’ all the things you miss out on when there’s sound. Everything from the energy of my enemies to the energy of a beetle digging a den five hundred feet away. I was so afraid of using silent for so long, but it turned out to be the thing that made me into a powerful fighter.”

You sat wordlessly for a moment, watching the towering man be more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. It was strange. But…nice.

Finally, you spoke. “So what you’re saying is, if I have this power…”

Rocinante nodded. “You should use it.”

You swallowed hard, then rose to your feet. “Alright.” Picking up one of your axes, you added, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Taking a deep breath, you squeezed your eyes shut. Please, please don’t let me hurt anyone. Lifting your arm, you tossed the axe as gently as you could in the direction of the large hill that stood at the edge of the training grounds.

With the whooshing boom of the sound barrier breaking, the axe flew from your hand so fast that it was completely invisible. A moment later, a rumble and a huge crash echoed from the hill as the axe flew cleanly through it and out the other side.

You turned, cringing, back to Rocinante. “So anyway, that’s the Pitch Pitch fruit…”

Your commander’s jaw was nearly on the floor, his eyes bugging out of his head. “Y-y/n… you’ve been able to do that this whole time??”

“Like I said, it’s really dangerous…”

“Yeah, you throw an axe at an enemy like that and you’ll kick their ass, no questions asked! Shit, I kinda wish I could do that…”

“So you think I should keep using it then? Even during training?”

“Hell yes I do! It’s the coolest thing ever!!” Rocinante’s eyes were lit up like a little kid watching a wrestler or a mecha battle on TV. “We’ll have to get you something lighter to throw during training, that should help mitigate some of the damage…but you should be proud you have that ability, Ensign y/n.”

You blushed. For the first time, you actually felt kind of… ok with your power. Rocinante was the first person to tell you it was anything but a nuisance at worst, a death trap at best. Looking at the massive hole through the hill at the other end of the field, you had to admit—maybe the man was onto something.

___________________________________

THREE MONTHS LATER

“Can you believe it, y/n??”

You flinched as Recruit Aleppo squealed into your ear, appearing from somewhere behind you.

“Jesus, Aleppo, I know! First mission, very exciting. Can you maybe not make me go deaf next time?”

“Oh, yeah,” the young woman giggled. “I guess that’s kind of our Commander’s job, isn’t it?”

You said nothing, instead choosing to gaze out onto the endless sea before you. It had been nearly six months since you’d been on a ship—the last time being when you’d arrived at Headquarters—and you’d forgotten how much you loved the smell of salt in the air, the strange quality of the breeze that seemed to carry adventure on its tongue.

“Crete-de-Vague Island is supposed to be super rich and fancy, yknow,” Aleppo was babbling on blithely. “They make the world’s finest furs there! Coats and shawls and purses… ooh, maybe we’ll have time to go shopping!”

You nodded briefly but otherwise ignored your fellow recruit. You were too busy reflecting on your conversation with Rocinante from that morning.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” you’d said as he helped you load weapons and supplies onto the boat.

“Trust me, y/n,” Rocinante had grunted, lifting a box onto his shoulder, “I wouldn’t be taking you along if I didn’t think you were ready for this.”

“This just seems like a big step, y’know? We haven’t been training for that long…”

Setting down the box in the cargo bay, Rocinante walked toward you. What he did next had nearly made you swoon.

Slowly, he’d knelt in front of you, bending his knees until his eyes had aligned with yours god the shades of red in those eyes… And then he had smiled—that big cheesy grin of his that he’d only very recently started sharing with you. Throwing up a peace sign, he had loudly proclaimed—

“I believe in you, y/n!”

The high was more than enough to carry you through the morning’s tedious preparations to set sail.

So he trusted you enough to send you on a mission, then. Finally, after so much time, you were beginning to break through into him, be a person Rocinante could put his faith in.

You wouldn’t let him down.

It took you all of five days of sailing to reach Crete-de-Vague, where you’d been asked to clear out some pirates who had taken over and started stealing those famous furs. A straightforward enough mission, it would seem.

In between training sessions and briefings on the pirates you were preparing to fight, the squadron’s attitude was lively. There was no small amount of alcohol consumed in the evenings, with your commander often at the center of the festivities.

He really was a wonder to watch, that man, the way he made every person on your squadron feel valued and seen and heard. As ridiculous as he could often be—tripping over his own feet, cracking terrible one liners—every single one of you looked up to and adored him.

One night after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself on the deck, a little drunk, looking out again onto the black and eternal sea that had captured your attention so thoroughly in recent days You were so captivated by the soft rise and fall of the waves that you hardly noticed the gentle footsteps approaching you.

When Rocinante leaned against the half-wall next to you, you jumped. “Jesus, Commander, warn a guy next time!”

That sheepish grin of his again, and he spoke, words imperceptibly slurred. “M’bad.” So he was a bit drunk as well, but then you weren’t particularly surprised. There’d been a lot of sake floating around tonight, and you’d watched him go head to head with Recruit Keiryo to see who could drink more (the commander had won, of course, being twice the size of both Keiryo and everyone else on the squadron).

“Yer not seasick, are you? First time I sailed more’n a few days, I was in the sick bay more than I was out of it,” Rocinante chuckled as he lit a cigarette, his eyes on the sea.

“Oh, uh…nah, I’m good. I have a pretty strong stomach. Didn’t have a lot of food as a kid, had to eat what we could find. It sucked at the time, but now I never get sick,” you commented thoughtlessly.

You regretted the words as soon as they’d left your mouth. Not even Bellemere knew the extent of what you’d been through before joining the Navy. The pirate boss who’d controlled everything leaving and entering your island, the droughts that had left your family’s little patch of farmland barren as bones, the way you and your mother had had to pick pirates’ pockets just to feed yourselves and your baby sister—oh god don’t think about her don’t think about your baby sister—the way you’d eaten your devil fruit because it was the only food you could find. No one here was ever supposed to know any of that.

But Rocinante turned to look at you, an expression you’d never seen before on his face. “So… y’know what it’s like to be hungry too. Figures. I knew there was a reason we got along.”

Your face was burning, heart beating fast. How the hell did this man keep burrowing his way into the bottom of you, pulling out the truths you were most scared of admitting and holding them up to the light to watch the beams shine clean through them? First the stuff about the intelligence test at the academy, then your fruit, now the stuff that woke you up in cold sweats at night. This strange need for me to know him, this stranger need for him to never know me…

“M’brother and me spent around two years havin’ to dig through the garbage for food.” Rocinante said abruptly. When you didn’t respond, his face turned pink. “Just, like… somethin’ you and I have in common, I guess.”

Eager to turn the conversation away from yourself, you replied. “I didn’t know you even had a brother. He in the Marines?”

Rocinante laughed out loud, partially from relief that he hadn’t offended you. “No. My brother… I don’t think he’d be caught dead in the Marines. But we haven’t talked in a long time, so… who knows, I guess?”

“Why don’t you talk?” You ask, somewhat distractedly. You’d just noticed how close the commander was standing to you. You could almost feel the energy sparking from his arm that rested mere inches from yours.

“Oh, y’know. He’s a terrible person.” Rocinante shrugged and looked away from you again, his face now bright red. It was clear that was the only explanation you’d be getting. “What about your family? You close to them?”

As he spoke, the commander gently rested his big, callused hand over yours.

Why were the two of you sitting here, having this conversation that it was clear neither of you wanted to have? Why couldn’t you just walk away? You could feel the irritation rising in you. After all this time, now he was trying to be close to you, now he wanted to be your friend, now he wanted to do…whatever the fuck he was doing touching you like this, like you’d desperately wanted, like you were furious to admit you enjoyed in this moment.

“Look, Commander. It’s frankly none of your fucking business, ok?” You yanked your hand out from underneath his large one and turned away, walking quickly back toward the barracks. “‘M going to bed.”

“Hey, Ensign?”

Great. Pulling the rank card on you.

“What?” You all but spat at him, wheeling around. The look on his face almost melted you. Soft, slightly disappointed but much more full of a strange sorrow you couldn’t quite place. Later you would realize it was sympathy.

“Whatever happened to you… I’m sorry.” He said, so softly it was almost a whisper. You felt your eyes welling up as you turned away and stormed back to the barracks.

You took one of Ensign Henri’s sleeping pills (idiot, just leaving them out like that) when you got back, stripping down and getting into bed in record time. Thoughts pounded through your head as you waited for the drug to hit you, desperate for the release of sleep. Why do I want him so bad? Why is he so insistent on knowing me? Why do I care? Why do I want him? Why do I want him? Why do I want him?

The last thought that you remembered before the haze of pill-induced sleep took you over echoed through your head like a ghost in a very old house.

What am I so afraid of?

—————————————————————

Aleppo hadn’t been wrong. Crete-de-Vague was beautiful.

As you hopped off your ship and walked into port, you couldn’t take your eyes off the town that rose above you, built into the hillside. Flowering trees grew everywhere, sending bright red petals and an aroma reminiscent of persimmon scattering onto the breeze. Huge Tudor-style houses, packed closely together by the necessity of city living, lined the steep cobblestone streets.

But the dock was nearly empty when you’d arrived. Strangely silent for a port. No workers to help with your cargo, no other ships to give you a sense of who was present in the city.

Well, except for one.

A massive barquentine ship, built from dark mahogany, floated hulking and foreboding in the dock beside yours. The sails were a deep shade of black, and the flag flapping above the crows nest was unmistakably a Jolly Roger.

The tension was blanketlike over the squadron as you all followed Rocinante past the docks and up the hill toward the center of town (minus Rhys and Hidalgo, who were guarding the ship and keeping the cannons manned). No one said anything about the other boat.

“Don’t forget, ensigns—they probably already know we’re here,” Rocinante was warning you as you approached the first buildings. “When pirates take over an island like this, they usually put eyes everywhere. Be ready to fight at a second’s notice.”

The buildings that had looked so glamorous from the port were beginning to bely evidence of a struggle as you got closer. Smashed windows, boarded up doors, smoldering cannonballs embedded in walls. It was clear that whatever was happening here had been hard on the citizens of Crete-de-Vague.

You could feel nausea setting in as you got deeper and deeper into the city. Not out of fear at what you were about to do—Rocinante’s proclaimed belief in you had seemed to get rid of that, even if you were a bit irritated with him at the moment. No, these houses with their busted support beams and rubble on the doorstep were burying themselves uncomfortably inside your memories of childhood. The way you and your friends had played on top of rubble from a statue blown to bits. The way you’d had to bolt if the pirates were around and hope to god some neighbor was kind enough to let you in. The way they’d broken down your door in the middle of the night and taken the last of your dead father’s pension and hurt your mother and oh god your baby sister

You were starting to feel dizzy on your feet, the edges of your vision beginning to blacken. Just as you were sure you were about to collapse, a massive hand rested on your shoulder.

“You’ll be all right, Ensign. Breathe.”

And while you shoved his hand off your shoulder

asshole trying to act like he knows my business

and walked ahead of him, you did breathe. And it helped.

As you approached a flat expanse between the buildings toward the top of the hill—ostensibly the square, although it had seen much better days—Rocinante used his baby Den Den Moshi to radio in to Sengoku, his commanding officer (you weren’t even going to pretend like you knew how that worked). “Yeah, we’re here. You said the mayor was supposed to meet us?”

Sengoku’s voice, crackling over the receiver and out of the snail’s mouth. “That was the plan, in the town square. How’s the damage to the city?”

“Looks pretty bad. There’s no people around either.”

“Yes, the person who reported the pirates said that folks there were afraid to leave their houses. I’m surprised the mayor isn’t there yet, though.”

“Yeah, we haven’t s—“

A dull thud, like a bag of sand, broke the silence of the empty square, echoing just behind you and the other recruits. Rocinante stopped speaking immediately, silencing his Den Den Moshi with a click and putting it into his pocket.

Slowly, you all turned around.

There, on the ground, in a position like a broken marionette, laid an older man—or at least the body of one. Blood drenched his white shirt and tie. Getting closer, it was easy to see that his throat had been cut—or rather, ripped open. An expression of pleading terror was frozen on his creased face.

The squadron was painfully, excruciatingly silent.

Then a high pitched voice from somewhere above you broke the taut quiet—“Don’t worry, the mayor made it on time after all! Didn’t he, boys?”

At least thirty additional voices shouted out cheers from somewhere on the rooftops.

You could feel the pall as every marine’s stomach dropped out at the same time.

Rocinante, however, seemed to have no such fear. His eyes were glowing with a breed of fury you didn’t know was possible from the normally easygoing man. He was staring at a nearby chimney with intensity—his haki must have clued him in to where the first voice was coming from.

“Squadron, prepare to engage.” He spoke, gritting his teeth, never taking his eyes off the chimney. Obeying your commander, the ensigns took fighting stances and drew weapons. You pulled two axes from your belt (you’d been carrying six at a time since you’d started using your devil fruit more) and got ready. This was what you’d been training for. This was your chance to show what you were truly capable of.

“Let ‘em have it, boys!” The voice behind the chimney roared. Stepping out from his hiding spot, you caught a glimpse of the man who’d been terrorizing Crete-de-Vague all this time. Skin so pale it was almost translucent. Long black hair twisted into a hundred tiny braids. Wiry build, sharp jaw, heavy shadows surrounding his protruding collarbone and shoulders.

Torrez Diego.

He almost would’ve been hot if he weren’t so scary.

But your chances to ruminate on your enemy’s fuckability were cut short as close to forty pirates poured down from the rooftops into the square, cutlasses drawn, guns at the ready. You watched a muscular middle aged woman with a mole on her chin fling herself at Henri, laughing as he frantically blocked her attacks. Rocinante was fighting two men at once, dancing between their kicks and blows (and quite frankly kicking their asses). Kingston ducked and barely avoided having his head shot off with a…holy shit, a fucking bazooka. These guys weren’t fucking around.

But you knew your directive. You stayed still and watched Diego closely. He was dodging the occasional shot from Ensign Parvati, your squadron’s best sharpshooter, which she was barely managing to fire in between rounds of grappling with a massive, rotund man who seemed to be excellent at throwing his weight around. You waited.

And when Torrez Diego suddenly smiled and raised his left hand, you grabbed your axe tightly and bent your legs, preparing.

When he shouted, “Seam tear!” You flung it as hard as you could.

Two things happened at once, as if in slow motion. First, your axe shot at impossibly breakneck speeds through the air toward Diego, booming through the sound barrier as it prepared to knock him through the next three buildings. Second, Diego’s devil fruit power—his seam tear— began to take effect. With the sound of a thousand pieces of paper tearing at once, a massive rip began at Diego’s outstretched hand. It traveled down the building he was atop and into the square, splitting the ground itself beneath your feet. The ensigns dove into chaos, leaping out of the way of the massive chasm that formed within seconds; the Torrez pirates simply laughed as they took cover on either side of it.

Meanwhile, your axe flew and flew through the air.

And missed.

Diego felt the axe whiz by his right ear and turned back, watching as it flew through three buildings before finally embedding itself in a steel wall.

A miss, after all this fucking practice, a miss. What the fuck is wrong with me?

And his attention turned to you.

“Well look at that! It’s not often you see an ensign who’s a devil fruit user!” Diego grinned, showing long yellowing teeth. Never mind about the hot stuff… “Why don’t you take me one on one, and we’ll see whose fruit is better, eh?” With a chuckle, he climbed off the roof of the building in a single jump and began walking toward you.

You weren’t a hand-to-hand fighter. Sure, you could hold your own with the axes, but not against someone like this. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

“Y/n!”

Rocinante grabbed your hand out of nowhere, pulling you along with him. With a surprisingly graceful leap forward, he tapped Diego quickly on the shoulder.

“Silent!”

You watched the now familiar blue shimmer of energy as it enveloped Diego, leaving him completely deaf and mute. His face paled as he touched his ears frantically, his eyes widening in shock.

It gave you just enough time for Rocinante to pull you into a side street. The two of you hurtled down it as Diego shook his head, finally coming to his senses, and began to pursue you.

You could feel the man’s presence behind you, sense his haki—something you were slowly learning how to do—but you were unable to hear his footsteps, his breathing, his furious jeers. The effect was jarring as you and your commander plunged deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine side streets of Crete-de-Vague.

“Commander, I let you down. I’m so sorry.” You managed as the two of you ran, Rocinante pulling you in what felt like random directions. Was he trying to throw Diego off?

“Don’t worry about it, Ensign. Happens to everyone. It just means we have to—he grunted as he yanked you hard to the right and up a small flight of stairs—“rethink our battle strategy a bit is all.”

“What about the others?”

“Y/n, our squadron is tough as nails. I have no doubts they’ll beat those pi—shit.”

A dead ended alley.

Desperately, you and Rocinante glanced around for doors, for something you could climb on to get over the wall, for anything.

There was nothing.

You could both feel Diego’s haki, getting closer and closer to you, and the man surely had only blood on his mind.

You were fucked, if neither of you could…. Wait.

Stupid.

You chided yourself mentally as you flung an axe at the wall before you. A terrific boom, and the two of you suddenly had an instant pathway right through the building and out the other side! …Even if it was a bit covered in rubble.

Rocinante laughed out loud. “Wow, very impressive, Ensign!”

You couldn’t help but grin back at him as the two of you continued forward. But as you looked behind you, your stomach dropped.

You had lost too much time on the wall, and Torrez was right on your back. Reaching for you, his lips curling to form the words. Seam tear.

A rip shot out from the man’s fingers, aimed directly at your commander.

“Rocinante!” You shouted, trying to alert him. Your commander turned back, and as if in slow motion he

Saw Diego.

Saw the rip.

Dodged it.

Tripped.

Coming in with the worst possible timing in human history, midway through his dodge to the left Rocinante’s foot hit a loose cobblestone. It sent him flying to the right somehow, too far, and you watched in sickened horror as Diego’s rip hit Rocinante hard and climbed up his inner leg, a spray of blood accompanying it.

“Commander!” You could barely even recognize your voice as your own as Rocinante went down, hard, his head slapping the pavement. You were at his side in a second, squeezing his hand (god why were you squeezing his hand after everything) as Rocinante groaned, tried to stand up, fell.

Diego was grinning at you, baring his long yellow teeth like fangs. He spoke, but no sound came out—but you didn’t need to hear him to know he was telling you all the gruesome ways he was going to kill you. If he would just let his guard down, you could throw an axe, but his attention was laser focused on you and your (bleeding semiconscious really very badly injured) commander.

And you remembered something you’d learned about the man in your briefing. He was known to be a sucker for flattery.

Thank god you’d actually paid attention.

“Commander, I know you’re hurt, but can you turn off his silent? Trust me.”

A snap of his fingers—he must have been just aware enough to hear you—and Diego’s voice boomed into focus.

“—plenty of things my crew can think of to do to little queers like you, and—“

“Jesus, you almost killed him! That’s a marine Commander! How did you do that?” You interrupted, looking up at him, cringing at your own bad acting and hoping to hell you weren’t being too obvious.

Torrez Diego paused for a moment, looking down on you appraisingly. Then he smiled.

“I’m the strongest pirate this half of the sea, kid. Bounty of 35 million, in case they didn’t mention it at pansy navy boy school. I’ve killed men twice as strong as your Commander here.”

You leaned forward, eyes wide. “You’ve killed others?”

“You’d better believe it. In pretty fucked up ways too, just ask my crew.”

“Would you, um…” you blinked innocently, pushing your ass out just slightly. Might as well play the game if you were gonna play the game. “Would you tell me about some of them?”

Diego grinned, clearly checking you out a bit in your new position. Wow. This guy was a fucking moron.

“You wanna hear about the time I keel-hauled a woman for cheating on me?”

You nodded, feigning excitement. “Grab that crate and sit down. Tell me everything!”

“Even the little baby marines are impressed by me, the greatest pirate in this corner of Paradise.” He chuckled. And he

Turned

Around.

Idiot.

With lightning speed you grabbed an axe from your hip and flung it hard. The alleyway was too tight quarters for you to miss again, and the weapon hit him right in the back, digging in so deeply that the blade protruded out the other side. With a sickening groan, Diego fell to his knees, touching the axe sticking out of his chest softly. He turned white-faced to look at you, opened his mouth as if to speak… and collapsed.

It only took a moment until the man was still.

“Rocinante!” You all but screamed, turning to your commanding officer on the ground beside you. He was attempting to sit up, his legs splayed out awkwardly in front of him, one of his white pant legs torn and irreparably stained with blood.

“Jesus Christ y/n, you really saved my ass with that one. You ok?”

“You need medical care, Commander,” you spluttered, face turning red at how casually he spoke to you in the face of such a severe injury. “Look, I’ve got my field medic kit and you know it’s one of the few things I’m really good at. Let me take a look at it.”

Rocinante hesitated, then nodded. Indicating the war-torn building to your right, he remarked, “Pretty sure that place is abandoned. Let’s do it there.”

You put one of his massive arms around your shoulder (so close he’s so close), using all your strength to hoist him up enough to make it to the door. Locked. You went to grab an axe, but Rocinante suddenly knocked it off its hinges with a kick from his good leg, leaning on you to keep his balance.

“Jesus dude, you’re fucking injured!”

“I haven’t been any help whatsoever today. Let me do something at least!”

You could feel his grin behind you. Trying to make you laugh, you knew. Keep the mood light so you don’t freak out about the fact that he might be bleeding to death. As annoying as it was, you could feel your stomach warming. Kind, that man.

You lay Rocinante down on a slightly moldy-smelling fur rug, one of the only signs anyone had ever lived here. The rest of the house was empty and covered in dust.

Quickly, you pulled your pack off and grabbed your medic kit, pulling out disinfectant, a roll of gauze, a needle with surgical thread.

“Ok, I—I’m gonna have to take your pants off, Commander.” You blushed deep red as you realized what you were saying. Sparing a peek at Rocinante’s face, his was somehow even redder than yours.

“Oh, I can—“

“No, let me do that part.”

“Fuck, ow, a little slower, y/n.”

“Sorry, sorry…”

Through an extremely awkward working dialogue, you managed to get Rocinante’s pants unbuttoned and slid them down to the floor until he was able to kick them off.

Just looking at his muscular thighs—scarred from what you assumed was years of training and battles—was enough to send blood flowing from your red face to a very different part of your anatomy. And the slight gap between those thighs and the hem of his boxers…

Fucking shit, y/n. Focus.

Swallowing hard (and hoping to hell Rocinante didn’t notice the sudden bulge in your pants), you moved to his right ankle, where the rip started. The injury was surprisingly not as bad as you’d expected it to be—instead of a leg torn in half, what you were looking at was simply a very long, very deep cut traveling up Rocinante’s inner thigh to his…oh fuck, it went nearly to his groin. This was something you could actually handle medically. It would remain to be seen if you could handle it for other reasons.

“Commander, how the hell did you avoid getting your leg completely torn to shreds here?”

“Armament haki. I’ll show you some stuff sometime.” Rocinante sat up to watch you as you examined his wound, supporting himself on his hands.

“That’s cool, Commander. I’d like that,” you said, smiling at him. He’ll be ok, he’s gonna be ok. “Ok, bite your sleeve or something. I’m putting on disinfectant, it’s gonna hurt.”

Rocinante nodded and did as he was told, grunting in pain as you splashed a liberal amount of the stuff up and down his leg, closing your eyes and thinking about anything else when you reached his upper thigh.

“Ok, I’m gonna start sewing you up. No anesthetic, but hold on, ok? Let me take care of you, Commander.”

You were almost embarrassed of the words coming out of your mouth—needy bottom shit—but you couldn’t deny how relieved you were that your friend and commanding officer was ok. And that you got to be the one to help him heal…

“You already saved my life once today, y/n. It’s kind of you that you’re willing to do it again,” Rocinante said with a grimace of pain as you began to stitch him up.

“Yeah, well… you’re kinda my mentor, so I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Rocinante grinned. “You think of me as your mentor??? Y/n… that’s so sweet!”

Your heart stuttered at his warm response, emotions swirling in your brain, unable to decide if you liked this or didn’t like this.

Rocinante continued. “After that fight we had the other night, I wasn’t sure you even liked me.”

“I like you. I just don’t like people bothering me about my past. I’m trying to move on, ok?”

Rocinante was quiet for a long moment, only the nauseating sounds of needle through flesh sounding in the room.

Finally, he spoke. “I know it doesn’t feel like talking about it will help. But I promise you it does.”

“What would you know about it? Other than you and your brother dumpster diving for a few years or whatever.”

Rocinante’s face was serious. “My entire family were treated as pariahs. My mother died because people wouldn’t give us medical treatment. We got attacked by both children and adults almost every day. Sometimes they’d sic dogs on us. Once they even tried to burn our whole family at the stake. And then in the end, my brother murdered my father in front of me.”

Your jaw dropped, and you stopped stitching, looking up at your commander with your mouth agape.

Rocinante suddenly smiled. “Wow, it feels so much better to talk about it! Ok, now you.”

“W-what??”

“Now you tell me yours!”

You spluttered. “It doesn’t work like that! What the fuck do you mean your brother killed your father??”

Rocinante smiled. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

You’re glared at him. “Not gonna happen. Now hold still so I can finish.” You had almost reached your commander’s groin, and while your hands were sweaty and your heart was racing, you weren’t about to quit with his wound half stitched (even if he was annoying the hell out of you right now).

In silence, you finished stitching your commander’s wound (your hand brushing excruciatingly, temptingly close to his cock as you did so) and bandaged his whole leg, neither of you speaking.

Finally, Rocinante broke the quiet. “Whatever it is, I’m really proud of you for becoming the man you are today despite it, y/n.”

You look up at him, the compliment kinder than anything you’d heard since your mother passed.

“…I’m checking your eyes for a concussion, dipshit.”

Wordlessly, you straddle him and push up onto your knees, pulling his head down to look into the taller man’s eyes. You can smell him—a mixture of blood, good tobacco, and better cologne—and you’re aware of the intimacy of the position. If you lowered yourself, you’d be sitting on his…

Don’t think about that now.

Think about the disarming reddish brown hue of his eyes. Think about the beads of sweat on his temple. Think about his hair, his golden hair that must be so soft to touch… think about…

“You’re an incredible marine, y/n,” Rocinante murmured. “An incredible friend. And a—“ he hesitated, but did not break the eye contact— “a really beautiful man.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Rocinante never looked away from you, but his hand gently touched your knee.

Don’t do it. No matter how much you want it. Don’t do it. Don’t let him in. Don’t.

Don’t.

Your lips crashed into Rocinante’s with a vengeance, your hands tangling up into that yes I was right it’s so soft golden hair, and he grabbed you and tugged you against him, moaning against your mouth as you clung to him.

“Y/n…” Rocinante gasped, his hands sliding up and down your body, under your white marine shirt to caress the newly developing musculature of your chest—all that training had been kind to you—and you should care you should stop him but you didn’t, you couldn’t, your tongue was in his mouth, your fingers were plucking at the buttons of his shirt, Rocinante, Rocinante….

“Wanted you like this for so long, y/n…” Rocinante was panting as he broke off the kiss to breathe into your ear. “I know it’s wrong, I know you’re my subordinate, but fuck, y/n… every single fucking day during training, every single fucking night when I couldn’t sleep… you’ve been stuck in my thoughts like one of your fucking axes sticking into a target…”

Raising your eyebrows, you glanced out the window at the axe sticking into (and through) Torrez Diego. Rocinante followed your eye and laughed embarrassedly.

“Ok, maybe not the best metaphor.”

“Commander, please don’t talk. Please just… take me,” you said softly. Your shirts were both off now, and you were caressing the stunning, well defined muscles of his abs and chest, your cock achingly hard in your pants. Scars—cuts, burns, long ropy deep ones of uncertain origin—littered the broad expanse of his torso, matching the ones on his legs. So he hadn’t been lying about his childhood.

As you pulled yourself closer to him, gazing up into his eyes, feeling his (holy shit it’s massive) hardening cock pressing against your ass, you couldn’t help but ask. “I didn’t even think you were into men. In fact, I’ve seen you on dates with women before.”

Rocinante shrugged, his hands sliding up and down your body, fingertips sending lightning bolts into your groin. “Gender is made up anyway. Anyone can be hot, don’t you think?”

“Eh. I’ll leave the women to you.”

Rocinante chuckled. “That means this man gets to be all mine.” With that he grabbed your ass hard with both hands, yanking you so close to him that you could feel his heartbeat reverberating through your chest.

“Fuck, Commanderrrrrr…” you groaned as he squeezed and caressed your ass, every motion sending a drop of precum leaking from your achingly hard cock, staining your standard issue uniform.

“Don’t call me that, don’t call me Commander,” he murmured roughly. “Call me Roci, y/n.”

Roci? You’d never heard anyone but his very closest friends call him that. You tried it out slowly. “Roci…”

His smile was like none you’d ever seen before from him, and it sent chills of want shimmering through you from head to toe.

“Fuck me, Roci!” You finally managed, grinding your hips desperately back and forth on his cock, trying as best you could to be careful of the new stitches but needing him inside you so badly that it hurt.

Wordlessly, Rocinante grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over, landing you back-first on the fur rug as he leaned over you, his face flushed, one hand sliding up to caress your cheek.

“Jesus, Roci, be careful—you’re still injured, y’know!”

He glanced down at his leg. “Eh. I’ve fucked people I wanted less with bigger wounds than this one. And besides, you won’t mind if I have to…readjust occasionally, will you?”

Smiling, you shook your head. “Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he said softly. Leaning down, hand still on your cheek, Roci kissed you with a warmth and tenderness you’d never experienced before. Loving, gentle, sweet.

You knew it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t help but return the kiss—and the absolutely smitten gaze he gave you afterwards.

“Can I take these off?” Rocinante’s big hands were suddenly playing at your belt, and you felt your cock twitch hard at the proximity.

“Yes, jesus, yes,” you arched your hips up to allow him to remove the garment, biting back your moans as the fabric slid over your rock hard cock.

“And the underwear?” He asked, a note of hesitancy in his voice.

Not that he needed to hesitate. You nodded eagerly, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your boxers right along with his and sliding them off, discarding them on the dusty floor. You lay naked on the rug in front of him.

“Fucking hell….” Roci breathed as he stared at your cock. “Please, y/n… please let me touch you…”

You grabbed his hand yourself and moved it to the base of your cock, not breaking eye contact. You couldn’t believe you’d ever denied to yourself that you needed this. Holy shit. You NEEDED this.

Rocinante gripped you gently and slowly began to stroke your member, bowing his head to kiss your hipbones and exposed stomach as he did so. You knew what you were working with was pretty decent—plenty of guys had complimented you on your dick before—but you couldn’t deny that in your Commander’s massive hands it looked positively small.

Not that either of you minded.

The sensation of him gently squeezing your cock as he slid his hand up and down your length was enough to make you physically dizzy. Your head fell back with a moan as he caressed you.

“Please, Rociiiiii….”

When he gently swirled his tongue around the head of your cock, you were finished.

Bucking your hips up, you wailed, gripping the soft fur rug beneath you as your commanding officer took your member into his mouth.

Gently, Roci bobbed his head up and down along your length, sucking it deeply into his mouth, sliding his tongue along the underside. He followed the motions of his mouth with his hand, stroking you, his spit as lubricant. The room was filled with obscene noises as Rocinante positively worshipped you, soft hums of pleasure vibrating against your cock as you covered your mouth and tried not to scream.

He paused a moment and glanced up at you. “This ok?”

Your vision was blurred, your head spinning. You could barely manage to nod your head in response.

“Tell me.”

Your eyes snapped open to see Rocinante smiling at you, the tip of your cock still touching his lips, a twinkle in those red-brown orbs.

“Well, Ensign? How much do you like having my lips wrapped around your cock?”

You moaned in response, unable to form words. This was maybe the hottest thing that had ever happened to you.

Rocinante sat back, the friction of his hands and mouth on your cock suddenly achingly gone. “Tell me, Ensign. That’s an order.”

You couldn’t help yourself any longer. You bucked your hips desperately forward toward him. “God, Roci, it’s so good, it’s so good, fuck, I’ve needed this so long, please don’t stop, please, please…” you were babbling now, anything to get his lips on your dick again.

Finally, Rocinante obliged. Leaning up to kiss you quickly, his mouth led a trail back down your chest and stomach, following your happy trail to your cock. Briefly, he bent deeply and swallowed you completely, sucking you into his mouth hard enough to make you cry out in a mixture of relief and pleasure.

“Roci…” you managed to gasp, tangling your fingers in that soft, wavy golden hair of his. Your lover slid his mouth from your member with a wet pop, catching your gaze for a moment before he trailed his tongue lower. Pushing back your legs slightly, he slid his wet muscle along the seam of your balls, down lower, lower, ghosting across your perineum, and finally flicked it across your hole. Nuzzling his face softly against your inner thigh for a moment, he dove in and began to devour you.

Roci’s tongue moved in eager, hungry circles over your star, lapping at it ravenously, occasionally pushing his tongue inside you just to hear the moans you made when he did it. Softly, continuing to lick and suck at you, he gripped your cock in his hand and gave it several slow, deliberate strokes.

Your balls tightened, and before you even knew what was happening you were cumming, thick spurts of white-hot cum shooting over your stomach, your legs, your commander’s face. He grinned and closed his mouth over the head of your cock, swallowing what he could as you bucked and whined against him.

When you collapsed after several excruciatingly wonderful moments, Roci pressed a soft kiss to your hip bone before climbing back up to gaze at you. Your cum still dripped from his exquisite cheekbone as he smiled, looking down at you with an expression of nothing less than total adoration.

“You ok, y/n?”

Catching your breath, you nodded. “That was incredible.”

“I’m not finished yet, at least not if you don’t want me to be.”

Weakly, you brush your hand against his. “What did you—“ pant, pant. “—have in mind?”

Rocinante took your chin in his hand, enveloping you in a deep kiss. You could taste your own cum on his tongue, enough to make your spent cock twitch again.

“I seem to recall you saying something about wanting me to fuck you?”

You gazed up at him. If the cheeky smile on his face didn’t tell you everything you needed to know, his positively throbbing cock resting on your thigh certainly did. You almost lazily brought your hand to Roci’s cheek, wiping your cum off him with your thumb. He popped the digit into his mouth without breaking eye contact, sucking every last drop of you from your finger with an eagerness rivaling your own.

“Please, Rocinante…”

Releasing your thumb from between his soft lips, your commander leaned down and kissed you deeply, lingeringly. When he broke away, he was smiling.

“Mind lubing me up a bit first?”

Breathlessly, you nodded, your heart skipping a beat as he pushed two of his own fingers slowly into your waiting mouth. You sucked as eagerly as he had moments before, sliding your tongue over the rough pads of his fingers, tasting the salt and leftover gunpowder on his skin.

“Perfect.” Roci smiled as he watched you, slowly removing his fingers, the dim light glinting off a thin stream of saliva that he twirled around his index. “God, everything about you is so beautiful…” he breathed. “I hoped so badly that you felt this way, y/n. That you wanted me the way I want you…”

You felt your face redden as he smiled at you, touching his forehead to yours as his wet fingers trailed lower and lower. Brushing his lips against the tip of your nose, he reached your hole and slowly began to massage around the perimeter, causing a groan to escape you. “Roci, I need you, fuck…”

“My y/n,” your lover smiled, nuzzling his nose lightly against your cheek. As he did so, he slid one big finger slowly inside you. Your back arched against him as he pushed deeper and deeper, then gently added a second. You felt yourself stretching around him, a soft wail escaping your lips as he scissored his fingers inside you, watching your reaction, precum leaking from his big cock onto your leg.

“How does that feel, sweetheart?”

“S-so…good…” you barely managed to stammer, too love-drunk to even notice the pet name, bucking your hips against his fingers, trying desperately to fuck yourself on them. God, you didn’t know what this meant or what this was but you didn’t care in the slightest, you needed him so bad…

Roci leaned in and kissed you gently as he slowly began to slide his fingers in and out of you, sending you moaning into his mouth as he finally pushed deep enough to hit that spot (Jesus Christ and how he hit it) far inside you, sending a frankly very un-Marinelike cry from your lips. Your lover twisted his fingers, massaging you, chuckling softly as you writhed, dug your nails into his wrist, begged him with your entire body. More, more, more, please god more…

And then slowly he was withdrawing them, leaving you painfully empty beneath him. “Roci… please don’t stop…”

“Shhh. Relax, Ensign. Gotta take these out before anything else can go in. Although… I might need you to lube up that ‘anything else’ for me a bit as well?”

You were up and on your knees in front of Rocinante in a second, practically drooling as you finally got a good look at your commander’s dick. It was massive, easily 8 inches, and thick—you couldn’t help but worry a bit about how the hell it was going to fit into you. It curved up slightly at the pink tip, oozing drops of precum.

Rocinante noticed your apprehension and blushed. “I know it’s kind of a lot, but we can go slow…”

You wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock, never taking your eyes off it. “I don’t care what speed we go at as long as I get to have you inside me.”

Rocinante brushed his fingers through your hair. “Let me know if you need to stop, ok?”

You nodded, and slowly licked a long stripe from the base of his dick to the tip. Roci positively shivered, his hand tightening in your hair. “Fuck, y/n…”

Gently, you continued to lick your Commander’s cock, covering it in your saliva, tasting the salt on his skin. When you flicked your tongue up over the pink tip, lapping up the drops of precum leaking from his slit, Rocinante’s hips bucked forward involuntarily, pushing himself into your mouth.

For a moment you sputtered, unprepared for the sudden invasion, and Roci quickly moved to pull back out. But you weren’t about to let that happen. Following his hips, you eagerly took more of him into your mouth, feeling your throat stretch as it filled with him. He was huge, so huge it almost hurt to have him so deep, and you had to fight to control your gag reflex as he gazed down at you, his face flushed.

“Holy fuck, you’re good at this, y/n…”

You smiled as best you could with his cock filling your throat and slowly began to suck him as he had you, coating his dick with your saliva, your own cock already rock hard again just from the feeling of him in your mouth. Bobbing your head, you couldn’t help but moan at the taste of him—a little salty, a little musky, a little sweet. Delicious didn’t even begin to describe it.

You were beginning to find your rhythm now, a slow pattern of in and out, deep but not too deep—but Roci suddenly pulled out, his cock bumping your cheek as you released it. You were almost disappointed—sucking him had been like nothing you’d ever experienced—but that flew out the window when you caught his eye.

“Come sit on my lap, y/n.”

Wordlessly you nodded your head. Your mind was swirling. Holy shit, you really were about to get fucked by your commanding officer. Holy shit, holy fuck…

Roci sat back on the soft fur of the rug and you climbed atop him in the position you were in before—achingly, breathtakingly close. His cock twitched as he pushed it against your soaking wet entrance.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

You could only reach up to kiss him in response.

Slowly, so slowly it made your head spin, Rocinante pushed the head of his cock into your tight hole, both of you groaning in pleasure as it began to slide into you. It was so big, holy fuck, Jesus it was big, and as it stretched you wider and wider you couldn’t help but wince.

Roci paused immediately. “You ok, y/n? We can stop if this is too much…”

“No! No, please don’t stop, please don’t stop, Roci,” you managed to gasp as you adjusted to him, your nails digging into his back as you pressed your face to his muscular chest, needing him like grass needed water, like seabirds needed wind.

Gently, he ran a comforting hand over your back and pushed deeper, helping you to sink down onto his cock until it was sheathed entirely inside you.

“Fuck, Rocinante..” you hissed into his chest as he filled you. Gently, almost experimentally, you raised your hips and slid up and down Roci’s dick once. The sensation was nearly enough to have you cumming again, and Roci himself let out a long, low moan as your muscles clenched tight around him.

“Let me do it, y/n… I promise it’ll feel so good…” your Commander gasped, gripping your hips. Slowly, he began to guide you up and down his cock, brushing that spot inside you again and again. You were vaguely aware of a trail of drool running from the corner of your mouth as Rocinante pumped a little faster into you, and you dug your nails into his back as he held you close.

The two of you were well and truly fucking now, your ass bouncing on his cock as you moaned against his chest, praises and needy begging slipping indiscriminately from your mouth as Roci filled you, hit that wildly sensitive spot over and over, harder and harder, as he made you his.

You managed to briefly look up at your commander, desperate to see that he was enjoying himself as much as you were. Your heart skipped a beat at the way he gazed down at you, his eyes almost wet as he held you, fucked himself in your tight hole.

He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

“Y/n… holy fuck, y/n…”

Suddenly Rocinante’s thrusts were getting harder, rougher, his grip on your hips getting strong enough to bruise, his breath coming in little gasps.

“Y/n, i’m so close…”

Your own cock was twitching as well, begging for a second release, and you slid one hand from around his waist to jack yourself off hungrily.

“Cum in me, Commander Rocinante,” you begged, staring into his eyes as you stroked your cock, eager to paint his abs white while he filled you.

And with a strangled wail, fill you he did, his cock twitching as it pumped spurt after spurt of hot cum deeply into your hole. The sensation of his seed splashing against your inner walls was enough for you to follow, burying your face against Roci’s pectorals with a long cry as you shot another load onto him.

“Baby, baby, baby, baby…” Rocinante gasped, pulling you so close you almost suffocated against his body as he finished, his hips bucking against yours with a vengeance until finally he collapsed, muscles relaxing. A moment later and you collapsed with him, and Roci lay you both back against the soft brown fur of the rug beneath you.

A moment of silence passed, Roci playing with your hair as he gazed at you, one his arms still around you.

“My y/n,” he finally purred when he caught his breath. “My sweet y/n.”

“I can’t believe we finally did that,” you laugh, nuzzling yourself against him, happier than you could ever remember being.

“I can’t wait to see what the other Ensigns will think when I tell them I have a boyfriend.”

You sat up, an indignant blush creeping up your face. “Boyfriend? Who the fuck said anything about boyfriends?”

Rocinante didn’t flinch. “I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious where this is heading, don’t you?”

“No!” You stood up, wobbling a little on your post-orgasm legs. Jesus, this man is going to crack me open no matter what I do, isn’t he? “Fuck buddies, or friends with benefits maybe, but not boyfriends!”

Roci just laughed, which you found very annoying. “If you say so, y/n.”

“Commander! Y/n!!”

The voice of Ensign Parvati suddenly echoed from outside the window. “Are you guys alive? …We beat back the Torrez pirates! …Hello?”

Rocinante’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, I forgot about the rest of the squadron.” Frantically he looked around, grabbing his shirt and pants, crashing into everything that wasn’t bolted down as he quickly put on his clothes. “Christ, I am such a bad commander…”

It was your turn to laugh as you stood up, grabbing your own clothes. “You’re fine! Parvati said we beat them.”

He turned to smile at you, affixing his Marine cap to his head. “I can’t say I regret getting so distracted, to be honest.”

“Jesus, you’re corny.”

“You love it.”

You couldn’t help but grin back at him as the two of you finished getting dressed, ready to find your squadron and celebrate your victory.

And although he was not your boyfriend, although he did not know you—you would never let him truly know you— although he was simply your commanding officer who happened to turn lover, nothing more and nothing less—as you walked out the door, you pulled him down to you and very gently pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Maybe next time you and Bellemere smoked weed and watched old cartoons, maybe you’d see if he wanted to come along.

———————————————————————

God DAMN do I love writing me some slow burn 😍 This is my first time writing mlm so please let me know if there’s anything I can improve on!

Did I invent an entire island with a fur industry just so I could make my characters fuck on a fur rug? You’ll just have to decide for yourself 😏

I think there’s enough here to warrant a part 2, if anyone wants to hear it. I had a lot of fun playing with the idea of a character trying to grapple alone with their trauma and self esteem and meeting someone as incorrigibly healing as our darling Rocinante. If this gets notes, who knows what could happen…?

Also, shoutout to my real Torrez Diego, I sincerely hope you never read this fic but you’re cool and deserve to have a scary pirate named after you 💚

As always, thanks for reading!

#Diglett writes #donquixote corazon #donquixote rocinante #donquixote rosinante #bellemere one piece #Rocinante #Rosinante #rosinante x reader #one piece marines #please read I promise the smut is worth it #read and review #feedback wanted #one piece #one piece fanfic

[thornychairman]

Eternatus: Codename Ouroboros

Codename Ouroboros was the name for the project that would allow Galar to have a clean and renewable energy source through the use and maintenance of the Pokemon known as Eternatus.

The seeds of the project began long, long ago when Chairman Rose was young, living in the depths of poverty after a great economic crash that caused his family to lose all of its assets. With coal being a finite, yet incredibly important resource, everyone suffered back in those days. Winters were especially bad without the use of electricity and rising prices for a smoggy energy source that ruined the lives of not just people, but Pokemon as well.

Of course, he had felt very inconvenienced by the whole affair and if his own parents wouldn't do anything about the situation, but drink and weep about their losses, he would do something about it for himself. It just so happened that in the time he worked to better his own life, the lives of those around him became better as a result. Really, when his parents thanked him and praised him, he only thought what happened was just the proper consequences of his actions. Instead of being passive, he took charge.

And he only wanted better for himself, as a whole. It just so happened others benefitted from it as well, for this was how the world acted. In the guise of 'fairness' what benefitted one must also benefit the many, as stupid as he often found that to be. But he came to realize the world needed leaders, the few in power who had power to forge the future needed for all. And if the world had chosen him to lead, then why shouldn't he? And if he was the leader, then whatever decisions he made would be the right and logical one. No matter how hard and horrible that decision would be.

Working for a short time for Silph Co, he created a business relationship with the large research and development conglomerate, laying down the groundwork for his own corporation in the future. It was during his stint with Silph Co did he discover the remains of what experts in his team deemed to be some kind of ancient legendary Pokemon. Research found that it gave off an interesting type of radiation that caused temporary mutations in Pokemon. At the time they did not know what was the source of this radiation, theories speaking of it as something from outside their own world or being generated from its own body.

Silph Co had lost interest in the samples found, changing direction towards work in other fields. Rose took charge of the remains and samples, buying the company off the rights to them when he began his own power company in Galar. As he built power and wealth, Rose continued the research on the mysterious Pokemon and its equally enigmatic energy source that existed years after its apparent demise.

Rose researched many myths and legends pertaining to what he could only assume were links to their mystery discovery. One such legend was about the Darkest Day, which was a widely known legend among the people of Galar, dating back centuries that had become popular enough for movies, books and television shows. Another, more obscure legend was what caught his eye a little more than the promise of possible renewable energy.

It was said that to swallow a star was to become a deity, in exchange for the self. Now, Rose was not sure if one could become a deity and almost dismissed such notions immediately, however, he wondered what linked this particular obscure mythos to the main legend concerning the Darkest Day. During these early days, random instances of Dynamaxing were still occurring at alarming intervals, disturbing the peaceful lives of the populace of Galar.

Taking pieces of the remnants of the mystery Pokemon, under the banner of a small research subsidiary, Macro Cosmos was able to see the relationship between the remnants that were also found in the soil all over Galar, Pokemon and the phenomena that caused them to become mutant giants. Upon seeing the results, Rose wanted to know how else he could twist this knowledge to his advantage.

Pokemon had the remnants introduced into their systems, their mutations recorded before they were dealt with termination, as turning them back after having it permanently placed in their bodies proved difficult to reverse. The research peaked with the creation of the Dynamax bands, making it easy to control such things for a short period of time.

Macro Cosmos built small generators which used the remnants as a power course, eventually building bigger power plants that dotted the Galar landscape. However, much like coal, it was finite. So Rose sought a way to crate more of it, since this was the cleanest energy their region ever had access to. Attempts to recreate the Pokemon failed over the course of many years through cloning. The body collapsed on itself eventually, causing no small end of death in the face of Galar's progress.

Rose had to wonder what was causing this; was it their lack of nutrients getting to its body? Lack of space? The proper nurturing environment that could allow it to thrive? Eeventually, the team in charge of reviving the Pokemon decided it would be easier to revive it via splicing it with other genetic material, eventually resulting in the skeletal, almost alien-like monstrosity that is more well known to Galar when the second Darkest Day came.

And they could barely control it.

Able to at least get it into an egg-like, hibernated state, they were able to keep it hidden underneath the power plant in Hammerlocke. Even in this state, the newly made Pokemon, Eternatus, was able to emanate the radiation they needed to power their cities for a long time yet. But, occasionally, there would be fluctuations in the power and its consciousness. They required a way to keep it permanently docile.

This is where the idea of Pokemon Trainers and syncing could work. If they could get a compatible trainer to sync with Eternatus they would be able to control it and its immense power. The problem was that there was no one currently strong enough, at the time, to be able to do so. And in this view, Rose launched the brand new League initiative which only allowed the most elite of the elite to participate. Promising trainers vying for the top spot, showing their strength.

But of course, Rose was not the kind of person to leave things to variables and this is where the Rose Children came into play, an organization he created to educate and raise prodigy orphans to become the next generation of elite trainers, under his thumb, under his indoctrination and loyal to him. That was the plan. They would become polished by the League circuit which was carefully curated by him for his chosen few to strengthen themselves. It wasn't surprising there was eventually allegations of corruption within the League, as perfectly capable trainers were denied the Gym Leader role through sabotage.

Of course, after the first successful Champion (one of his 'children', even) was named, he immediately tried to sync them with Eternatus. The result was a disaster, as the Pokemon rejected the trainer, resulting in the child killed. It was quite the feat to hide this sudden death underneath subterfuge under subterfuge, making it seem like an accident between the Trainer and an attempt to Dynamax going wrong.

When it happened in the next year's tournament's end and the year after that, it was discerned that they needed someone actually compatible with Eternatus on a cellular level. So they began to feed the Rose Children very small traces of the remnant, now dubbed as 'Wishing Stars', calling them vitamins. Many got mildly sick and were eventually made to leave the program through adoption as they could continue to make the world better with their existence; the ones with the worst reactions would mutate and those would be deem total failures, were terminated without question or ceremony; the other children were often told they'd been 'adopted'.

Those that succeeded in accepting the remnants continued their education within the confines of the organization. However, those that swallow the remnants truly did experience a change. Some took on more strength, others had a personality change, and others gained glowing eyes. Those that were deemed 'worthy' were continued to be fed the Wishing Stars in small doses, while they were educated and trained to be the best of the best.

Whatever it took to secure the future of Galar, to secure his own future. Rose was proud of his work. Soon, he would see the fruits of his labors, to see one able to control Eternatus for the greater good of Galar.

This was the Ouroboros Project at its core.

#headcanon #and here we have it #the reason why this blog is hevaily canon divergent #world building #long post #I think this is one of my bigger worldbuilding stuff lol #so therefore #I am so sorry if NONE OF THIS MADE SENSE #it was like just word vomit lol

[ahdenyadahling]

Final Fantasy XV- Fate & Destiny

Chapter One, Part One

Chapter One will consist of my own AU backstory, taking place around where Chapter 2 is in the game. For now, I don't believe anything is restricted, although as the story progresses, it will become more mature. Warning tags will be added then.

Chapter One: Fate and Destiny

Fate and Destiny. Synonyms of a sort, though one sounds like doom and the other, a happy ever after. Neither is correct, nor completely wrong. I suppose it depends on the fated or destined situation. I never dreamed one or perhaps both of those words would describe my fortune.

Within the Kingdom of Lucis, the Crown City of Insomnia had been at peace for more than a century. Though to have heard my father talk, it was simply a matter of time until the Niflheim Empire found an advantage, shattering our illusions. It was only very recently the Imperials had done just that, infiltrating and bringing the illustrious city to ruins in one fell swoop. An unknown source had conjured a way to break down the magical barrier which held the Empire’s menacing machines at bay for over a decade, leading to the destruction of the city.

I had only been to the Crown City once or twice when I was very small, and there’s not much I can recall besides long concrete roads and lighted buildings which reached the sky. It was impossible to forget the Royal Castle, the Citadel. It was a massive masterpiece of stone and marble, shining white and, to a child like myself, there was something warm and pure about it. For weeks after my visit, I would ask my father what it would be like to live there, to count how many rooms there were and find out what kinds of people worked there. He forced a smile and gave my head a pat. He told me of guards and cooks, of teachers and royalty, but said living there would be lonely, especially for a child.

He died a few months back, just before we heard on the radio that the Crown City had fallen, and so had the King, the Prince, and his betrothed. It was a sad situation, the Imperials trying to annihilate the entire royal family. Here in Duscae, southwest of Insomnia, King Regis no longer held the authority of his ancestors. Though most citizens still saw him as their ruler and protector, King Regis seemed a myth. It was his magic that had kept the Imperials from overtaking Insomnia and this outlying land, though some were bitter that his focus was kept on barricading his precious capital. It seemed as though he had traded the remainder of Lucis for the safety of the Capital. Since his death, my mother and I had seen several Imperial Warships pass overhead. They were gargantuan metal wonders, or rather, horrors, that appeared to carry perhaps thirty of their mechanized soldiers. I had seen some of these soldiers with my own eyes, dropping from the sky with guns, patrolling nearby towns or scouting the forests as if in search of someone. Rumor had it that they even had tall robots, large enough for a person to sit inside and control, with machine guns for arms, some able to shoot small rockets. With weapons like that, it seemed no wonder to me that Insomnia fell. Yet in all fairness, the warships themselves were a marvel. They had no wings, yet were able to glide through the air almost noiselessly. At night, they could be spotted by the huge, glowing red orb that seemed to power it. As fascinated as I am with Imperial technology, they can keep it far from me.

I’ve lived these past nineteen years in Duscae with my parents, Arthur and Louisa Willowby, on a little patch of land, part forest, part field, with nary a care for the larger world. My father spent the majority of his career in the Crownsguard, a soldier for King Regis, and spent weeks, sometimes months in the Crown City. My mother, also once in service to the King as a music teacher, retired when she found out she was pregnant with me. She and I were able to get by on our own while Father was away, cultivating our garden and raising a few animals. After an injury, my father was honorably discharged from service to retire. However, he claimed he needed to do more. He joined a local Hunter’s group, which basically made him a bounty hunter for large beasts and daemons that had begun to infiltrate the area. With his military background, he got a little cocky when agreeing to take a bounty. Even when a beast seemed out of his skill set, he wanted to make an attempt, to keep others safe. Yet this last mission, well, it was his last mission.

#FFXV #Final Fantasy #final fantasy XV #noctis #prompto #ignis #gladio #crownsguard

[the-never-ending-project]

Whats the solar system like??

Well we don't have our notes at the ready right now, but I gots some basic info memorized! There's 7 planets in the main solar system, and we haven't written any of the systems outside it yet. The 7 planets are themed around one magic each, in the order of pyr, lux, terra, prestia (home!), aqua, necrom, and aero. 3 of the 7 planets have life, those being terra, prestia, and aqua, but so far in our work we've been focused on prestia, given it's where life is thriving the most and it's where sapient life is around.

Planets:

1) pyr: a small venus-like world

2) lux: gas dwarf with IIRC 4 moons and a thin ring, something like 10.5 earth masses?

3) terra: somewhat like Mars before it's core cooled. A present but weak magnetic field, a reasonably dense atmosphere, but life here is slowly on its way out at the current rate. Only about 30% of the surface is covered by liquid, and despite being closer to the star it's slightly colder here due to a thin and slowly burning away atmosphere

4) prestia: now we get to Nevers, the only planet to have a name currently. This one is home to everything from cats to humans to boims and everything in between. Very much earthlike, with something like 75% water coverage. Nevers has 1 large major moon, 1 MUCH smaller major moon, and 2 well-sized minor moons, along with a decaying ring. This ring is actually the cause of one of Nevers' most defining features: every few centuries a bunch of especially heavy rocks burn up and a borderline apocalyptic event happens in some part of the world, usually cascading to the rest within a few weeks. These are the main reason for the extreme biology of most native life, who are in some cases adapted to the point that a nuclear warhead would likely just blow them back. It's got a year of 840 on-world days, with days here being much much shorter than they are on earth. Ironically, other than the magical weather and the occasional nuke-like rock falling from the sky, Nevers has a shockingly calm and stable climate, owed to its almost perfectly circular orbit and its axial tilt of a mere 14 degrees

5) aqua: it's a waterworld, what else would you expect? Approximately 90% of the surface is water. It has 1 major moon and 1 minor moon, with the major moon being much smaller than Earth's famous Luna. This helps keep tides relatively calm. While terra's world has very old life that's decreasing in diversity, and Nevers has very healthy mid-period life that's doing very well, aqua's planet has very young life. In fact, life only evolved to be multicellular here in the last 200 or so million years

6) necrom: ice giant, a lot like Uranus

7) aero: superjovian, a handful of almost mars-sized moons, but none of them with life

That's all we've got in memory, will post later in more detail whenever we find notes and return to dealing with the solar system

#the never ending project #worldbuilding #never ending project #lore #astrophysics #solar system #sci fi #sci fi and fantasy #sci fantasy

[timetrees]

people often will say ‘superheroes’ when they mean the marvel cinematic universe and it hurts my little 20th century comic book brain

#x #20th century comic book brain sounds like a fun mental disorder tho. kind of sci-fi #anyway i'm just interested in nuanced discussion and ignoring every type of superhero content besides mcu won't help that #i guess like if you want to criticize the mcu do that because sometimes people say 'superhero media' or smth but specifically reference #something relating to the mcu and i get that it's the most relevant pop culture thing to normies right now but the superhero genre has been #around for almost a century now so it's a very large field of work that not all of fits into one box if you know what i mean #it's hard to encapsulate everything in superhero media into one general statement due to the nature of superhero comics #i have more to say but i will not

[luminnara]

It’s Been a Long, Long Time | Alpha!Bucky x Omega!reader part one 18+ only

Summary:  When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Warnings: NSFW, knotting, abo, smut, mild dubcon

Request are OPEN! I would love to write more Bucky stuff!

Also posted on AO3

Part one | Part Two | Part three | 

In a world full of massive, snarling, strong alphas, nobody wanted to use something as small and physically weak as an omega to do war. Omegas were better suited for other things, like nurturing, and giving life. The alphas were the ones who fought and maimed and killed and protected and hunted. It wasn’t even until relatively recently that omegas even had many rights in the modern world, and there were still plenty of traditionalists who stuck to the old ideals. Omegas were for breeding and claiming and little more. Though those ideas were fading, there would always be those who believed that there were things omegas couldn’t and shouldn’t do--

And fighting was at the top of that list. 

Omegas weren’t built for it. They were sturdy, sure, to help them withstand the ruts of big alphas who couldn’t control themselves, but they were generally small, and, many believed, unable to fend for themselves. Their role, their purpose, was to be claimed and bred by big strong alphas, and that was that. It made sense; after all, someone needed to stay and care for the pups, or else there would be little chance of survival. Throughout most of history, survival wasn’t something that was ever guaranteed, and having a secondary gender that was intended for rearing offspring greatly increased the likelihood that pups would make it to adulthood. Alphas were bigger and stronger, natural leaders, always ready to fight and defend their territory and their pack, and omegas were always there to carry the young. 

And that was that. Omegas weren’t meant to be warriors. Their only place on the battlefield was in the medic tent, where they could tend to wounded alphas and betas. It was nearly unheard of in many places for there to be omega soldiers, even infantry. 

Until the twentieth century. 

The catastrophic proportions of both World Wars brought with them an all hands on deck mentality. In the states, male omegas were being drafted along with the others, newly-invented heat and rut suppressants meaning that they could all work together without the danger of blunders thanks to anyone’s natural cycle. Back home, not only were alpha and beta women suddenly flooding the workforce while the men were overseas, but omegas were joining them. It was unprecedented, and began to change many minds. Maybe omegas were useful for more than incubators. Maybe they could work.

They still weren’t the best choice for hands on, tactical things, though. While there were omegas in the army, they rarely became officers, because who was going to want to listen to them? They weren’t natural born fighters, and they were hardwired to obey alphas. They were better as battle fodder, extras to pad out the numbers. They certainly weren’t anyone’s first choice for special missions or programs.

Well...almost anyone’s.

When HYDRA got their soldier and programmed his brain, they were pleased. The big alpha, James Buchanan Barnes, had survived the super soldier serum, and with his mind wiped and his old life far away from him, he was the perfect assassin. The Winter Soldier was strong, well trained, and easy to control, when given the proper commands. The serum made him practically unkillable, and he had the speed and strength to rival that annoying Captain America. 

Unfortunately, the serum also made his ruts much harder to suppress. HYDRA would never permit him to settle down with an omega, of course not...but an omega was the only thing that could ease his rut cycle. Without one, he could spend a week snarling and pining, absolutely useless. With one, he was only out of the field for a few days. Until they could develop better suppressants, their only solution was to give him an omega. 

Unfortunately, they weren’t very good at surviving him. 

He didn’t like any of them, not really. He never meant to kill them, never really tried, but HYDRA had a habit of starving the poor things before they tossed them into the lion’s den, and they just couldn’t keep up. The soldier used them to alleviate his ruts, always mechanical in his movements, and that was that. 

HYDRA didn’t particularly care whether the omegas lived or died, but they did reach a point where it was getting to be a bit ridiculous to catch so many for their soldier. Someone along the way had the bright idea to simply make a stronger omega, one who could withstand their asset’s forcefulness. Giving the serum to an omega was such a ridiculous idea that it just might work, and so they did, and oh, did they get lucky with the omega they chose.

Taking scent samples from several omegas they already had, they presented them to the soldier, allowing him to choose. It was, perhaps, the one time they had ever given him a sense of autonomy over himself and his life. It was the one time he had any freedom, despite the incredibly controlled circumstances.

 While strapped down to a familiar chair, he watched the doctors pacing around. He was expecting the familiar agony of having his mind refreshed before a new mission, or maybe even the chill of preparation to go into cryo for a few years until he was needed again. Instead, they presented him with strong-smelling test tubes, each one unmistakably omega. He inhaled their scents with mild interest, none seeming to particularly stand out...until they reached the last.

Amoretta Arancini was a young adult female omega, whose file stated that she was “a kicker.” From the moment she had been captured with the intent to be given to the soldier for a rut, she had clawed and kicked and bitten at anyone and everyone who came into contact with her. She was nearly impossible to deal with, and had the soldier not immediately flared his nostrils and strained against the leather straps that held him down, she would have been finally put down. 

Neither she nor Bucky knew it, but he was the only reason she was allowed to live.

The soldier was placed back into his usual cell, and the doctors set about gathering the unruly omega he had chosen. It only made sense that the big, killer alpha would go for a positively savage little monster of an omega, after all.

They administered the serum, unsure whether an omega would even survive it, and by the time their soldier’s next rut came around, she was ready. If she could withstand him, she would have a purpose within HYDRA, and they would be able to stop wasting so much time on finding new omegas for him to burn through. 

She was given double the suppressants he was. They didn’t care if she experienced side effects; after all, her only job was to present herself to the soldier at the start of every rut. She didn’t need to be out in the field. If that meant she was groggy and nauseous all the time, who cared? It seemed to work, keeping her heat and fertility at bay while leaving her lucid enough to get the asset through his cycle. The last thing HYDRA needed was an unscheduled heat or pregnancy to deal with. 

“The asset is entering his rut. Bring in the omega.” A voice on the intercom said. 

An alarm blared, a door slowly screeching open, revealing a cold cell, bare save for the cot against the wall. It was a cell specifically used to hold the soldier during his ruts, and now, it would also hold Amoretta. 

She stumbled along, a beta guard with a cattle prod stalking behind her. She was naked, having been allowed to shower before meeting the soldier for the first time, her dark hair still damp as it fell behind her shoulders. It was the cleanest her skin had felt in weeks, so she could only be so angry about it...but she was still angry. 

With the threat of electricity behind her, she entered the empty cell. A door slammed shut the moment she stepped in, another sliding open on the other side of the small room. 

His scent hit her like a freight train. Motor oil, earth, and cloves...Amoretta’s lip raised in a sneer, partly because she had a feeling she knew what was coming, and partly so that she could try to disguise the way she suddenly began salivating. 

Sure enough, just as she suspected, the biggest alpha she had ever seen in her life came stalking in, eyes dark and wild as he searched for the omega he had smelled on his way in. His chest was heaving, sweat prickling his brow, and as his musky rut-scent wove around Amoretta, she swallowed hard. She definitely knew what was coming next. 

She had never seen the asset before, but she had heard whispers and seen the other omegas they offered up to him. Before she was injected with the serum, she lived in a cramped cell with several others, and whenever someone was dragged out, it was always a toss up whether they would return or not. When they did return, they were never in good shape. 

Now she could see why. 

He was predatory in his movements, dark hair falling in his eyes as he stalked toward her. The door slammed shut the moment he was clear of it, and suddenly, Amoretta was trapped with him. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide from what was quite possibly the most dangerous alpha in the world. If he decided he wanted her, she would have no choice. If he decided he didn’t want her...she would probably die, either by his hand, or HYDRA’s.

She stood as still as she could, watching him with level eyes as he sized her up. A large part of her was surprised that he hadn’t pounced yet, and as a low rumble started up in his chest, she sort of wished he would. The sound went straight to her core, her thighs pressing together of their own free will while she did everything she could to keep from biting her lip. 

His nostrils flared as the scent of her arousal mounted and he pressed himself up against her. The soldier was still looking her over, taking a surprisingly long time to examine the omega standing before him, especially considering that he was rutting. He slowly lowered his head, inhaling deeply, brushing his nose over the scent gland on her neck. The rumbling in his chest grew louder, and this time, Amoretta couldn’t help the needy whine that escaped her throat. 

The soldier’s hot tongue swept over her gland, his hands gripping her hips. He liked how she smelled. He liked how her flesh tasted. 

He wanted more.

He gave her a small shove towards the cot, but as he did so, this little omega glaring up at him actually snapped. She bared her little teeth at him, trying to tell him to slow down, and he responded with a snarl of his own. His tore through his throat, a savage noise, and while it shut her up, it didn’t get rid of the harsh look she was shooting at him. 

The asset wasn’t used to anyone, especially the omegas that HYDRA offered up to him, talking back. They usually went belly up for him the moment he stepped into the cell, behaving and presenting themselves for him to take. That’s what he preferred--a willing omega, whom he could enjoy for a few days. He didn’t like...whatever was going on here. Why was this one so upset with him? He wanted this omega to relax, to take him easily.  His mind, usually so analytical and tactical, was clouded by his rut, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do. 

Amoretta saw the way that he hesitated and she lowered the lip she had raised. So he was capable of listening, after all. That was a good sign that he had some control over himself. Ever so slowly, she relaxed, allowing him to give her a little nudge. It was impressive that he was allowing her to set the pace, especially considering that his musky scent was growing heavier by the second. She definitely hadn’t expected him to be at all interested in what she wanted, and she had been pretty sure that he would just push her down and take what he considered his.

He was almost...gentle, though. Gentler than she thought possible from such a big alpha, at least. She turned and walked toward the cot of her own accord, knowing full well that she didn’t have much choice in how all of this was going to play out. If she was going to be knotted today, then she might as well try to enjoy it, right? 

The way his scent made her mouth water gave her the feeling that that wouldn’t be too hard.

The soldier watched her with predatory eyes, following every movement closely. Absentmindedly, a hand drifted down to the loose pants he had been provided, palming his already hard cock through the fabric. He liked this omega. He liked how she looked, how she smelled, how she moved...he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her hips as they swayed slightly, a pleased rumble rising in his throat. He knew what was coming next, and he couldn’t wait. He was aching to be inside of her, to fill her up, to knot her...he wanted to make this omega his, and take care of her, and protect her, and he’d be damned if his captors got in the way of that. 

Amoretta climbed onto the cot, her back still turned to the most dangerous alpha on the planet. All too aware that she was completely naked, she crawled onto her hands and knees, dipping down until her chest hit the sheets, her ass up in the air for him. Her primal, omega brain was clamoring for this chance to present before such a big, strong, handsome alpha, and as the cool air tickled at her, she couldn’t help but let out a shrill, needy whine. He was taking too long, and part of her was genuinely worried that he was going to reject her. She was doing everything right, she was submitting, she was in a very vulnerable position...so why wasn’t he already on top of her? 

A tiny bead of slick trickled down her thigh as she glanced back to see him standing there with his hand on his bulge. Oh. So that’s what he was doing instead of jumping on her. At least he was turned on by the sight of her...right?

Wait. Why did she care? Why did she care at all what this terrifying alpha thought about her? This terrifying, big, strong...nice smelling...alpha…

If she weren’t on so many suppressants, she was absolutely sure her heat would have started then and there. He was so goddamn handsome, standing there all shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Her body wanted him, she wanted him, and if her hormones were allowed to do what they wanted, they would have been absolutely raging.

 His nostrils were flared as he took in her scent, his blue eyes wild and his pupils totally blown out as he finally stalked towards her. His movements were brisk, filled with purpose, the bulge in his pants clearly visible even as she craned her neck to look back at him. 

“A-alpha,” she whined, warmth rushing through her as she spoke. 

The sound of her voice seemed to have an effect on him, a shudder rolling through his body. 

“‘Mega,” he growled, voice impossibly low. “My ‘mega. So obedient...good girl.”

His words had her trembling. 

All at once, he was shoving his pants down and grabbing for her hips, rubbing the length of his cock over her lips. She keened, more and more slick running down her thighs as he pressed the head inside of her. Even though she was loaded up on suppressants, her body wanted him, her cunt already dripping wet and relaxed enough to accommodate his sizable girth. 

Still, the feeling of him stretching her out was absolutely delicious, eliciting a filthy moan that came pouring from her lips as she buried her head against the sheets. He wasn’t gentle by any means, thrusting into her as far as he could go before pulling back out roughly. His pace was harsh and quick, his body immediately caging her in as his chest pressed into her back. He was possessive, trying to hide her from the surveillance cameras he knew were situated in the upper corners of the cell. He didn’t want anyone else to see his omega, especially not while she was beneath him like this. She was his, and his alone. 

As rough as he was, he was still paying attention to her. Somewhat, at least. He was well aware by this point that she was tougher than the other omegas HYDRA had given him, and he took the opportunity to sink into her deeper, fuck her better than he normally could have. She could take him,  all of him, without complaint. She could withstand his harsh grip on her hair as he pulled her head up and forced her back to arch. She didn’t have any problems accepting what was happening to her, her body responding to him happily. 

“Such a good omega,” he grunted, forcing his cock even further into her. 

“I-I want your knot,” she whimpered, her voice surprisingly demanding considering the position she was in. “Fill me up, Alpha…”

How could he deny her?

When he had spilled his seed inside of her and his knot had inflated to a nearly painful extent, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her to his chest as he laid them both down on the cot. He was happy with his choice, with his omega. She was everything he wanted, and as his rut continued for the next few days, he had his way with her again, and again, and again, before HYDRA separated them once more. 

The soldier snarled and roared, refusing to be taken away, but as soon as they recited his trigger words, he was compliant. Amoretta listened and watched, eyes wide as they led him away. She had only spent one rut with him, but she was already head over heels, her heart aching and pining for her alpha to come back to her.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #alpha bucky #alpha bucky barnes #abo #omegaverse #avengers x reader #avengers x oc #bucky barnes #it's been a long long time

[221bshrlocked]

Show Me Your True Colors

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Words: 14092 (I swear this was supposed to be a short oneshot but it got out of hand. I'm so so sorry.)

Warnings: 28% smut, 72% plot. Penetrative, unprotected sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Oral (male and female receiving). Fingering and Squirting due to overstimulation. Some dom/sub elements but not full-on. Creampie. Rough handling (e.g. hair-pulling, spanking, hand-binding, some more hair-pulling). I think that's all?!

Inspired by these posts [x] [x] and by this lovely artist. Thanks @danniburgh for humoring me with my thots.

A/N: I came back from my temporary hiatus to post this because I couldn't wait. And now I shall return to my little corner again. Sorry guys these school/administrative issues are taking longer to deal with so I'm for the most part still away. This is not beta'd. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments please and reblogs are always appreciated. Enjoy. And you can add yourself to the taglist here.

It’s such a different atmosphere, from what he remembers at least. It’s been so long since he stepped foot on a university campus, and he can’t help but smile at the spectrum of personalities all around him. While some students lounge underneath the trees and on the grass, others ran hastily to their courses. Those were probably freshmen.

As he makes his way through the campus, he has to look at his phone numerous times to figure out where exactly he was going. That’s definitely one thing he didn’t miss about being in school, the fact that he was shit in directions and how he almost always got lost during the beginning of each semester.

When he does finally find the art history department, he silences his phone and heads to the first office he can find.

“Good afternoon, my name is Nicola. How can I help you?”

“Hi Nicola, I’m here to see Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I was wondering if you could direct me to her office please?” Marcus smiles as he unbuttons his suit jacket, not realizing that his FBI tag was now visible to the world.

“She’s currently in one of her lectures, you could-” Marcus follows Nicola’s line of sight when she grows quiet and groans when he sees that she noticed his FBI tag.

“Please, she’s not in trouble. I am part of the FBI Art Crime Team, and I’m actually coming to ask if we could get her professional opinion on an artifact. Just need her to consult on something.” He smiles at Nicola and waits for her expression to relax before he continues.

“Do you mind telling me which lecture hall she’s in?”

“Y-yes, she’s in H140. Make a right at the door and it’s the hall all the way at the end.”

“Thank you Nicola, have a good day.” Marcus nods at her before he buttons his jacket again to avoid any suspicious, terrified looks as he makes his way to the lecture hall. He walks quietly, avoiding the students walking past him as they exit the rooms. When he reaches the door, he turns the knob slowly to not make any noise, hoping that he wasn’t being too disruptive once he walks in. As he shuts it behind him and looks around, his eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

There are at least 250, maybe 300 students filling the seats of the room. He awkwardly smiles when some students look to the side and see him standing at the foot of the door. He quickly takes a seat and says nothing as the students return their attention to the large projected screen. Marcus hears what he assumes is your voice through the large speakers but he can’t place your position. As he looks at the projected images, he finally catches you through his peripheral vision as you step off the railing near the exit doors at the front of the room.

“Because of this association with the gods, many amulets used to ward off the evil eye include depictions of mythological figures and deities who are almost, if not always, female. To the Greeks and Romans, the most common fascinations with an evil eye were women in any shape or form. They were thought to have the most powerful and harmful gaze that might kill if eye contact was established. That’s basically me telling you to never look me in the eye or else I will curse the cow of your second cousin twice removed.” Laughter reverberates off the walls at your joke and only grows louder when you whisper, “just kidding...or am I?” Marcus can’t help but smile at your jokes, watching with fascination as you move up and down the stairs of one side of the lecture hall once you continue to speak.

“Now, I know what some of you are thinking...isn’t that a bit sexist? Well, to the ancients, no. And to us, it’s kind of a meh thing. I know that doesn’t sound very feminist of me but it all comes down to the culture and the ancient practices that carried over. Just remember that it wasn’t because they were women, it was because they were thought to be powerful...a glass half-full kinda thing.” Marcus watches you closely as you maintain your focus on the students before you switch the slide and stand in the middle of the stairway with your back towards the projector.

“So, we find goddesses such as Erinnyes or the Furies associated with the evil eye because of their avenging nature. Their heads were covered in serpents and their eyes were always bloodshot and one of the Furies by the name of Megaera was considered in late antiquity as the personification of envy and whose eyes were the most envious and deadly of all the Furies. She was described by poets as baskanon omma pherousa...bearing the evil eye. Naturally, many children in late antiquity constantly wore amulets of stone galactite to protect them from the eyes of Megaera, and sometimes even wore necklaces with her face on it to counteract the evil eye of someone else and have her curse the ones who tried to harm them. Basically, the ancients were playing a game of tag with the evil eye.” You descend the stairs and walk to the other side of the hall, and Marcus feels his chest tighten with how much confidence you exude, not just through your words but with how you carry yourself as well.

“Perhaps the most famous of these dangerous women is Medusa who was one of the Gorgones in Greek mythology. The Gorgones were one of many female beings such as the Harpies, the Erinnyes, the Graiae, and the Keres, who were said to be grim-faced, and who held horrible looks. Briefly, the story tells of how she was one of the most beautiful women to ever walk the earth and later became hateful-looking by Athena as punishment for being raped by Poseidon in the middle of the huntress’ temple. Her hair became serpents and she was so furious that anyone who would look at her would turn into stone...at least that is the version you will hear from the “all-knowing” male scholars within this field. But, and I know I’m going on a rant here, if you’re like me, you’re more likely to argue that Athena pretended to hate Medusa. The serpents were no punishment! The goddess looked at the poor woman and gave her a weapon to use against men because unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything to avenge her...not only because she didn’t get along with Poseidon but also because he was a god as well. Anyway, back to Medusa’s amazing power which I would love to have so I could use it whenever I’m talking to some professors in this department...don’t quote me on that.” Again, Marcus chuckles at your side commentary and notices how calm and enjoyable the atmosphere of the lecture is. If only he had professors like you when he was in university.

“Even after she was decapitated by Perseus, her powers were very much alive and it is said that Athena placed Medusa’s image on her shield, once Perseus returned it, in order to use it when she hunted. This suggests that depictions of her severed head held apotropaic power and like earlier, one could use a creature who held the power of the evil eye against another being who is said to use the evil eye. Following this principle of similia similibus, it is not surprising that most of the amulets found in Greece and Rome contained illustrations of Medusa’s decapitated head on them. What was once the possessor of the evil eye became a protective symbol against the very same thing.” Just as you are about to continue with the next image, an alarm goes off and Marcus frowns in shock at how inconsiderate it was that phones weren’t silenced. But his surprise only heightens when he sees you running down the steps to your desk and picking up the phone sitting in the middle of the table.

“Ahhhh man, we were just about to get to the cavalier. That’s okay. Remember, the second response is due first thing on Friday. If you can’t turn it in during class, shoot me an email and we can work something out with my TAs. Go forth my clever spawns!” Marcus stands up and glues himself to the wall when he sees students emptying the lecture hall, his eyes on your form at the front of the class. He hopes you don’t leave out of the front exit and begins to make his way to you through the multitude of undergrads leaving. When he reaches your desk, he stands to the side until you finish chatting with one of the students and begins to collect your work.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

“Please, it’s just Y/N. Who are you and how can I help you today?” You almost do a double take when you look up from your bag and see the man standing in front of you. To say that you were starstruck by the man in front of you would have been the understatement of the century.

“I’m Special Agent Marcus Pike,” he holds out his FBI tag for you and watches as you raise an eyebrow at him before you swing your bag across your shoulders and motion for him to follow you out of the hall.

“I would like to put it on record that I do not, in fact, wish to turn any of my colleagues to stone.” You joke, and Marcus senses that you are perhaps nervous at seeing his tag.

“Believe me, I would like to do that to some of mine as well...but no, not why I’m here.” Marcus clips the tag below his jacket as he walks with you.

“May I ask what I have done that caught the FBI’s attention?” You walk ahead of him, and ask him if it was okay for him to head over to your office with you.

“I’m with the FBI Art Crime Team and I’m here on a request. We would like to consult you on an open investigation and I came here to ask what your availability is.” Marcus follows you up the stairs, barely forcing his eyes to remain on your feet instead of elsewhere.

“Oh, me? That’s...wow. Of all the things I thought I would accomplish in my life, that’s definitely not one of them. May I ask what it is you need my opinion on?” You push open the doorway of the staircase and point at your office across the quiet hall.

“Unfortunately, there is a lot of paperwork you need to fill out before we get to work so I can’t disclose anything about the case until you sign in.” Marcus steps into the office behind you and watches as you set your things down before you move to your desk. He can’t help but feel his muscles loosen at the sight of the bookshelves across your room.

“This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to me all year long so yes, hundred percent. I’m available for the rest of the day today as well as tomorrow and Friday after lecture which ends at the same time as today’s.” You beam up at him as you take two books out of your bag and replace them with a folder that was sitting in the middle of your desk. Marcus looks at you quizzically, marveling at how much easier this was going. He genuinely thought he was going to meet with someone who was probably a bit proud and perhaps as much of an asshole as his previous professors but you were so much different than anyone he’s ever met within this field.

“Are you sure? I understand if you need to take a week or two-”

“No please, you’ll be saving me from faculty lunches and two seminars by colleagues that I genuinely cannot fucking stand- oh, sorry. Sorry, didn’t mean to-” You swing your leather bag around your shoulder again and shut the blinds of the windows before you walk to the door.

“Please, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” Marcus chuckles at the excitement rolling off of you and bites his lower lip when he watches you quickly fix your hair.

“I might need to have lunch on the way to your office though if that’s okay?” You take a plastic container out of your bag and smile sheepishly at him as you lock your door.

“Wow...is your bag bigger on the inside or something? And, yeah fine by me.” He pushes his hands into his pockets again and walks next to you, a little corner in his heart gradually filling with hope letting him know that he should be cautious. He didn’t want a repeat of last time.

You both chat briefly on your way to headquarters and Marcus apologizes every time he looks over and sees you struggling with your food. By the time you make it to the building, Marcus can tell you are a bit nervous and he assures you once more that this was merely a consultation.

“Wait how did you even find me?” You take your jacket off along with everything in your pockets, laying them down near your bag as they go through the scanner. Marcus passes through with his badge and waits for you on the other side, picking up your things as you put your jacket back on.

“I made some calls and a friend suggested to get in touch with you because of your expertise.”

“Oh now we’re getting somewhere. You have a Greek artifact don’t you?” Marcus halts in his steps and looks over to you as he shuts his eyes in irritation. He should have watched what he said.

“S-sorry I couldn’t help it. I’ll stop until I fill out whatever paperwork you have for me.” You take your things from him and walk quietly as he leads you to the elevators.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s not personal, it’s just-”

“Business I know. I know. I’m so used to watching this kind of stuff in movies that I tend to forget it’s all fake and you’re...the real deal.” You hope he doesn’t see the way your eyes trail over his taller form, silently cursing yourself when you meet his eyes and notice how he’s already staring at you with a smile.

“Sorry.” You apologize again and look straight ahead, hands tightening around the leather strap when you realize that he’s still looking at you.

Marcus fists the hands in his pockets to prevent himself from saying anything else that might make you uncomfortable, and he looks at the increasing numbers as they reach his floor. A loud ring signals your arrival and Marcus stretches out his hand so you could walk ahead of him. You wait until he tells you where to go and say nothing when he stops for a second and whispers something to another agent.

When you arrive at his office, you stand to the side and wait for him to tell you what to do.

“What’re you doing all the way over there? Come here.” Marcus calls you over to his desk and smiles, hoping to put you a little at ease. You step towards him and set your stuff on the floor as you sit opposite him on one of the two chairs. He pulls out a couple of files and sets them in front of you in four different piles.

“That’s a lot of paperwork.” You chuckle nervously as you take out a pen from your bag.

“I know, I’m sorry. But that’s why I’m here. These are the building rules and your signature is basically you telling us you’ll abide by all of them.”

“I don’t know any of them.” You respond immediately, and rub harshly at the pen between your fingers.

“I’ll be with you at all times so you don’t have to worry about that.” His smile throws you off guard and you nod before you sign the highlighted areas.

“And these are you swearing that you will tell no one of whatever you see, hear, do, etc. within the building.” You nod and sign through the stapled paperwork before sliding them his way.

“We’re almost done. These two are like the second pile but they have to do with this case specifically. And they extend to outside the premises, meaning that if I or another agent on the case tells you anything that has to do with your work here today while we’re grabbing coffee from across the street, you can’t say it to a living soul.” Marcus points at the four highlighted boxes and tells you to sign the date next to them as well.

“So I can say it to my dead cousin?” You ask as you sign the two papers and hand them to him, unable to hold your laughter when he shakes his head as he pushes the last pile towards you.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

“Can’t help it.”

“And finally, these are you swearing that whatever you tell us today, be it an opinion, a fact, or anything else, is the absolute truth. Basically, you’re not fucking with us.” You raise an eyebrow at his choice in words and he shrugs his shoulders as he motions for the empty spaces again. When you’re done, Marcus collects all the files and places them in a folder before he unlocks his desk and pushes them inside.

“I don’t ever want to see my signature again.” You whisper as he leads you out of the office towards a conference room. He holds the door for you and nods ahead, waiting for you to step in before he shuts the door behind him and turns around. You try to ignore the hand pushing on your lower back as you walk in and spot three gentlemen and one woman standing towards the end of the long table.

“Wow, that was quick.” The female agent is first to speak and you say nothing as Marcus introduces you to them.

“Thank you for coming on such a short notice.”

“Of course. This is very exciting for me so I’m happy to help in any way.” You shake her hand and stand to the side as Marcus motions for you to sit down.

“This is Lydia, Ethan, Henry, and Noah.” Marcus points to each member of his team as he pulls out a chair next to you and sits down.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You nod towards them and look at the folder that Lydia hands to you. Marcus says something as you flip open the folder but you can’t respond, eyes almost falling out of their sockets as you take in the large image on the page. You look up at Marcus and everyone else before you return your attention to the picture.

“You recognize what this is then?” Ethan breaks the silence and watches as you move through the pages quickly.

“Umm, that seems like an oversimplification but yes.” You continue to study the images in front of you for another few minutes before you set them down and look up at Marcus.

“Some explanation would really help me out right now.” You tap softly on the papers, and your mind conjures up the wildest possible stories behind the images currently displayed in front of you.

“Oh right yes. We received a tip from the Smithsonian’s acquisitions department about a man trying to sell them this artifact for three million dollars,” Marcus notices your eyes widen but he continues, “but they’re not sure if it’s stolen or not. And he refuses to cooperate.”

“Which is where you come in. Have you seen anything like this before and if so, where?” Lydia stares at you as you return your attention to the pictures again.

“And the Smithsonian can’t confirm this?”

“Far from it. Marcus here is just afraid they’ll eventually get greedy and do anything to get their hands on it.” You look next to you and watch a faint blush take over the agent’s handsome features.

“I mean I don’t blame you. There are a bunch of real assholes in this field.” You laugh when he gives Lydia a ‘told you’ look.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to help you if I don’t see the actual pendant.” You shut the folder and push it away from you.

“That might be a problem.” Henry takes his glasses off and proceeds to clean them as he looks at his co-workers.

“Why? Do you not have it anymore?” Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of the FBI losing such an object.

“Oh no we have it. Our guy is afraid we’ll switch it out with a fake so he refuses to hand it to us unless he’s in the same room.”

“That’s funny. Is there a rule that says I can’t look at it while this man is in the room?” You ask Marcus and he can’t help but notice how giddy you’re being all of a sudden. Your excitement is almost palpable and he wills himself to focus on the question and not how you bite your lower lip as you wait for him.

“I mean…”

“You’re all going to be in the room aren’t you?” You cut him off before he says anything and when they all nod, you turn to Marcus once more and wait for his response.

“I guess it’s fine.” Marcus reluctantly answers before he asks Ethan and Noah to bring the man from the interrogation room he’s been in for the past couple of hours. Lydia and Henry let you in on more details and Marcus watches as you furrow your eyebrows in focus, occasionally cutting them off to ask them a question.

Fifteen minutes later and a knock on the door breaks you out of your haze. You look up just as Ethan and Noah walk in with a man in front of them. You say nothing as they bring him to your side of the room and set him down across from you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t steal it. I found it!” Your ears perk at his comment but you say nothing as he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at you.

“May I see it?” You ask before anyone else says anything and the man continues to stare at you before he ignores your question.

“Please, I’m just here to confirm your story. I know for a fact there isn’t a museum out there that has this.” You notice the hardened expression on Henry’s face but he says nothing. A few long moments pass by and the man shifts to take something out of the inside his jacket. You inhale deeply and watch as he unwraps the cloth before he places the small pendant on the table in front of you.

“May I?” You ask again and if Marcus didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just trying to put the man at ease. If you were nervous around five FBI agents and you did nothing wrong, then his little thief must have been scared shitless.

When the man nods, you bring out a pair of gloves from your handbag and put them on, forcing yourself to remain calm as you pick up the pendant.

“What a beautiful work of art you are baby. Red jasper, my favorite!” Your excited words break the silence and you look up at the man in front of you with a smile, feeling your hands sweat when he slowly returns the expression.

Got you.

“Greek is marvelous...crystal clear, grammatically correct, unique placement.” It’s as silent as a cemetery and Marcus watches you closely as you narrow your eyes and adjust the stone under the light. If he wasn’t dealing with a criminal and a potentially stolen artifact, he would have told you how beautiful you looked when you were deep in the middle of a task.

“Hmm, what is this 6th century-ish spell? Oh my bad, no no no, I tend to mix them up sometimes. It’s definitely a 7th century formula.” You make an awkward face and watch as Lydia shakes her head at your little mix up.

“Now, let’s see what you got on the other side sweetheart.” You carefully turn the amulet around in the palm of your hand and barely hold back from gasping dramatically.

“My god...what a goddamn sight...oh oops sorry, that was probably blasphemous. A perfectly etched crucifixion...cross with 4 sides, with a plaque at the top...and of course, can’t forget the clothed Christ. The detail on this is truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen, down to the ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare’ around the figure. Where did you say you found it again?” You casually ask as you continue to inspect the stone, almost laughing when the man responds immediately to your question.

“Mount Athos.” Marcus turns to his team in shock. You’d managed to get the information out of him so easily while they spent an entire day trying to get him to say anything. It was a little funny how at ease the man seemed now, leaning forward towards you as you flipped the stone around.

“Ohh the hub of Eastern monasteries. Boy is this the most valuable artifact I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking at then.” You set it down on the cloth and wrap it up before taking your gloves off and leaning back on the chair.

“See, told you its one of a kind. No one’s ever found anything like it before.” The man beams at you before he takes the object and puts it back in his jacket.

“Oh yeah it’s one of a kind alright...because it’s the most fake amulet I’ve ever had the misfortune of examining. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been this disappointed in my life. And here I thought another one of these was out there. Did you even bother to do any research on this?” You frown at him and cross your arms in irritation, completely missing Marcus’ reaction and how he turns to Lydia to confirm that yes, you just said that it was a fake artifact.

“W-what?”

“I’d love to know where you got the red jasper because you could have fooled me with that. Let’s break this down shall we? The Greek is perfect, too perfect if I’m being honest. You never have grammatically correct syntax etched on a magical amulet, let alone proper diction. Oh and you should have probably used Classical Greek instead of modern Greek, like were you even trying? Really bad move to use a 7th century formula with a non-altered 6th century spell. The formula didn’t even exist yet!” You tilt your head to the side and watch as the man in front of you begins to fidget. His smile is replaced with a shocked expression and you watch as it slowly becomes angry.

Marcus was speechless. He never saw this coming and was looking at you with a mixture of awe and surprise at the turn of events. He could only stare at you as he took in your energy, the same confidence and intelligence he saw earlier in the day when he walked into your lecture.

“As for the back, you never get 4-sided crosses with these, only three, and the head of Christ makes up the fourth which you don’t actually see because of his head. No plaque, too detailed and non-existent in protection spells. Christ is always nude on magical amulets by the way...yes it’s weird, but it’s a fucking amulet and he was just some extra deity. And finally, never, ever, write out ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare.’ You write the acronym IXOYE.” You flip open the folder that was in front of you and grab a sharpie from Marcus’ file, circling the first letter of each Greek word and holding it up as if he was one of your students and you were trying to lecture him.

“Don’t even get me started on your provenance. Mount Athos? I mean for fuck’s sake, Constanza would have been a better option. At least we actually found amulets out there. How much was he asking for this?” You turn to Marcus and completely miss the starstruck eyes he’s giving you. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he finally realizes that you asked him a question.

“Uhhh 3 mil.”

“Oh boy...yeah, this is worth jack shit. Wouldn’t even do it’s intended job if you actually wore it as a protection pendant.” You watch as the man’s expression changes from anger to outrage and you barely have any time to push away your chair and hide behind Marcus before the man tries to jump on top of the table towards you. It takes Ethan and Noah approximately five seconds to tackle him down before they take him out of the room. You watch as they reach for the amulet in his pocket and give it to Henry just as they push him out.

You’re still coming down from the adrenaline rush when Marcus turns around and asks you if you are alright. As soon as you see the gun in his hands, your hold on his jacket tightens and you gulp nervously when you meet his eyes. He apologizes quickly once he sees where you’re looking and quickly puts the gun back in its holster.

“You okay?” Marcus holds your wrist and rubs his thumb over your pulse point until you begin to relax. You fix your jacket and take a deep breath before you meet his eyes, almost gasping when you see how dark and oddly calming they are.

“Didn’t think a consultation would get this exciting but uhh, yeah I’m good. I think.” You try to laugh it off but looking at the object in Henry’s hand makes you realize that the last five minutes did really happen and you actually managed to piss off someone to the point where he tried to attack you.

“And we were worried it was stolen…” Lydia shakes her head when she takes the amulet and swirls it around in her hand.

“I might be wrong but I think you should try to find out who made it, especially because of the red jasper. This came real close to a fake. And you should also try to date it as well...there might be more of these out there.” You smile when Lydia agrees and collects the folders on the table, thanking you on her way out.

“My pleasure...apart from that last bit.” You laugh it off and watch as she exits the conference room with Henry.

“So…” You turn to Marcus and whisper a quick thank you when he hands you your bag.

“So, this definitely wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to consult on this case. I- I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that this happened. It’s not always like this, I promise. The exciting stuff usually happens when we find guys like him in abandoned warehouses.” Marcus continues to word vomit as he leads you back to his office.

“It’s okay really. My advisor always warned me about this.”

“About working with the FBI?”

“No no, about rambling so much that I piss off someone to the point where they try to kill me.” You’re taken aback by Marcus’ laugh and can’t help but giggle along with him as he leans back in his chair and continues to laugh.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you won’t work with us again?” There’s something in his voice that doesn’t ease the butterflies in your stomach and you place your hand on your chest dramatically as you bat your eyes at him.

“Why Agent Pike, are you trying to recruit me to the FBI?” You ask sarcastically and watch as he shrugs his shoulders before shutting off his computer and standing up.

“Just a consult here and there, should we meet another Greco-Roman artifact? Or...a fake one I guess.” You swallow the lump in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you and hope that you’re not misreading any signs.

“Can I take you out to dinner? As a thank you and an apology for putting your life in danger?” Marcus is reluctant to ask but he takes the leap of faith and hopes that you wouldn’t reject him.

“I- actually...in all honesty, I don’t think I’ll do well in public after that whole thing.” You gesture towards the outside offices, and Marcus nods in disappointment and contemplates on whether he should ask you to dinner some other time. You never give him a chance to follow-up though.

“How about take-out at my place?” You stand up and smile when you see his eyes beam with excitement as he fixes his tie and motions towards the door.

“Lead the way doctor.” You flush under the title and walk ahead so he doesn’t notice the obvious effect he’s having on you. You glance at Marcus every now and then as you make your way out of the building and towards his car.

You chat about random things as he drives through the busy streets, and you feel your heart skip a beat when he says something scandalous about your favorite Impressionist artwork, not because of the comment but because of the way he winks at you as he slides his hand to your thighs and nudges them to let you know he was just joking. You hope that Marcus asks for your number by the end of the night, maybe even invite you to dinner again, because if you’re being honest, it’s been a while since you met a decent guy and he’s been checking all of your boxes all day long.

Kind. Intelligent. Hard-working. Funny. And of course, attractive. There was something about the way he smiles and you kept on replaying the moment he hid you behind him and continued to ask if you were alright.

“What do you mean you don’t like Bal du moulin de la Galette? It’s one of the most magnificent paintings out there. Best of Renoir’s if you ask me.” You unlock the door and switch on the lights, throwing your coat and bag on the wall before telling Marcus to make himself at him. He takes his jacket off and hangs it as well, turning around to continue his argument.

“Listen, I’m just not a crowd kind of guy. I’m more of a Paris Street, Rainy Day man okay so-”

“Why am I not surprised by that?” You laugh as you bring him a cup of water, hoping you were being subtle as you continued to check out the gun resting in his holster. Shaking your head, you take your phone out again and tell him that it’ll take you a few minutes to order pizza since neither of you can make up your mind.

Marcus looks around when you walk away to place the order, his eyes taking in the three bookshelves behind your couch. It’s almost as if the office space wasn’t enough so you had to make more room for all of your textbooks and novels. Maybe it was the other way around…

He takes a sip of water and glances to the side, instantly choking on the liquid when his eyes zero in on the three watercolor paintings hanging above your television. Marcus blinks rapidly and rubs his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. He approaches the wall and looks between the three artworks, unable to tear his gaze away. He notices new details every time he focuses on a different corner of each painting, and his pants suddenly feel uncomfortable when he shifts closer.

“Pizza will be here in thirty-ish minutes and-” You almost drop the phone when Marcus jumps back and almost trips over his own feet. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” When you walk closer and see the blush creeping down his neck, you can’t help but giggle and glance at your paintings, almost as if you were taunting him into commenting on your choice in decoration.

“These are...interesting.” Marcus avoids looking at them when you stand next to him, merely pointing to the side as he looks at you.

“Oh no...here we go. I know what that means. You don’t like them?” You tilt your head to the side and hold back from smiling when he takes a long sip of water before he sets down the glass.

“N-no no, that’s not...I didn’t mean- I just...it’s a bold choice.” His stutter makes you laugh even harder and you apologize when his blush deepens. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s always really funny when people come over because I get all kinds of reactions but you’re definitely the first guy that doesn’t call me a slut because I have pornographic paintings hanging in my living room.”

“Why not? The Dutch lords and the Italian merchants did it, why can’t you?” Marcus is almost offended by the remark and he forgets all about the awkwardness of the paintings when he sees you nod aggressively in agreement.

“Exactly!? Why is a guy allowed to hang an Odalisque in his home but I can’t hang some BDSM scenes?” You take the glass from the table and ask him if he wants more. Marcus shakes his head and quickly attempts to fix himself through his pants before you return.

“So you like them then?” You lounge on one chair and wait for Marcus to sit on the couch before you ask him.

“It’s a different aesthetic I think, and it somehow goes well with your bookshelves. Something about textbooks and nude paintings depicting sex just goes together...can’t explain how. And kudos to the artist too! The brushstrokes, the layering, the complementary colors...the scenes and positions are so natural. They’re perfect combinations. Did you pick them or did you commission them?”

“Oh I commissioned two of them. The third was just too good to not order. I’ll ask you this then, which ones do you think I commissioned?” Marcus glances to the canvases again and grows quiet for a few moments, his eyes switching from one painting to another before he meets your gaze.

“I think you commissioned the two on the left.”

“Why?” You try to hide how impressed you are by how he correctly figured you out, almost cringing when the question leaves your mouth before you could stop yourself. As much as you enjoy where this conversation was going, you really hope this wouldn’t lead to some misogynistic response on his part. Just as Marcus is about to respond, the doorbell rings and you tell him you’ll be right back.

Marcus thanks the heavens that the pizza arrives because he isn’t sure how he could respond to that question without accidentally giving his train of thoughts away. When you come back with plates and napkins, Marcus thanks you and proceeds to separate the pizza slices.

“It was the closest I could get to owning something that resembled the area I study.” You say through chewing and Marcus furrows his eyebrows, silently asking you to elaborate on your comment.

“Nudity I mean. I can’t afford sculptures so I settled with these.”

“They are beautiful. And the positions are-” Marcus stops abruptly when he realizes that his inner monologue just rolled off of his tongue.

“Go on, what were you going to say?”

“I- uh, I just think that the positions are intimate. And they become more intimate the longer you look at them.” He chews faster when you nod and take another slice of pizza.

“You have a favorite?” You ask and pretend you aren’t paying attention to every single word he says. You get the sense that he has a lot to say about the paintings but is choosing to hold back so you don’t get the wrong idea about why he is having dinner with you in your apartment after only knowing you for a few hours.

“Definitely the middle one.” His answer surprises you, especially because the one on the right has handcuffs and you genuinely thought he’d be into that because of his line of work.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh...I- this might sound weird but I think the scene is intense and- and close? Private? I’m not sure what it is I’m trying to say but the fact that she’s completely nude except for the panties around her thighs while he’s fully clothed and is focusing on her pleasure is- it’s intimate. And the hand on her back is a mixture of dominance and care, like he’s letting her know that she has his undivided attention but she has to behave for him.” You’re not sure when exactly you stopped eating and you clear your throat when you realize that Marcus was looking at you to gauge your reaction.

“Y-yeah that...ahuh.” Something about the way he says the word ‘behave’ twists your insides and you immediately stand up and head to the kitchen, whispering something about needing to wash down the food with something. Marcus eats quietly and hopes he hasn’t just made things even more awkward. When you come back and hand him a glass of red wine, Marcus relaxes and continues to eat.

“Have you ever drawn something like this?” You shake your head as you take a sip of the wine, laying against the back of the couch and crossing your legs.

“I wish. Human anatomy is so fascinating I think. I sometimes get this adrenaline rush when I look at the far right one and I tell myself that I’ll sketch all the risque and open positions I can think of but then I remember how long it would take me to finish one piece and I- I don’t have time for that sadly.”

“You can always start out with simpler ones? Maybe solo pieces, and move up from there.” Marcus mirrors you and sits back with the wine glass in his hand.

“Yeah, but I just love this kind of genre so much. It needs to be passionate, and sexy and out there you know.” Marcus smiles at the energetic response, feeling much more relaxed now that he’s had a cup of wine and found chatting about your choice in decoration less awkward.

“I get you. It’s why that lifestyle is interesting to so many people. The whole dynamic, whether we’re talking about the figures in the scene or actual partners, is based on that trust. You- you have to create that sense of trust and comfort for the scene to be enjoyable...pleasurable. It’s not as easy as some think it to be. As a Dom, you have to be aware of your partner at all times and the effect you have on them. And the same goes for a Sub too. You need to ensure that your Dom knows how much trust you put in them and the level of dedication that’s going into the scene. Both parties are depending on each other and it’s- it’s amazing.” Marcus smiles when he notices the intensity swimming in your eyes and he gives you a few seconds to collect your bearings before he asks his next question.

“Would you draw something as intimate as that?” He breaks the silence and watches your train of thought come and go.

“Would you?” You throw the question right back at him, holding in a breath when you see him lean forward with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I would...but only if I have the right model.” Marcus doesn’t know where all of this is coming from but he can’t find it in himself to break whatever bubble the two of you found yourselves in. You’re silent for a few moments, long enough for Marcus to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s crossed the line.

But then you’re smiling at him mischievously, chugging down the rest of the wine before standing up and heading towards the hallway.

“I have an easel and some 16x20 papers lying around...I hope you don’t mind working with chalk.” You throw back at him before you walk down the hallway and Marcus has to give himself a quick pep talk before he follows you. He slowly makes his way into your bedroom and stands at the doorstep until you allow him to come in.

“I think the lighting is best in this corner but you’ll be the one working so sit wherever you prefer.” You bring over a chair and set it in front of the easel before you grab the large box of supplies and pull out all the chalk sticks that you have. Marcus nods in silence as he pushes the easel closer to your bed and begins to choose which of the chalk sticks he wants. There is a variety of shapes and sizes, and he’s not sure if he should start out bold or if he should ease himself into this. It’s been a while since he’s drawn a model and he really doesn’t want to screw up, especially because it is you.

Marcus is so busy preparing his workstation that he doesn’t notice you stripping off your clothes. You keep your eyes on him and find the little scrunch he does with his eyebrows when he focuses on something endearing. Taking a deep breath, you take off your bra and panties before laying on the bed and getting in a comfortable position. Your movements are minimal, and you stretch out your legs in wait for him. You fight the part of you that’s yelling at you to cover yourself and keep your focus on him to gauge his reaction.

“Pose however you want and we can work on the postures once we-” The words die in his throat as soon as he looks up from the easel and sees your state of dress, or lack thereof. The thick chalk stick he’s holding between his fingers snaps in half and breaks the blanket of silence that fell on the room. He visibly gulps and doesn’t try to hide the way his eyes trail down your form slowly before they return to look into your dilated ones. Marcus knows for a fact that the image of your heaving chest and hardened nipples will forever be etched in his mind.

“I- uhh, are you...c-comfortable?” He hates how much he’s stuttering and you smile at him when you notice how he is focusing on the wall behind you and not you.

You look around for a few moments, grabbing a couple of pillows and placing them behind your back before you stretch out one leg and bend the other one to your chest. Marcus almost chokes on his breath when he sees how open you are being with him but he says nothing and turns his attention to the blank piece of paper underneath his hand.

“I’m ready.” Your voice brings him out of his stupor and he nods briefly as he tries to reason with himself. He cannot draw you unless he looks at you. But he is well aware of the hardening predicament he’s currently suffering from and he’s sure you probably noticed by now the effect you were having on him.

“I won’t tell you how to do your job Agent, but artists usually have to look at the models they’re drawing to...you know, draw them.” Marcus rolls his eyes at the teasing remark, briefly glancing at you with a raised eyebrow before he begins to softly outline the shape of your shoulders. His cock twitches in his pants and he tries his hardest to not squirm too much in his seat. But every time his eyes move towards your nude form laying not five feet away from him, he silently curses himself and pretends he’s fine and that he isn’t imagining pushing you down and shoving his tongue deep into your wet cunt.

“Are you usually this quiet when you’re sketching, Agent Pike?” Something about the way you’re addressing him makes him clench his jaw tightly and he unintentionally whispers a little louder than he intends in response.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Your giggles let him know that you heard his remark and he is sure his face is growing a deeper shade of red but he shrugs his shoulders and ignores your obvious amusement. Marcus swallows the lump in his throat as he shifts his focus below your neck, parting his lips when he notices the tilt of your head from his peripheral vision as he ceases all movement and continues to stare at your chest.

“Oh sorry, is my arm in the way,” you lower your arms and move them behind you to support your weight, never breaking eye contact with him as you rock your bent leg back and forth and give him a full view of your most intimate parts.

Marcus is almost shaking in his seat at the sight of your breasts, unaware that he’s harshly rubbing the chalk stick with his thumb the more your leg sways to the side and reveals the outer folds of your pussy.

“P-perfect, thank you.” He whispers and returns to the sheet in front of him, biting into his lower lip as he rolls the chalk across and sketches the curves of your breasts. For a moment, he forgets what he is doing and narrows his eyes at the shapes in front of him before he smudges the black material across to shade in the skin. He looks back and forth for a couple of minutes until he’s happy with the shading of your body.

You marvel at how he’s managing to keep it together for this long when all you can think about is begging for him to fuck you into the mattress. You thought it would be easy for him to break but ever the gentleman, he takes the task seriously and tries his hardest to not dwell on your skin for longer than necessary.

A thought comes through your mind and you smile to yourself as you shift your bent leg to the side and move the other one until it falls from the side of the bed. You stare at him and hope this is what finally does the trick. And you don’t have to wait for too long because the next time Marcus looks at you, he takes a double-take and doesn’t bother to hide how he’s only focusing on the skin between your thighs.

“I thought it would be easier for you, you know. Easier access and everything.” You’re not sure what you’re going on about but you can tell that it’s taking every ounce of control in his body to not pounce on you. You hold your breath when Marcus stands up and meets your eyes, and you think this is it. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

But then he’s freeing the paper from the easel and moving towards you, his expression never once giving his plan away. You gulp when he kneels at the foot of your bed and sets the paper between your thighs.

“You’re right, easier access,” Marcus says as he brings the chalk down on the paper and sketches your thighs, not bothering for propriety as his eyes zero in on your slit. You know you’re wet and you can feel slick easing down your folds but you don’t move a muscle, watching him as he expertly outlines your skin before he rubs the chalk with his thumb to shade the area again.

“It’s not quite how I want it…” His remark makes you shiver and you’re about to beg him to forgo the sketch when he leans forward and nudges your legs apart, perhaps a little carelessly, before he collects your arousal with his middle finger and swipes it across your folds. You’re shocked by the turn of events and barely hold back from moaning as he dips the clean finger into your pussy and rubs your walls for a few more seconds, his soft brown eyes turning dangerous as pushes his finger a little deeper and bites his lower lip when he feels you clenching around him. Marcus turns his attention back to you, his jaw tensing when he sees sheer bliss etched on your expression. Your little gasps are music to his ears and just as he feels your hips moving against him, he pulls his hand away.

You watch him like a hawk as he inspects his finger, gasping when he smudges at the chalk on the sketch to create darker shades around your center.

“Hmm, that’s more like it.” Marcus turns to you and smirks when he sees your parted lips turn into a frown.

“Do you not like it?” He feigns ignorance and raises an eyebrow when your frown deepens as you move back into your pillows. You lean back but continue to hold his gaze as you part your thighs and lazily stroke your cunt. Marcus slowly puts down the paper and chalk onto the floor and stands up just as you begin to pinch your nipples.

“Please…” Your whispered plea shoots straight to his cock and he laughs when it turns into a whine once he makes his way to the bathroom in your room. He says nothing as he quickly washes his hands and dries them before moving back and standing next to your bed.

You don’t stop touching yourself, hoping the needy sight of you is all the push he needs to take what he wants.

“What’s your safeword doctor?” Marcus keeps his hands in his pockets as he trails his eyes down your shivering body. He’s itching to touch you but he remains still and waits for confirmation that you do, in fact, want this as much as him. A part of him knows that the two of you should probably slow down and perhaps discuss whatever this is before you go any further. But it feels right being here with you. And he doesn’t want to give it up just yet.

“J-Jasper.” Your voice breaks when you see the hunger swimming in his eyes and you shift to the center of your bed as Marcus kicks off his shoes before taking off his socks.

“Hmm.” Marcus hums as he takes off the holster from his belt and quietly places the gun on your nightstand. When he turns back and sees you watching the gun and increasing your movements, he groans down at you before walking around the bed.

“Maybe another time baby...when you and I are a little more acquainted with each other.” You flush at the implications behind his words and nod at him. You watch as he begins to roll up his sleeves and your anticipation grows with each inch of skin he reveals.

“You look so pretty sweetheart, all needy and desperate for my touch. Do you want to cum baby?” Marcus asks teasingly and you nod frantically as you begin to push two fingers into your cunt.

“Nuh uh, use your words. I’ll let it go this time but from now on, you use your words if you want something from me.” His tone is less gentle and your inner walls spasm at the thought of hearing that same commanding voice telling you to get on your knees for him.

“S-sorry yes...yes please. I- I want to cum, please.” Marcus smiles in amusement as he steps closer to the bed until his knees touch the mattress.

“Good girl. Now, if you really want to cum, then you better come here and suck me off. Be a good girl for me and show me what that sweet fucking mouth of yours can do.” His chest puffs out proudly when he sees how quickly you’re moving to please him. You lay on your stomach and palm him through his pants, moaning along with him when you find him hard and ready for you.

“May I undress you?”

“Go on sweetheart, take what you want.” Marcus caresses your cheek as you excitedly unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He doesn’t dare look away as you shove his pants down his thighs before leaning forward and nuzzling your nose into the bulge of his boxer briefs.

“Fuck baby, are you trying to kill me?” You giggle and shake your head in response, purposely rubbing his length with your nose just before you feel his fingers combing through your hair and tugging on it.

“Remember sweetheart...bad girls don’t get to cum. Stop your teasing before I shove my cock down your throat.” Marcus pulls on your hair harshly and groans when he sees you smiling up at him.

“Is that a promise Agent Pike?” You know you’re pushing his buttons and don’t hold back from gasping his name as he rolls you onto your back and aggressively pushes his boxer briefs down far enough to free his cock. He’s not really a vain man but seeing you lick your lips and inch closer to him as you stare at his hard dick makes him just a little cocky.

“Go on baby, open your mouth. Part those pretty fucking lips for me.” Marcus pats your lips softly and shivers when you respond to him right before you shut your eyes and wait for him to give you his cock.

“Yes sir.”

His knees buckle for a second the moment you take his tip into your mouth and suck on it. Marcus is torn between throwing his head back to enjoy the softness of your mouth and keeping his eyes on you as you suck on his cock. He leans forward and bites his cheek when you relax your throat and take more of his cock down your throat.

“P-part your legs for me baby please. Let me- oh fuck, your mouth is made of magic sweetheart. Let me- let me see how wet that pretty cunt is.” Marcus is already breathing heavily and he furrows his eyebrows in focus, not wanting to end this night early. You swallow around him a few times and hum when you feel his hand cupping your breasts while the other rests around your throat.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you try to take him down as deep as possible just as you part your thighs and begin to play with your pussy. Marcus groans and swears above you as you work him expertly and he can’t hold back from pushing the palm of his hand a little harder on your throat. He can feel his cock passing across your pharynx and moans your name over and over again when he looks down and sees drool rolling down your cheeks.

“Ahh fuck oh god, s-sweetheart you’re a fucking dream. W-where have you been all my life?” Marcus continues to kneed at your tits, but when he gets a little irritated when he sees your fingers rubbing your clit. Without warning, he leans forward as far as he can and slaps your hand away, replacing it with his own and biting his cheek when he finds you soaking.

“Shit baby, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” You hum around him and twitch in surprise when you feel two of his thick fingers pushing past your wet folds and into your cunt. You’re already so close to coming from his teasing and you whimper when he nudges your thighs apart aggressively.

“Keep those legs open for me baby. Shit, the smell of you is fucking intoxicating. Fuck, that it’s, get on your hands and knees for me.” Marcus moves away and silences you with one look when you start to whine and reach for his cock.

“Unless you want to call it a night, you’ll get on your fucking hands and knees for me. Shit baby I’ve wanted to shove my tongue in that pussy as soon as you stripped for me.” He never breaks eye contact as he kicks away his pants and briefs before he makes quick work of his shirt. You quickly turn around and bite into your wrist as you get on all fours and try to look at him through your elbow. You reach down and ease two fingers into your cunt as you take in his broad shoulders and lean form. You swear his muscles flex the longer you stare at him and when you finally look at him, you’re a little embarrassed at being caught openly ogling him.

“Look at you, like a bitch in heat.” Regret rolls off of him as soon as he registers what he just said. An apology is on the tip of his tongue but then you’re arching your back and shifting closer to him, giving him a show as you curve your knuckles to try and hit that sweet spot inside of you.

“Oh aren’t you the prettiest sweetheart in the world.” You moan his name when he caresses your back and kneels behind you, laying soft kisses across your back as he palms and lightly smacks your ass. Marcus removes your hand away slowly but not before licking your fingers and humming around them as the taste of you fills his mouth.

“Marcus please...I- I need you inside me.”

“What do you need from me? You want my tongue and fingers? Or do you think this cunt is ready to take my cock?” Marcus nips at your skin and pushes a hand on your lower back when you try and move away from him.

“W-whatever you want...just- need to feel you inside me. I don’t care, please. Oh fuck...please.” You squeal when Marcus spreads your cheeks apart and spits on your slit right before licking across your cunt. You fist your hands into the sheets and bite down on your wrist when you feel his nose nudge at your entrance as his tongue flicks your engorged clit.

“Good answer sweetheart,” you hear him whisper just as he kisses across your folds and dips his tongue into your core. You’re already shaking with need and rock back against him, hoping he’d end your agony and give you his fingers as well. Marcus is losing his mind and he tries his hardest to focus on pleasuring you. But it’s so hard to hold back when you’re whimpering at his touch and shoving your pussy in his face to get more friction.

“Stop moving,” Marcus growls against you, and you cry out his name when his palms land on your ass cheeks three consecutive times before he rubs the reddening skin.

“Oh god, your tongue feels so good Marcus. D-don’t stop, please. I want to cum, l-let me cum. You’re so fucking- ahh s-shit.” You think you feel him smile against you as he pushes two fingers into your pussy but you can’t be sure because you suddenly feel full. Fuck, and it’s only his fingers.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” He slowly parts you with his fingers and groans when he feels you squeezing his fingers. When you try to move against him again, Marcus slithers his hand across your back and grabs your neck, pushing your face into the bed as he leans over to whisper in your ears.

“You’re being such a bad girl tonight. I won’t give you another warning baby. Move again and I won’t fuck you.” You shiver when you hear his hoarse voice on your ears, grasping the pillows as hard as you can when he pushes his fingers as deep as possible and curls his knuckles.

“N-no please...I’m s-sorry- ahh gahd I’ll stop. I’ll stop.” Marcus is pleased with the effect he’s clearly having on you and almost gives in. But he wants you to cum before he takes you. From the looks of it, you aren’t looking for anything gentle, and with how hard he is, has been for the entire day, he doesn’t have the self-control to be anything but rough.

“Good girl...sweet fucking girl.” You force yourself to remain immobile as you feel him reaching deeper and applying more pressure on your spongy walls. The hand on your neck moves to your back and massages your heated skin. It takes you a while to realize that he’s reenacting the paintings in your living room and the thought shakes you to your core. Before you can even warn him, you feel a familiar pressure growing in the depths of your stomach and your heart hammers in your chest as you lose yourself to the sudden swelling sensation. You gasp his name over and over again as you cum around his fingers, and Marcus fists his hand in your hair when he feels you shuddering beneath him.

He’s shocked at how quickly you unravel at his ministrations and he doesn’t look away as he brushes his thumb against your clit and watches your body fight to not move away from him.

“M-Marcus wait- I...too much.” You can barely form a coherent sentence, let alone a thought, and you bite into the sheets when you feel his scruff scratch your skin deliciously as he licks off your juices.

“Use your safeword sweetheart and I’ll stop. But you came without asking so now I have to punish you...fuck, you taste as good as you smell baby, shit, maybe even better.” Marcus slows down but continues to move his digits across your tightening walls and when you say nothing, he sits up and twists his hand, waiting for your breathing to slow down before he begins to fuck you with his fingers.

“Oh oh f-fuck I- Marcus M-Marcus oh god...yes please fuck ahh I- I’m…” You try to warn him but he doesn’t slow down once, continuing his assault on your abused cunt until he feels you tightening around him again.

“Beg!”

“Can I- oh god, can I cum? Please fuck, I- I can’t s-stah ahh fuck.” You reach around and dig your nails into the hand fisting in your hair. You try to warn him again of what’s about to happen but he doesn’t give you a chance, picking up the pace just as he curves his digits and rubs at your sensitive spot.

“Drench me baby.” It’s all you need to fall over the edge again and your vision whites out as you convulse around him. Marcus smiles proudly when you listen to his command but his expression changes to one of awe when he feels you gush around his hand and wet his arm and thighs. He doesn’t stop once, completely captivated by the sight of your juices flowing around him so easily. When you try to move up the bed, Marcus lets go of your neck and pushes down on your lower back to keep you still. The damp spot beneath you is growing and something primal takes over Marcus. He wants nothing more than to soak the entire bed.

But he snaps out of his haze when you cry out his name and beg him to slow down. He looks at you as he gradually comes to a halt but keeps his fingers in your pussy. Marcus massages your muscles as he eases his wet fingers out of you and carefully maneuvers you until you’re laying on your back. You hiss at the sudden feeling of emptiness and almost jump away when you feel his tongue passing across the skin of your thighs. When you finally have enough mind to look at him, you’re taken aback by the sheer bliss written on his face as he closes his eyes and cleans you up. Your eyes widen in horror and embarrassment when you look at his glistening skin and you call for him shyly to grab his attention.

“I-I’m so sorry...I- I’ve never-”

“Don’t you dare apologize. That was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen and the fact that I’m the first to make you squirt...best feedback I’ve ever gotten.” Marcus cuts you off as he licks at his forearm and fingers before he sits up behind you. You find his gaze much more intense than before and you hide behind your arm to avoid it.

“Marcus, stop.” He laughs at your sudden shyness and leans over to pull your arms away from your face.

“Please baby, don’t hide from me. Please.” You feel exposed underneath him and it’s a stupid thought considering what the two of you have been doing so far. But something about the way he’s staring at you with those deep, brown, soulful eyes makes you want to hide under the sheets. But instead, you take his hand and pull him close until he’s flush against you.

“K-kiss me.” You watch as his expression intensifies just as he leans forward and molds his lips with yours. You expected him to be rough but the way he parts his lips and allows you access to his mouth leaves you breathless. His scruff and mustache heighten the sensation and you instantly shove your tongue in his mouth when he melts against you. You hum when you finally taste yourself on his tongue and Marcus growls as the kiss grows more desperate. Just as you run out of breath, Marcus pulls away and holds back from smiling when you chase after him.

“Sweetheart, c-can I have you?” You’re amazed by how he’s still asking you if you want to do this even after the events of the past hour or so.

“Yes, please.” You respond as you push him off to resume your previous position again. Marcus feels his cock harden at the sight of you on your knees for him. But the moment shatters into a million pieces when he looks down and realizes that he doesn’t have any condoms.

“Fuck.” He hisses and begins to move away when he feels your hands reach for his thighs to stop him.

“What? What is it?”

“I- I didn’t think this would...I don’t have any condoms baby.” You stare at him for a few seconds before you break the silence and hope he doesn’t think any less of you. “I was tested after the last time and I’m clear. A-are you?” Marcus pins you with his eyes as he nods along. “I’m clean too...and, it’s been a while.” He hates to admit that last bit but he wants you to know that this, whatever it is, is serious.

“Same.” Your answer surprises him and he’s about to ask how that’s possible but forgets the question when you shift closer to him and dig your nails into his thighs to grab his attention.

“Fuck me.” The vulgar request sounds so pure rolling off of your tongue and Marcus pushes your knees wide open and settles between them. You continue to stare at him with hunger in your eyes as he strokes his cock a few times before he slides it across your wet slit. You’re already so sensitive from earlier but you can’t care less because you’ve only wanted to feel him inside you for the better half of the day. Marcus bites his lower lip and grasps your hips with one hand as he positions himself against your entrance and slowly pushes past your wet folds. He feels your walls already clenching around him and he hesitates for a moment as he moves his hands across your back to try and get you to loosen up.

“F-fuck...relax sweetheart. Relax for me please. I- I don’t- oh god, h-how are you this tight?” Your walls flutter around him when his hoarse, almost pained voice sounds through the room. “You’re doing so good baby, taking my cock in that pretty little cunt. Fuck, that’s it. Let me in sweetheart...could make you feel so good. Shit, that’s it.” Marcus cooes above you as he feels you slowly sucking him in. You sigh heavily when he finally sheathes himself completely inside you and it’s not until a few moments later that you realize he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Marcus, m-move. Fuck, just- move.” Your impatient groans make him twitch inside you and the two of you hiss when his hips jut forward at your gasped requests. His hands hold onto you a little harshly, squeezing the skin of your hips and making you giddy at the thought of seeing those bruises the following day.

“Just wait...please baby I- I don’t want to hurt you. You feel so fucking good around me and- and I...oh fuck, f-fuck...squeezing the shit out of me. Please I-”

“Fuck. Me.” You turn your head around enough to look at him and find the sight of his sweaty forehead and furrowed eyebrows intoxicating. He can sense your eyes on him and reluctantly looks down at you when you pronounce those two words, watching as you pierce him with a harsh gaze as you roll your hips against him.

“I- are you…”

“Fucking please...take what you want.” The desperate tone of your voice breaks him and he pulls away until the tip of his cock is nudged in between your folds before he snaps his hips forward aggressively.

You shut your eyes and cry into your pillows as Marcus lets go and pounds into you. He’s no longer trying to hold back and you feel proud of the effect you have on him. Thinking back to the past hour, you realize that Marcus was going out of his way to control himself and not hurt you. But with every brush of his cock against your inner walls, with every groaned swear word and whispered affirmation, you can’t help but beg for him to fuck you harder. To take you like a crazed man. Because now that you’ve had a taste of what he’s capable of, you don’t want him to ease up on you.

“Shit baby, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect. Your cunt is begging for my cock sweetheart. Can you feel how deep I am? How deep this tight pussy is sucking me in?” Marcus nudges your knees a little farther apart as he plunges into you over and over again. You’re a moaning mess beneath him and as you try to reach back to hold onto his hands, Marcus lets go of your hips and grabs your wrists, using them as leverage to fuck you deeper.

You scream his name as his thrusts become relentless, the resonating sound of skin against skin reminding you of how sore you were going to feel for the rest of the week. You can’t really pay attention to what he’s saying anymore, choosing to focus on the way his dick fills you up completely and hits your special spot with precision. The thought of knowing that you’re at this man’s mercy and that he’s using you like he owns you makes you shudder and Marcus doesn’t realize you’re coming around him until he feels a pressure push out of you. He looks down and watches your cunt gushes on his cock and thighs again, the sight somehow even prettier the second time than the first.

He waits until you’re no longer convulsing in his arms before he thrusts his cock back into your pussy. Marcus leans down and wraps his arms around your front to bring you flush against his chest. Marcus brushes your hair aside and nuzzles into your neck as he begins to roll his hips against your ass, trying to drive his cock into you even further without hurting you. You reach around and pull on his hair when he bites on the juncture of your neck.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart.” The confession feels more intimate than anything he’s said to you thus far and you throw your head back and smile when his hands roam your front and settle on your navel.

“Marcus...please.”

“What do you need, baby? I’ll give you anything. Tell me...oh god, I- I’m so close.” Marcus kisses across your shoulder as one hand cups your breasts while the other descends to your clit. He feels you convulse around him but he doesn’t move his hand away, wanting to feel you cum one last time around his cock.

“I- I need you to cum for me...cum inside me. Fill me up baby...wanna feel you so deep inside me. Make a mess of my cunt. Please.”

“C-can you give me another?” He’s breathless, his pace faltering when he feels your walls squeeze around him tightly with every pass of his cock against your heated core.

‘I- I don’t think I can...too much baby.”

“Please, for me. Cum for me o-one last time...oh god, I’m close sweetheart. B-but I wanna cum with you. Please oh fuck- oh god, I- I’m fucking coming.” He growls into the crook of your neck as he rubs at your clit harshly, crying your name like a prayer as he feels you milk him dry. His thrusts are desperate and you pull on his hair harder than you intend when you feel his cum fill you up. Marcus can barely breathe as he shoots his seed deep in your pussy and feels you pulse around him. He continues to buck against you, the caveman mindset telling him to breed you and fill you up until you can’t take it anymore.

He stays motionless for a few minutes before he finally registers that you probably need to rest. As carefully as possible, Marcus pulls out and cradles your body against him as he lays you on your back. He looks down at you and smiles when he sees the mess he’s made between your thighs. He tries to get off the bed to bring you a cup of water and grab a wet towel when you reach out and pull him by his wrist.

“I need to clean you up sweetheart.” He tries to reason with you but you shake your head and pull harder on his hand so he could sit next to you.

“No just- come here. I need you. Please.” Marcus doesn’t have to be told twice. He lays down next to you and kisses your forehead when you cuddle into his arms. He draws circles on your shoulder and back when he feels your fingers play with his chest hair.

“Are you alright baby?” Marcus asks and pulls his head back when you hum a soft ‘yes.’ He searches your expression for any sign of discomfort, and when he finds none, he rests his head back again and lets you explore his skin.

“Hmm...did you know that hair was used in some ancient spells to ensure that the desired outcome occurred?” You break the silence after a while and Marcus furrows his eyebrows at you when you look up from his chest and meet his face.

“Uhh should I be worried Y/N?” He asks almost immediately and laughs when you panic and try to retract what you just said.

“Oh god sorry that- I didn’t mean...Jesus, I still need to work on my bedside manner.”

“I was kidding sweetheart. I actually enjoy listening to people talking about their interests, it’s a little calming. And no, I didn’t know that. What kind of spells are we talking about here?” You’re surprised by his response but say nothing and continue to follow the soft trail of hairs down his chest.

“Well, there are lots of curses that didn’t need hair but it was better if they were added...for efficacy and such. But the most common spells that required little curls like these were love spells, which technically are also curses but it sounds better when you say that it’s just a spell.”

“Are you trying to tell me something doctor?” Marcus can’t help but tease you again and he snorts when you sit up on your elbow and try to justify what you just said. He pulls you back into his arms and brushes your hair aside to take a better look at you.

“Oh no no, I just- I tend to think about this stuff at random times. Sorry. I swear I’m too much of a wimp to actually try anything. You never know if the desired outcome has any side effects...”

“No need to apologize baby. Besides, I don’t think you’ll ever need love magic with me.” The admission is out before he can stop himself and he cringes at himself, hoping that you don’t misunderstand him.

“Oh yeah, and why is that Agent Pike?” The hint of amusement in your tone lets him know that you didn’t mind teasing him back and he blinks a few times at the ceiling before he turns to gaze into your eyes.

“Well, you’re doing fine on your own being this amazing human being. You’re mesmerizing when you’re lecturing, you’re confident in your skills and knowledge, your intelligence is- I’m sure I’ve only scratched the surface with the case today. And you’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen...we could work a bit on your art choices but-”

“Hey!” You slap his shoulder and try to slither away from him but he’s too quick and wraps his arms around you before you can get off the bed.

“I’m kidding, I'm kidding...your art choices are the cherry on top.” Marcus nudges your nose with his and leans down to kiss you. He smiles when you moan beneath him. But the kiss is cut short when you push him away suddenly and narrow your eyes at him.

“You never told me how you knew which ones I commissioned.”

“Ugh no please, you’re going to think I’m a pervert.” Marcus falls back on the bed and tries to hide behind his arms.

“Oh yeah?” You slowly trail your hand down his stomach and wrap it around his cock. It’s all Marcus needs to lower his arm and look down to where you’re touching him. He shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back when you lean forward and nip at his jaw.

“B-baby fuck...oh god, please. I- I need a few more minutes and-”

“Tell me, please.” You cut him off with a bite to the shoulder, giggling when he thrusts up into your loose hold to get more friction.

“I- I was picturing the two of us...fuck, re-reenacting those scenes and those two jumped out more...more than the third.” He can barely speak through the haze you’ve put him in, and moans your name when you reach down and fondle his balls just as you whisper in his ears.

“How scandalous of you Agent Pike!”

“Sweetheart, please.” Marcus whines for you, the arm around your back pulling you flush to him and giving him perfect access to your breasts. He wraps his lips around one nipple and softly sucks on it as you continue to stroke his cock.

“Hmm, I like the sound of you begging...baby. Tell me, do you by any chance have your handcuffs on you?” The question catches him off guard, and he pulls away to look at you, finding a different kind of fire dancing behind your eyes.

“Fuck…I- uhh, they’re in the car. W-wait where are you going?” Marcus regrets his answer as soon as you let go of him and jump off of the bed. He watches as you run to the bathroom without answering him, only to return a few seconds later with bright red handcuffs clanking between your fingers.

“To get my own set Agent. Like you said, you and I need to get acquainted.” You unlock them as you walk back to the bed and straddle his thighs. Marcus looks at you with adoration and softly nods at you when you silently ask him if you could cuff him to the headboard of your bed.

“I’m yours sweetheart, take what you want.”

Taglist (some aren't working):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @fan-of-encouragement @evelynseventyr

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike/reader #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal #yall don't understand how much I love this fucking character #he's literally the softest #and he deserves the world #ugh #anyway

[asmo-baby5]

Burned

Request: @seerachii-art

Description: Mc had gotten very used to the Devildom and would wander around by themself now. They had pacts with the seven highest ranking demons right after the Prince himself and they were close friends with the angels, the powerful sorcerer, and Barbatos and Diavolo themselves. They never accounted for a lower ranking demon wanting to attack them for these relationships.

CW: mentions of burns, slight gore (not a lot)

Lucifer-

•he had gone out looking for Mc after they never showed up for dinner.

•he was very pissed that they went out alone, but he assumed if they really needed help they would call or use their pact to summon him.

•he walked through the Devildom with a very calm demeanor.

•of course, that was right up until he actually saw them.

•Mc was sitting outside of RAD with Barbatos hovering over them like a worried mother.

•"Mc, it is past time for dinner. What are you doing still at..."

•his voice faded out as Mc looked up at him.

•they were holding a damp towel over half their face and tears were flowing freely out of their open eye.

•his normal calm demeanor gave way to an eerie calm.

•"what happened?"

•his voice was low and made Mc flinch away from him.

•they looked so pathetic...

•Barbatos tried to explain what happened but he looked straight at Mc, waiting for their recount of events.

•"he was saying, saying bad things about you." They somehow got out through all the crying.

•lucifer was starting to fill in the blanks himself, but he still needed to assess the damage in order to decide what punishment would befit a lower demon who dared to harm this human.

•Barbatos helped Mc to gently pull the towel away from their face and show Lucifer the large burn covering over their eye.

•the cold towel had stopped the skin from pulling away from their face more than it already had.

•needless to say that calm demeanor quickly turned into burning hot (no pun intended) anger.

•with the help of Barbatos, who had just so happened to be leaving RAD at the time Mc was attacked, Lucifer was able to get them home.

•he offered, more than once, to fly back but they refused so he settled on just carrying them back.

•every fiber of his being wanted to go after the demon that harmed Mc, but he knew he had to get them home and settled before he could even think about leaving their side again.

•Mc refused any magical treatment, so Lucifer took them back to the human world for medical treatment.

•they ended up with a scar over the eye they had unfortunately lost sight in.

•everytime Lucifer saw that scar he'd get very irritated and would be stuck to Mc's side up until he physically could not have them with him for work.

•would pass them onto Simeon so he could keep an eye on them because he didn't trust any of his brothers to keep them completely out of harms way.

•the demon who hurt them was currently (and for the next few centuries) being used as a chew toy for Cerberus.

Mammon-

•rarely let's Mc out of his sight,

•so when they somehow manage to give him the slip one day he starts to freak out, rightfully so.

•not only that but his pact mark was starting to heat up, that only happened when Mc was in trouble.

•he retraces their steps from that day hoping to find Mc at one of the places they had visited.

•he smells them before he actually sees them.

•a mix of tears, sweat, and burnt flesh drew him towards a corner just outside of RAD.

•Mc was holding a sopping wet cloth up to their cheek and was wiping at the tears falling down their face with their free hand.

•every so often they would grimace as they moved the cloth around.

•Mammon was frozen in place looking at his human crying and shaking.

•he could practically feel their pain and their fear.

•he snapped out of it when he caught a glimpse of what was under the cloth.

•"Mc, who the hell burned ya?"

•he tried to keep calm, but let's be honest, being calm when the one person he loved above others was hurt was not exactly easy.

•"who. Burned. You?" His tone dropped to a threatening low growl.

•when Mc flinched at his tone he did calm down a bit though.

•he had to take care of them first before looking for revenge.

•when Mc explained that they were cornered by two lower demons and then lightly burned before they ran away, Mammon had to literally fight to keep from growling.

•it was bad enough for Mc to be attacked, but to be cornered by two demons was the most cowardly thing he had ever heard.

•when he checked the burn his heart clenched.

•there was a good chunk of flesh missing from their cheek.

•he flew them home and tried to convince them to get it magically treated so it wouldn't take as long and there'd be no scar, but Mc refused.

•he didnt leave their side after that incident.

•if you thought Mammon was possessive before, just wait until you see him now.

•he sleeps in Mc's room

•walks with them to school

•constantly texts them when in separate classes

•and goes with them wherever after school

•he doesn't trust anyone else with Mc's wellbeing.

•seeing the scar on their cheek ups his protectiveness and he will follow them around like a puppy.

Levi-

•he knew something was wrong when Mc never showed up for the new episode of an anime they were watching together.

•he was immediately anxious but tried to reason that maybe they were just caught up doing homework or maybe getting snacks and Beel cornered them for the food etc etc.

•yeah, his reasoning quickly turned into overthinking.

•he was about to go looking for them when suddenly he felt a pit in his stomach.

•he could just feel that something in the House of Lamentation was wrong.

•he opened his door only to be met with panicked shouts from floor to floor and the sound of running footsteps.

•like he thought, something was wrong.

•"Leviathan!"

•angry Lucifer shouts were coming from downstairs, so thats where he headed to see what was so wrong.

•he stopped in his tracks though as the view of Mc curled into a ball on Mammon's lap with a towel over their face entered his field of vision.

•he was supposed to be looking after them and the pit in his stomach only grew as he watched Mammon make very small and soft movements with Mc, something he never did ever.

•"Mc...?"

•Levi's voice was small as he got closer and could finally smell it,

•the burnt flesh on Mc's face being held together by the cold towel.

•he almost gagged, and would have if Lucifer didn't suddenly grab his shoulder pulling his senses away from the smell and sight. 

•"where were you!?"

•is all Lucifer had to ask for Levi to realize that Mc got hurt,

•they got hurt on his watch,

•he couldn't protect them.

•"I- I'm ok, okay." Mc had stuttered out, the pain made it hard to string words together

•it took a moment for Levi to compose himself, and even when he did outwardly he was an utter MESS inside.

•do-dont lie, Mc..." he slowly made his way over to them, but kept his distance from them.

•they got hurt because he wasn't competent enough,

•there was no way he could let himself ever indulge in their presence after this.

•he would of course take revenge against whoever dared to hurt Mc,

•but when they reached out and gently held onto Levi's hand, their's still trembling,

•he finally decided that being with them was the only place he wanted to be.

•as much as he wanted to absolutely decimate whoever hurt them, Mc needed him there more,

•and his Henry always came first.

•besides, he was fairly certain Lucifer was already making preparations to take care of the demon.

Satan-

•he was out with Mc looking for some new books from a bookstore that just opened.

•the two got separated for barely two minutes,

•but it was more than enough time for a group of demons to walk over and taunt them.

•Mc's already poor relationship with the other demons in the Devildom had recently got worse.

•its not like Satan didn't know this,

•he was hyper aware of the fact Mc was being targeted more often by lower demons for petty jabs.

•that's why losing them in a new store caused anxiety to creep into his body and sit like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

•Mc had expressed their fear of these demons (cowards, as Satan kindly referred to them) trying something more than jabs,

•so he felt very protective over them since then, wanting them to feel safe when they were with him.

•But safe was the exact opposite of what they were now.

•Satan quickly found Mc, but he also witnessed one demon slap them,

•hard.

•hard enough that they left a burnt handprint scarred onto Mc's cheek.

•Satan could barely process what had happened.

•before he knew it his vision had gone red and he could feel a low growl coming from deep in his gut.

•he was about to go after the demons who did this but Mc stopped him with a whimper that immediately brought him back.

•he wasn't really the most calm all the time,

•but in a crisis he was the best demon to go to because he could keep a surprisingly cool head.

•once his temper had cooled down enough for him to stop clenching both his jaw and his fists, he set to work caring for them.

•As he took the time to properly dress the wound the human way, Mc explained to him what happened.

•the group apparently confronted them about Satan's reputation.

•he was once known as the cruelest and scariest demon right after Lucifer,

•but apparently rumors had started to spread that he had become soft.

•many demons blamed Mc for this change because they had a pact with him and Satan was most definitely not known for having pacts with anyone.

•as he listened to this his anger started to spike again, but he pushed it back down enough to swiftly carry the Mc home.

•he didnt want to have to rely on Lucifer for anything, but only he could come and go between the human world and the Devildom,

•and Mc needed burn treatment in an environment that would promote healing for humans.

•once he knew Mc was being well taken care of though, he finally let his anger rise and bubble at the surface.

•he got a pretty good look at the demons who hurt Mc, and Satan NEVER forgot a face.

•once the Mc had come back, the scar left by the demon made Satan's rage come back anew every time.

•he even requested that Asmo try any and all facials and treatments that could get rid of scars.

•and as for the group of demons?

•well,

•let's just say,

•you should never make the Avatar of Wrath your enemy...

Asmo-

•he and Mc were on a date.

•clothes shopping, tea, sweets, spa, and hairdresser.

•everything was going great,

•Asmo was having the most perfect time being with Mc for so long without his brothers interfering.

•that is, up until their hair appointment.

•the two were separated for a bit because they each needed different treatments done to their hair.

•Asmo didn't think much of it.

•he had taken Mc to this particular hairdresser many times already, so he never thought anything bad could possibly happen to them.

•he was proven wrong when a scream came from the other side of the building,

•the area where Mc was.

•Asmo shot up out of his chair and practically teleported to where they were.

•what he saw made this normally pretty calm demon's blood boil.

•one of the workers was bowing and apologizing repeatedly as Mc looked at them dazedly.

•but what really got to him was the intern hiding behind a corner, laughing.

•"so this is funny, is it?"

•he had snuck up behind them and asked, his voice unusually low.

•"this particular human is under the complete protection of Lord Diavolo, would you like to explain to him why there is now a burn covering half their face?"

•the intern paled at that and shook their head.

•"I would not think so. Now explain to me how this happened."

•the intern explained that they dipped the cloth that goes on Mc's face in scalding hot water.

•they knew Mc was a human and they wanted to test their limits,

•but they adamantly maintained that they never intentionally harmed Mc.

•Asmo was furious, especially because this happened in a place where he was only a few feet away.

•but he did give up on grilling the intern, deciding he'd give their name over to Diavolo and Lucifer later, in favor of comforting Mc.

•they were coming out of their daze but that meant the pain was starting to set in.

•Asmo was able to carry them out of the shop and quickly home before they could scream again,

•or cry.

•he would definitely go on a rampage if Mc started crying and killing a demon in broad daylight was not a good look for his cute image.

•he informed Lucifer what happened and trusted he would then take it to Diavolo.

•Asmo carried Mc to his room and set them in his low hanging seat so he could tend to their burn.

•thankfully it wasnt bad enough to be cause for major concern,

•but it was bad enough that Asmo was worried about some scarring.

•he was able to clean the skin around the burn and then apply a few different treatments to lessen the scarring process.

•he promised to use all kinds of facials on Mc, once they were feeling up to it, so the scars would heal quickly.

•once Mc was taken care of, he couldn't even think of leaving their side,

•so he opted to lie down on his bed with them.

•Mc fell asleep rather quickly, the trauma making them exhausted.

•Asmo couldn't fall asleep for a while though as he spent time blaming himself for the injury.

•he would never, ever, forget this day...

Beel-

•he was out to eat with Mc as usual.

•there was an all you can eat buffet that had just opened up and Beel was all willing to pay for both of their meals if Mc went with him.

•of course they did.

•it is way too hard to say no to Beel.

•while he was on his fifth plate of food, Mc wandered of to the bathroom for a small break.

•they accidentally ran into a group of demons on the way there and got into a small altercation.

•they started badgering Mc and complaining about how the nicest demon brother was no longer able nor willing to hang out with them because he'd rather be with Mc.

•it was a small, petty, argument that unfortunately ended up in a small burn that ate through the first and second layer of skin on Mc's cheek.

•the demon that did it freaked out because they knew humans were weak by my god they're way too weak!

•the group ran away, out of the restaurant, leaving Mc staring wide eyed at the floor, the pain from their cheek slowly starting to register.

•they walked calmly back to the table to grab Beel.

•"B-Beel, Beel, we need to, to leave." They had stuttered out.

•the pain was making it hard to form sentences.

•"Mc, I can get a free meal if I finish this..."

•Beel's sentence had faded off as he finally looked up.

•Mc's eyes were glazed over from the pain and blood was dripping down from the pretty sizeable hole in their cheek.

•the big demon was up and out of the restaurant in no time, carrying Mc with him.

•he didnt really know what to do in the moment but he did know Mc needed help, fast.

•he went to Solomon first because his magic is the first thing Beel's panicked mind landed on.

•Solomon immediately went to work cleaning and bandaging the wound.

•because of his medicinal herbs, he had learned a fair amount of human medicine and knew how to care for a burn.

•Beel refused to leave their side, only doing so when Solomon convinced him to call Lucifer and inform him of what happened.

•After Solomon had taken care of the burn, he talked Beel into letting Mc stay at Purgatory Hall for a few days so that the rowdy demon brothers wouldn't interfere with their healing.

•Beel was over every day, almost every hour, to check up on them.

•once the burn had healed a fair amount, Solomon was able to use his magic to prevent any scarring.

•Beel 100% blamed himself for the injury, he felt he had once again failed to protect an important part of his family.

•it took a lot of convincing from Mc and Belphie for him to stop blaming himself so much.

•he was never focused on revenge against the demons that did this as his full focus was on Mc and their recovery,

•Lucky for him, Solomon and Lucifer weren't as focused on Mc..

Belphie-

•he never really left the house and he wasn't super overprotective of Mc like the other brothers were.

•he knew their strength but also knew that if they needed him they would call for him.

•so when the pact mark he had with Mc started to heat up and quickly started to burn, he knew that was them calling for him.

•they needed his help and he was more than willing to give it.

•he left the house in a hurry as the mark started to burn more and more.

•despite trusting Mc to pretty much take care of themself,

•he couldn't deny the worry and concern rapidly growing.

•the pact mark between a human and their demon is supposed to connect them and one is supposed to be able to find the other through this mark

•but Belphie was new to pacts with humans and he wasn't quite sure how to use it to find Mc.

•this did not help his concern as he realized they could literally be anywhere in the Devildom.

•he decided to just go to all their favorite places to see if he could find them.

•he eventually found them pacing right outside the planetarium.

•it was their place, the two of them, so he mentally slapped himself for not checking there sooner.

•"Mc, whats going on?"

•he walked over to them but they turned away from him.

•he froze as one of the worst smells ever finally reached his nose.

•it was awful.

•"Mc, what happened?" He tried to reach out and grab their shoulder but he stopped when he noticed them trembling.

•"Uh, um, its nothing, nothing bad."

•their voice was trembling just as much as their body and Belphie had finally reached his limit.

•he spun them around and was about to say something but he froze.

•Mc was crying while holding their jacket over one half of their face.

•Belphie grabbed the hand that was holding the jacket and gently pried it away from their face.

•Mc grimaced with every movement and Belphie swore under his breath, hating that he was hurting them.

•once the jacket was fully gone his sleepy eyes widened and any left over drowsiness from earlier was completely gone.

•there was a large burn over their eye and the skin around it was pulling away.

•he realized that's where the smell was coming from.

•"What happened?"

•he repeated his question from earlier but this time there was no way anyone could ignore his threateningly low voice.

•"N-nothing, seriously, Im taking care of it. And I, I called Solomon and he's on, on his way to help. I'm okay."

•Belphie felt his heart drop as Mc said this.

•either they didnt trust him enough to let him help or they didnt love him enough to tell him what happened.

•he really hated both of those options.

•"I'll stay here with you until he shows up then."

•he'd feel even more awful if he brought it up and made Mc feel guilty on top of their physical pain though.

•he sat with them silently for a few minutes until Solomon showed up.

•Solomon took them back to Purgatory Hall to clean and patch up the burn.

•Belphie went with and held their hand as Solomon had to get rough to fully clean it.

•he stayed with them the whole time, swearing to never leave their side again.

•once they finally fell asleep he took it on himself to go after whoever dared to touch, let alone harm his human.

•they would pay.

•he wasn't nearly as cruel, or strong, as some of his older brothers,

•but he sure knew how to hold a grudge.

•and that promise of never leaving their side could hold off a few more hours...

#asmo obey me #beel obey me #levi obey me #obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me headcanons #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me requests #headcanon requests #angst #tw burns #burns #cw burns #obey me angst

[crackedoutwalnut]

Will you consider writing Diana Prince x Fem!Reader who has anxiety, and she frets endlessly over Diana when she’s away on missions? Diana constantly assures her she’s fine and even jokes it off to seem like missions are no big deal, let alone a threat, to her. But, then, there finally comes an instance where the news or something announces no one/or very few of JL survived some unbelievably dangerous, world saving mission. Reader, of course, believes it and her anxiety takes over from thinking Diana is gone. Basically, I’m asking for angst that ends in a whole lot of comforting fluff! Sorry this if this is long and too much detail!

A/N: Heyyyyy,,,, sorry this took so long. Writer's block is a b*tch to deal with ;/. Hope you still enjoy though!

Word Count: 2k

--

When you first started dating Diana, she quickly grew fond of calling you her "little worrier." You were always flitting and hovering around her before and after a mission. Even after she insisted she felt completely fine, you would drag her into bed and make her rest after a battle. Amazonian or no, your girlfriend still had her limits. You were both yet to see a said limit; however, you were not keen on finding out what it looked like.

Currently, you were pacing a hole in the living room of your shared apartment. Your hands were clenched into fists at your side as you frantically looked between your girlfriend and the window.

"What could Bruce possibly want you for that requires you to be gone for a week?" You asked, running a hand through your hair.

Diana gave you a sympathetic, if a touch amused, look before making her way over to you. She cut your frantic path short by wrapping her arms around your waist. Her nose burrowed into your hair as she squeezed you closer. "My love, I'm not made of porcelain. If I was concerned about my safety, I would make sure to bring extra backup. I promise you this mission will be no different than the rest of them."

You groaned and hid your face in the crook of her neck. "But what if it isn't?" You melded your body impossibly closer to her own as countless gruesome scenarios rattled around your head.

You felt two large calloused hands cup the sides of your face as Diana tilted your face up. Begrudgingly, you complied and met her soft gaze. "My little worrier, I promise I will not take any unnecessary risks. I will be back home before you know it. Okay?"

You sighed and fell into her once more. Your cheek rested against her collarbone, and she traced circles up and down your spine. "Just come back to me in one piece, okay? I like your scars but not enough to add to the collection."

Diana grinned and planted a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. "I promise, my little worrier." The two of you clung to one another for a moment longer before the demigoddess finally pulled away. "I have to leave now, but I will be back before you know it. I promise, my darling."

You huffed and pressed a kiss to her jaw, "You better. After having sex with an Amazonian for two years, it would be nearly impossible to replace you with anyone else."

Diana chuckled and lifted you into your arms. You yelped in surprise and wrapped your legs around her waist as she pulled you into her. Your lips met in a slow, melting kiss. "I will see you soon, darling." With one last lingering look, she left.

--

You were certain they had added new days to the week. It had been three days since Diana had left for her mission with the Justice League, and you felt as if you were about to explode. The confidentiality of the threats that the League faces meant you were left entirely in the dark. No status updates, no calls, not even a damned text was allowed. Time had a funny way of making the complete severing of communication even more painful.

The four days remaining felt like an entire century as you spent most of your time flipping between news stations just in case one of them had something- anything - of use. Sighing, you scrubbed your hands over your face and shut off the TV. It was around three in the morning, and even though you had work in four hours, sleep evaded you. Rest was not an easy thing to come by when Diana was away. The combination of a cold bed and the unknown danger she faced was enough to keep your eyes stapled open.

Still, that didn't mean you couldn't give it a shot. After taking well above the recommended dose of Melatonin, you opted to wear one of Diana's hoodies to bed. The sweatshirt fell down to your lower thigh and wrapped you entirely in the familiar scent of her perfume. A soft smile settled on your face as you buried your face in the collar of her hoodie.

Ironically, Diana had bought the hoodie more for your benefit than anything else. After you complained that all of her clothing was too fancy to steal, the demigoddess went out and bought one. After it started to smell like her, you snatched it from her closet as often as possible. The comfort provided by the well-worn cotton was what finally managed to lull you to sleep nearly an hour later.

--

Hours later, your fitful sleep was abruptly cut off by the feeling of your phone violently vibrating beside you. Groaning, you cracked your eyes open and peered over at the alarm clock. Who the hell was calling at 5:30 in the morning? Cursing, you fumbled for your phone and peered up at the caller ID. Your heart dropped when you saw who it was: Diana.

Your girlfriend only risked calling you while on a mission for one reason; something horrible had happened. Quickly, you slammed your thumb against the accept call button and lifted it to your ear.

"Diana? What's wrong? Did something happen?" You sputtered, sitting up.

"Y/n I don't have much time. I just wanted to let you know that this job might take a bit longer than I originally thought," your girlfriend sounded uncharacteristically rushed. In the background, you heard the sounds of panicked shouting and something gut-wrenchingly similar to gunshots. "Everything will be fine; just stay safe for me. Okay?"

"Diana, what's going on? Is everyone alright? Are you alright?" Your fist clenched the sheets as you kicked the comforter off.

"I don't have time to explain. Just stay safe. I love you." You opened your mouth to protest. However, the call ended before you had a chance. Cursing, you threw your phone to the side and rushed to the living room. Scrambling around in the dark, you finally grasped the TV remote and flicked it on. On the news was a concerned-looking reporter standing behind a battle-torn field. Bodies, both alien and human, were strewn across the ground lying in charred craters with billowing smoke.

"Just hours earlier, a rogue alien fleet attacked a small village just on the coast of western Italy. The Justice League confronted them in a gory battle. Unfortunately, two members, the Flash and Batman, were gravely injured during the fight." You gasped as a video of a bloodied Barry Allen in his now tattered suit was rushed away on a stretcher. Your chest clenched painfully as you paced in front of the television screen. "The location of the rest of the Justice League is unknown at this time."

You blindly slammed your finger against the power button on the remote and chucked it against the couch. Diana was okay. She had to be. How else would she call you if she wasn't? These thoughts did little to soothe your fears as your legs gave out from under you. Your knees collided with the solid wood floorboards as you tried desperately to keep your sobs at bay.

For the first time in your relationship, you had no clue where Diana Prince was. Was she still in Italy? Were the others with her? Had she been kidnapped? Was she okay? The thought had you heaving out wheezy breaths. You had to calm down; you refused to have a panic attack at 5 in the morning. Squeezing your eyes shut, you roughly dragged yourself onto the couch. A clenched fist was pried open as you rested it over your stomach. Breathe. In. Out. Repeat.

After the oxygen returned to your lungs and your vision was no longer blurred with tears, you shakily stood from the couch. Diana would be okay. She had to be. If Diana was okay, you were okay.

--

Nothing was okay. It has been a month since your girlfriend's ominous phone call, and there was neither hint nor mention of her anywhere. It was hell. The whole world mourned the death of the Justice League while you clung desperately to a glimmer of hope that grew dimmer every day. As the idea of Wonder Woman being alive started to diminish, so did you. You had lost quite a bit of weight over the month. Your clothing was smelled of weeks worth of unwashed grime.

Since your work allowed you to work from home while you got your life back together, there was no point in leaving your apartment. For the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to be completely consumed by grief. What else was there to do when the love of your life was either never coming back or lying face up in a ditch somewhere? The process of living was more of a day-to-day chore that you forcibly dragged yourself alongside. Not quite alive, but not nearly dead enough for it to be a relief. You were simply there.

This was still the case when your friends decided to drag you to the mall. After not hearing from you for nearly three weeks straight, they had decided that it was about time to get you out of the apartment. You hardly gave a shit either way. Currently, you were scrubbing dry shampoo into your long-abused scalp. You rubbed your nearly used up deodorant on and decided on which almost clean outfit to wear.

After settling on one of Diana's old hoodies, you threw on some sweatpants. The clothing you stole from your girlfriend had long stopped smelling like her perfume so, you reapplied it yourself. Your phone buzzed with a message from your friend's group chat, letting you know they were outside. With a resigned sigh, you forced yourself out the door.

Nearly three hours later, you finally pried yourself away from your friends. You refused to let them give you a ride home as you opted to take the bus instead. The mall had been agonizing. Every high-end clothing store was like a painful reminder of who you had lost. She seemed to be everywhere these days in billboards, mall food courts, and in crowds. Her memory seemed to follow you like a phantom limb. After nearly falling asleep on the bus, you stumbled up the stairs and into your apartment.

You were nearly halfway to the couch when you heard an odd noise coming from your bedroom. It sounded like... shuffling? Furrowing your brows in confusion, you grabbed the pepper spray Diana had insisted you buy from your bag. Carefully, you crept down the hall. Your heartbeat hammered in your chest as you slowly opened the door.

Time stood still. There, sitting on the bed so casually you could have believed she had been there all along, was Diana Prince. The pepper spray in your hand hit the carpet with a soft thud as you gaped at your girlfriend. She looked up at the sound and nearly leaped to her feet at the sight of you. "Y/n, you're here!" She cleared the space between you in two long strides. Her hands were cupping your cheeks with a familiar sense of love. "When I got home, I saw that you were not here, and I feared that something had happened," Diana explained as she cocooned you in her arms.

At the familiar sensation of her strong arms wrapped around your abdomen, you finally broke. You crumbled into her chest as sobs wracked your body. Your hands grasped at the back of her shirt as your tried desperately to get closer to her. Diana tutted quietly and cradled the back of your head. "You- you were dead," you heaved hysterically. "Ever-Everyone thought you were dea-dead."

Your girlfriend carefully guided the two of you onto the bed. She lounged on her back, allowing you to lie entirely on top of her. Frantic hands clung to her. If you didn't hold on tight enough, she would crumble to sand and dust, like a castle on a beach. Diana ran her hands up and down your back, quietly shushing you whenever you gasped or cried. "Shhh, you're alright, everyone's okay, my love. I'm here now." You felt a gentle kiss being placed onto the crown of your head.

A long beat of silence stretched between you two as your cries died down. "Where were you."

"I will explain everything later. For now, all you need to know is that I'm here. I'm here, and I'm never leaving you again."

#diana prince x reader #wonder woman x reader #wonder woman #diana prince #dc universe #justice league #reader insert #writing prompt

[thegrandimago]

This time last April, on the 50th anniversary of Earth Day, the world was coming to grips with the isolation of quarantine and the economic and travel slowdowns that defined the first wave of the Covid-19 pandemic. Even now, with the rollout of vaccines, the virus continues to affect our daily lives. And the toll keeps growing: 3 million dead and more than 140 million cases worldwide.

If anything, the worst public health crisis in a century has brought our understanding of our planet, and our place in the fragile yet resilient web of life throughout it, into stark relief.

Amid so much grief and loss and uncertainty, the biodiversity crisis paced ahead over the past year, becoming a much bigger theme on the world stage. The climate crisis worsened, too. Wildfires blazed. Ecosystems became even more fouled up than they already were.

At the same time, the marked reduction in human activity spurred by the pandemic — what some experts have dubbed the “Anthropause” — has afforded scientists and researchers opportunities to observe the natural world like never before. Coinciding with these unique observational windows has been an increase in attention on Indigenous knowledge and land stewardship as a way forward in combating ecological catastrophe.

In true Vox tradition, here are the 10 most concerning, intriguing, and — dare we say — hopeful things we learned about our planet since the last Earth Day.

1) We saw just how quickly ocean noise pollution can drop, and how much that can help marine life

For a moment last spring, things got very quiet in the oceans.

The drop in human activity that came with the pandemic resulted in drastic and voluntary sound reductions that ran the underwater gamut: from a drop in shipping noise, the predominant source of man-made ocean noise pollution, to decreases in recreation and tourism. All of it suddenly ceased.

In Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park, the foraging grounds of humpback whales, the loudest underwater sounds last May were less than half as loud as those in May 2018, according to a Cornell University analysis. A May 2020 paper in the Journal of the Acoustical Society of America found that underwater noise off the Vancouver coast was half as loud in April as the loudest sounds recorded in the months preceding the shipping traffic slowdown.

Chronic underwater ocean noise had been rising over the past few decades, to the detriment of marine life that have evolved to use sound to navigate their world. “There is clear evidence that noise compromises hearing ability and induces physiological and behavioral changes in marine animals,” reads an assessment of marine noise pollution research published in the journal Science in February.

The majority of ocean noise pollution is a byproduct of economic activity. But compared with massively complex issues like climate change, noise is relatively easy to turn down, at least a little. Silencing it at its source has an immediate positive impact: Famously, researchers studying right whales on the East Coast measured a drop in the animals’ stress hormones in the wake of the 9/11 attacks, after shipping traffic abruptly dropped. Even tiny fish larvae are better able to locate the coral reefs where they were born, which themselves emit sound, when the oceans get quiet.

Man-made ocean noise has since ramped back up and is now stabilized near pre-pandemic levels. But it fell silent for long enough last March, April, and May that a global team of scientists is actively scrubbing through audio recordings gathered by around 230 non-military hydrophones — underwater microphones — that monitor ocean noise around the world. They aim to study the “year of the quiet ocean” in the context of ocean sounds before, during, and after the pandemic.

2) A new study found that the Amazon is likely warming — not cooling — the planet

The world’s largest and most species-rich tropical forest, the Amazon, is home to billions of trees that not only provide refuge to a diverse assemblage of organisms but also store and absorb a huge amount of carbon dioxide.

That’s what makes the conclusion of a study published this spring so alarming: Due to human activity, the Amazon is likely contributing to — not offsetting, as one might expect— global warming. “The current net biogeochemical effect of the Amazon Basin is most likely to warm the atmosphere,” the researchers wrote in the paper.

While the Amazon is still absorbing loads of CO2, human activities in the basin, such as deforestation, are driving up emissions of CO2 and other more potent greenhouse gases like methane and nitrous oxide across the basin.

Deforestation, for one, deals a double punch: It both releases gases into the atmosphere and removes CO2-absorbing trees from the equation. That equation now sees the Amazon generating more greenhouse gases than it emits, the study suggests. (It’s worth noting, though, this is all really complicated. For more, check out Craig Welch’s story in National Geographic or read the full study here.)

3) We discovered a bunch of new species

While humans have made a mark on all corners of Earth, we’ve only discovered a small fraction of the species that occupy it. In fact, that fraction could be smaller than 1 percent. And remarkably, not all of those species are tiny microbes and insects. They’re also fish, lizards, bats, and even whales. That’s right: Even giant mammals can elude scientists.

In January, researchers at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration said they discovered a new species of baleen whale in the Gulf of Mexico. (You can find the paper describing the discovery here.) Other teams of scientists are also on the trail of what could be yet another new whale species.

Last year, researchers documented scores of new plants and animals, from geckos and sea slugs to flowering plants and sand dollars, as Vox’s Brian Resnick reported. Our favorite? Brookesia nana, a thumbnail-sized chameleon native to northern Madagascar. It may be the smallest reptile on Earth; it’s certainly the cutest.

4) We got a much clearer picture of just how much wildlife we’re losing

The numbers aren’t good.

In September, the World Wildlife Fund published a report showing that the global populations of several major animal groups, including mammals and birds, have declined by almost 70 percent in the last 50 years due to human activity.

A separate report, published in Nature this year, found that populations of ocean sharks and rays have plummeted by more than 70 percent in roughly the same period. And one-third of freshwater fish have been found to be at risk of extinction.

A number of species were also declared extinct over the last year. Those include the smooth handfish, a bottom-dweller that rests atop human-like appendages on the seafloor. It was the first marine fish species to be declared extinct in modern history. (Environmental journalist John Platt has a list of recent extinctions in 2020 at Scientific American.)

5) Protecting plants and animals hinges on a thriving ecotourism industry

In the early days of the pandemic, the popular “Nature is healing” meme overshadowed a darker reality in many parts of the world: As travel ground to a halt, so did revenue from wildlife tourism, putting some wildlife conservation efforts at risk.

The fallout was most severe in Africa. According to a new collection of research from the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), a government and civil society group, more than half of the continent’s protected areas had to pause or limit field patrols and other operations to stop poachers in the wake of the pandemic.

“Parks have emptied out to a large extent and there’s no money coming in,” Nigel Dudley, a co-author of one of the IUCN papers, told Reuters last month.

Some communities are deeply reliant on wildlife tourism. Late last year, Vox’s Brian Resnick spoke to veterinarian Gladys Kalema-Zikusoka, who is working to keep coronavirus-susceptible gorillas alive in Uganda’s Bwindi Impenetrable National Park.

When tourism dropped, “everybody was struggling,” she said. “The local economy suffered and poaching went up.” (You can read more of Resnick’s conversation with her here.)

6) Researchers uncovered more proof that a key system of ocean currents is weakening

Graphics that show changes in ocean temperature over time generally reveal one trend: The ocean is heating up. But there’s one critical exception. Just below Greenland lies a large patch of water that’s cooling off. And that patch has scientists concerned that we could be nearing a tipping point for the climate.

The cold patch, scientists say, signals that a network of currents that bring warm water to the North Atlantic — known as the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation, or AMOC — is slowing down, and the melting of ice on Greenland is likely a culprit. One paper, published in the journal Nature in March, suggests that the current AMOC slowdown is “unprecedented in over a thousand years.”

The AMOC shapes weather across multiple continents, so any major slowdown will carry major consequences that could include faster sea-level rise in some regions, stronger hurricanes, and other changes in weather, to say nothing of the impacts to marine ecosystems.

But to be clear, the science on this is new and complex. For a great run-down, check out this recent visual feature in the New York Times.

7) The asteroid that killed the dinosaurs gave rise to the Amazon rainforest

The massive asteroid that struck Earth 66 million years ago may be best known for driving non-avian dinosaurs to extinction, but it also transformed entire ecosystems.

It may have even given rise to the Amazon rainforest, according to a study published in Science earlier this month. The finding is based on an analysis of about 50,000 fossil pollen records and 6,000 fossil leaf records in Colombia from before and after the asteroid crashed into what is now Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula.

The data reveals two vastly different forests. Before the event, the forests were stocked with conifers and ferns, and the trees were spread out, with plenty of room for light to stream through the canopy. After the asteroid event, however, flowering plants started to dominate the landscape and the canopy became much more tightly packed, resembling the forest we know today.

“If you returned to the day before the meteorite fall, the forest would have an open canopy with a lot of ferns, many conifers, and dinosaurs,” study co-author Carlos Jaramillo of the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute in Panama told New Scientist. “The forest we have today is the product of one event 66 million years ago.”

The idea here is that the asteroid impact somehow triggered a series of events that led to the modern Amazon rainforest. What were those events? One theory the researchers offer is that, before the asteroid, herbivorous dinosaurs prevented the forest from becoming dense by eating and trampling plants.

8) A review of more than 300 studies showed that the rate of deforestation is lower on Indigenous lands

The global conservation movement is pushing forward a plan to conserve 30 percent of the Earth by 2030 — an initiative known as 30 by 30 — and increasingly calling for Indigenous communities to be central to that effort.

These groups have historically been uprooted from land in the name of wildlife conservation. There is also greater evidence that forests fare better when they are governed by Indigenous and tribal territories.

A recent UN review of more than 300 studies found that forests within tribal territories in Latin America and the Caribbean have significantly lower rates of deforestation where land rights are formally recognized.

“In just about every country in the region Indigenous and tribal territories have lower deforestation rates than other forest areas,” wrote the authors of the report, which was published by the UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization and the Fund for the Development of Indigenous Peoples of Latin America and the Caribbean. “Many Indigenous territories prevent deforestation as effectively as non-Indigenous protected areas, and some even more effectively.”

9) Wildfire smoke can turn the sky an apocalyptic orange

If there was one day in 2020 that defined the climate emergency, it could have been September 9, when the sky above San Francisco turned completely orange.

Strong winds had carried smoke from fires burning across California to the atmosphere above the city. Particles of soot absorbed or reflected blue light from the sun, letting only orange-ish light through. (Wired has the details.)

But what made the image go viral wasn’t so much the science but what it symbolized: a growing climate catastrophe.

Climate change is making wildfires more frequent and severe, and 2020 provided more devastating evidence. Last year was California’s worst wildfire season on record. By the end of the year, nearly 10,000 fires had burned over 4 million acres — an astonishing 4 percent of California’s total land, according to the state.

10) Scientists finally solved the mystery of why wombats poop cubes

Sure, it may not have kept you up at night, but the mystery of the bare-nosed wombat’s poop puzzled scientists for decades. Why do these adorable, chunky marsupials, native to Australia and Tasmania, leave behind feces with six sides?

Thanks to a new study — published in the journal Soft Matter — we now have the answer.

Building on research published a few years earlier, a team of scientists found that wombat intestines have regions of varying thickness and elasticity that contract at different speeds: The stiffer regions contract relatively quickly, while softer sections squeeze more slowly, together forming a cube-like shape.

But there’s still a bit of mystery left: Why is their poop shaped like this? The jury’s still out, but some researchers believe it’s because wombats climb up on rocks and logs, and the cube-like shape prevents the feces from rolling away. This is key for wombats because they use piles of feces to communicate with other wombats.

What a difference a year makes, truly.

#science #nature #animals #biodiversity #conservation #environment #wildlife #climate change #earth day #ecology #zoology #california fires #wombat #deforestation #rainforest #amazon #pollution #noise pollution #ocean currents #earth science #ecotourism #extinction #endangered species #indigineous people #pandemic #covid 19 #wildfires #global warming #ecosystem #plants

[ratmonky]

Blood of Purity

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: non-con, virginity kink, blood kink, blood, stalking, simple and badly written horror pron

AO3 Link

Being brought back to earth to feel the sunlight kissing his skin made Choso appreciate these two new associates. Other than that he was grateful because he and his two brothers were finally united back again, it warmed his heart.

To him, family was the most important thing in the world. Losing his brothers could make him go berserk because that would mean that he couldn’t hold his promise of protecting them.

He hoped he could protect them for another century and live a quiet life after he was done with whatever those other two wanted from him.

The smell of something delicious filled his nostrils, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Ahh, the sweet, sweet scent of blood that was pure, almost like a flower. It had been a long time since he had smelled it.

He froze, there wasn’t anyone up in the mountains with him to produce such redolent-smelling blood in their body.

“Are you alright?” A meek voice asked.

Choso was a little surprised and couldn’t stop his shoulders from rising because of the sudden noise. His stare found you, you were wearing hiking clothes looking a little too tired but still had a worried look on your face, which was aimed at him.

“You look awful, do you need food? Did you lose your hiking trail? Should I call for help?” You took out your phone but clicked your tongue soon after, “Ugh,  no service. Whatever I can try to help. Are you hurt?”

He didn’t want to talk to a human, so he turned around to walk back into the hideout. The hideout was a simple cave with some furniture, away from the civilization and humans as the other two said but here you were standing.

The last thing he wanted was to being disturbed by another living.

However, as he took another step, he realized that he was being held back. He whipped his head around to glare at you for pulling at his clothes but his face sort of softened when he saw you holding out a bottle of water for him.

“This is for you to drink!” you said slowly, assuming he didn’t understand. While you were exaggeratedly and embarrassingly trying to showcase to him how to drink water, Choso spoke.

“I don’t need anything.”

“Ah.” Your cheeks flushed from embarrassment and you pulled your hand from his clothes at the same time you nearly dropped the water bottle. “You should’ve told me you understood me, I feel so bad now. Was it embarrassing?”

“Very.”

Slapping a hand on your forehead, you slowly dragged it down. “Please forget that. Let’s start from the beginning, hi, I’m (name).”

“I didn’t ask for your name.”

“O-oh.. right. Sorry, I just hope you aren’t hurt or anything. I wasn’t expecting to meet someone this high up in the moun-”

Choso walked away to avoid the conversation and you didn’t try to talk or stop him again.

It worked.

He glanced over his shoulder as you continued your trail and the delicious smell of pure blood became fainter the further you walked into the forest.

There was a moment of hesitation for him, something within him twisting. It felt like he had knots all over his chest, yearning for that pure blood. He had forgotten how delirious it could get him.

Shaking his head, he tried clearing his thoughts. No. This wasn’t the time nor the place.

~~~

After finding an open clearing that could be a good enough campsite before it got dark, you set up your tent to sleep for the night, the opening was large enough for your tiny tent and small enough for you to feel safe. You skipped lighting up a fire and went straight inside your tent to avoid blood-sucking mosquitos.

Although staying inside the tent and eating a granola bar wouldn’t count as a camping experience by many people, it was your first time camping alone. So, you wanted to save your energy for hiking rather than the useless stuff. Nobody cared. The real experience was the hiking, the tall trees, the breathtaking views from the cliffs, and the cute animals you come across if you were lucky enough,

That was the whole purpose. To come here and forget about everything else to enjoy nature.

Several months ago you had made a promise to yourself that you were going to go hiking in the mountains if you never got the promotion you pretty much earned at your job. Well, you never got promoted nor did you work at that office anymore. You dropped off everything to make a fresh start.

That was how you ended up here. Your hiking adventure was going to last for three nights and four days. Today was your only second night and you still had a long way to hike. You were hoping to reach this one cliff you had heard about from the locals, they said that there was a flower field under the cliff, making the view look straight out of a painting.

Maybe if you were lucky you could have a picnic on the cliff before the dark fell tomorrow, watching the view under the bright blue sky. Oh, perhaps you could even set up your tent on the cliff so you could enjoy the scenic view while having breakfast.

You were full of high expectations for tomorrow and the excitement had you rolling around in your double sleeping bag. Having eaten your dinner hours ago, which consisted of a simple granola bar, you were ready to sleep.

Turning off the small lantern you had in the corner of the tent, you nestled inside the sleeping bag, closing your eyes with a smile.

Rustle.

You turned around in the sleeping bag. The rustling of the trees from the wind continued. Humming contentedly in your sleep, a smile spread across your face, it felt peaceful, calm.

Whereas the sounds of car honks and screeching tires would interrupt your sleep in the city, here… there was nothing. Just peace.

Moving further inside the sleeping bag, you smacked your lips, nuzzling your face into the small pillow to continue sleeping.

The wind returned, shook the trees, and crunched on the leaves.

Crunched on the leaves?

You snapped a single eye open and froze in your spot, listening carefully.

Silence.

Ugh, it could have been a single old tree branch falling down and crushing some leaves. Nothing too important. Go back to sleep.

Crunch.

It came from outside of your tent, right where the tent door was. Though, whatever it was, it was far away.

Crunch.

Closer.

Crunch.

It was coming closer.

Crunch.

As if someone was knowingly stepping on the tree branches and the leaves that would make the most sound to announce their approach, each step forward and closer to your tent was being taken deliberately. Whoever was outside, they wanted you to know.

Crunch.

The sinking feeling of not being alone left you petrified and you only hoped they were a passerby, another hiker.

Are you dumb?

Who would hike in the middle of the night?

Crunch.

You sank deeper into your sleeping bag, heart palpitating in fear and lips trembling. There was this urge to scream and yell at them to stay back but you wanted to hold onto that silly idea of it being an animal. A fox or a deer.

Don’t you know?

Crunch.

Both of those animals moved quietly.

Crunch.

This was a human.

Crunch.

At least… you hoped it was a human.

Crunch.

It stopped. It was right outside. Standing directly in front of the door of your tent.

Your entire body was trembling violently inside the sleeping bag, your limbs had turned to stone, you couldn’t move them.

You heard a sigh and a mumbling.

It was a man.

Now, you were even more scared. You didn’t know what to do, if you made a sound he could get scared and leave or just dive inside. Or what if you turned on the lantern? Would he leave then? No, no, no. This wasn’t some gambling game, you weren’t going to get to redo any of these, you had to be careful.

You chose to wait.

Wait to see what was going to happen.

You didn’t know what you were expecting but it wasn’t the man outside grabbing the zipper and opening the tent flap without giving you a moment to react.

He was coming in.

You yelped in surprise and the person stopped briefly but his hand still grabbed the flap to lift it so he could duck inside.

Finally finding the vigor to move, you started kicking at the sleeping bag and crawled to the furthest corner of the tiny tent as the man entered inside the tent, closing the zipper shut after himself.

“G-get out!” Your ears were ringing, you had never been in a situation like this. You didn’t know who he was or what he wanted but it was clear as day that he was here to hurt you. No sane person would invade someone else’s tent like this.

“As I guessed, it’s coming from you.” He spoke to himself, ignoring your words.

Fear began taking over your nerves, your body was shaking uncontrollably as you realized that the man’s features you managed to make out in the dark were awfully similar to the man you had seen earlier today. The one who looked like he was about to pass out at any given moment.

Your mouth popped open but you couldn’t scream, the fact that you had walked past him five hours earlier and him finding you here meant only one thing.

He had followed you here.

There was only one question and it was-

“W-what do you want from me?”

He was crouched down by the tent’s door, he hadn’t moved ever since he entered inside but you could see him shaking his head, debating for something in his own mind.

“No, no, no…” He covered his ears with his hands like a kid and crawled up into a ball by the corner of the tent. “This isn’t the time.”

Oh, he was deranged. You could feel your own sanity slip away, wanting to disappear, teleport away or drop dead at this moment to avoid dealing with this man.

“Please, leave.” Your words were weaker than a whisper but even with his covered ears, he heard you, lifting his head to look in your direction.

You flinched from the way you could see something reflecting light in his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have zipped that thing closed, the smell is intoxicating.” He moved a hand to cover his mouth and nose. The delicious smell of the pure blood in this small space was overwhelming all of his senses.

“W-what smell?”

He was surprised you didn’t even notice but he couldn’t blame you. Humans couldn’t understand these sorts of things. Not curses either. He was… different than the rest. He knew his brothers couldn’t differentiate pure blood from the corrupted. They didn’t need to anyway, they were younger than him.

As an older brother, Choso was more mature. He knew about the things his brothers didn’t know about.

Choso looked at your pretty face. He hadn’t noticed it before, how foolish of him! If he hadn’t overreacted at that moment he would have noticed that the sweet smell was coming from you and he wouldn’t have to trail after you for so long.

It was curiosity at first. Then it was a mission to confirm if the smell was actually coming from you but now that he knew it belonged to you, he wasn’t sure if he could just… leave.

He moved, crawling towards you, you spared him a single warning look and hissed out your next words. “Stay back.”

He didn’t stay back, Choso crawled closer to you slowly, without any real hurry because both of you knew that you were only a prey. No matter what you did, there was no way out for you.

It would be like a rabbit going against a wolf. However, from the way he was towering over you with his height in the cramped space with his hair brushing against the tent ceiling, it didn’t look like you were the prey he was going to kill. There was a soft look on his face, indicating that what he was going to do was so much more sinister.

“I never told you my name. It’s Choso.”

You leaned back onto the tent to put distance between the two of you but he grabbed you by your ankles, abruptly pulling you under him.

A fearful shriek left your lips, you started kicking and struggling but Choso held you in place with a single hand. His strength was unmatchable, you were helpless against him.

“I don’t understand! What do you want from me? Is it money?” You weren’t dumb, you knew he wasn’t here for money nor was he asking for help.

Choso couldn’t give you an honest answer. Not even if he tried. He was a composed man, he liked to believe that was true. He was mature and the oldest of his ten siblings. He had to be a role model to them yet here he was overpowering a poor, helpless little human.

“I will take something from you,” he explained, slowly. He lied to himself, telling himself that he was going to take it because he believed in those silly myths. Myths of the pure blood giving a curse like him that uses blood power no one had experienced before.

He was doing this to protect his brothers. But he had done this in the past too, he knew the myths were untrue and this was only for his own personal satisfaction. He liked the feeling of the pureblood on his skin, the luscious taste of it, and the sweet smell it produced.

How selfish for a brother like him. How childish for an older brother like him.

“W-what?” you dared to ask.

Choso gave you the answer by pulling off your pants along with your underwear.

With renewed vigor you started struggling harder, screaming and kicking. Again, Choso was stronger. You were only a little rabbit trying to fight against a vicious wolf. You had no chance of winning.

“Don’t… Don’t fight back. It’s been a while since I held a woman and I may hurt you,” he said in a straight tone, it was indifferent but his words were threatening. I can hurt you if I’m not careful.

Your body went stiff at his words. He was actually going to take you with force. A pained sob got stuck in your throat and it made your chest clench. You wanted to tell him to stop, beg for him to stop.

He knew you were a fragile little thing, he found it adorable. Small things were cute, things to be protected were always adorable in his eyes. Your cuteness was clouding his mind His instincts were getting all over the place because of you as he managed to take off your pants and underwear. The scent of the blood was stronger now. He felt the straight black line on his face tingling, his eyebrows furrowed while he tried inhaling through his mouth to keep himself sane.

“Please, don’t,” you pleaded as he was undressing himself using one hand. He was keeping you down with his other hand, no matter how much you struggled you couldn’t budge a tiny bit. This was it. You could only watch in horror as he got undressed and got in between your legs.

Finally pulling down his own pants to release his cock, he let go of you for a brief moment to pull you under him after grabbing you by your calves with both hands. You shrieked in surprise as the friction from the sleeping bag under you lifted your shirt up. It reminded Choso that he still hadn’t freed you from one last article of clothing that was preventing him from seeing your naked body in its all glory.

To your luck, he was happy with just lifting the shirt up and over your chest, the sight of your bare chest was enough and he couldn’t want any longer.

The smell of your blood was already making him dizzy. The blood of the innocent was always hard to find but here you were, laying under him.

He would have felt ashamed for indulging in the pleasure if this was any other time but tonight he was alone. His brothers wouldn’t have to see him lose his composure like this. He could do as he wanted.

You put your tiny hands on his chest to push him away but he was already dragging the tip of his cock between your folds.

A wolf shouldn’t mate with a rabbit. It was common sense. It was wrong. However, as a product between two or more species, Choso was unbothered by the rules of nature.

He shoved the entire length of his cock inside of you with an abrupt thrust of his hips. You screamed, hitting his chest as the pain of your hymen being torn intensified. His girth was too much for your virgin walls, they were being stretched without any preparation but you could feel the slick fluid starting to leak out.

Choso took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

There it was.

The blood of a virgin.

The sweet, almost delicious smell filled his lungs and he tentatively pulled out of you. He gracefully dragged his long fingers along your slit to scoop most of your pure blood and brought his hand up to his face.

His digits were covered in a small trail of blood, it was slowly streaming down from the tip of his fingers towards the base. He took a deep inhale of the blood before parting his lips in admiration. Agonizing slowly he put his fingers in his mouth to taste your blood as you watched in horror.

Humming around his digits and savoring the taste of your innocence, Choso thought he would be satisfied with only getting a taste. His cock swelling bigger proved him wrong.

When he turned his attention back to you, the two of you glanced at each other. You pleaded for him to stop once again but he didn’t waste any more time and surged his hips forward, refusing to leave your slick heat empty.

His cock stretched your tight virgin walls, forcing them to take the very shape of him while you dug your nails into the sleeping bag under you, pulling at the fabric and silently screaming. He was filling you up with no gaps.

He pulled his hips back and snapped them forward with enough force to punch all the air out of your lungs. Then, you realized he was right. His strength could hurt you if he wasn’t careful.

“I-it hurts.”

Unfortunately, he was too lost in the pleasure of tasting the blood of a virgin and his mind was a mess. It was like he was high on a drug, completely intoxicated, unable to think straight. So, he didn’t hear your words. Instead, he grabbed you by your sides and started fucking you frantically almost immediately.

Each thrust had his entire weight behind them, his brute strength and frenzied pace were unbearable for your little mortal body.  

Choso didn’t remember how fragile and delicate humans were compared to curses like him, especially women. He was treating you as if you could handle the immense libido he had. He also failed to notice the way you were losing control over your body; like how you were incapable of closing your mouth as you drooled down your chin. Your legs twitched, toes curled, and back arched.

All because of the ferocity of his thrusts.

The pain of your hymen being torn was now a faint memory, your virgin walls being stroked by something so thick and firm began feeling delightful, erotic.

You stopped gripping the sleeping bag under you and put your hands on his shoulders, grabbing the broad muscles to avoid being rubbed against the sleeping bag no more.

Choso’s hands on your sides slid down to grab you by the supple flesh of your ass. Like this, he could both slam into your pussy and slam you onto his cock to meet his thrusts, resulting in a loud skin-on-skin clapping sound.

A moan escaped your lips as more of your sanity drained out of you.

He leaned down to take your tit in his mouth, sucking on the soft skin before drawing circles around your nipple with his tongue. You tasted as good as your blood, something he hadn’t been expecting. It made him wonder if you tasted the same everywhere.

Wanting to test it out, he left your breast alone and licked his way up to your lips before crashing them onto yours and forcing his tongue inside your already gaped open mouth.

Like he guessed, you tasted, oh, so sweet. He swirled his tongue around yours as he continued moving his hips like an animal in heat.

Surprisingly, you clumsily kissed him back, having lost the lost drop of sanity, you were now completely gone out of your mind.

The kiss turned sloppy, you were gasping and whimpering into the kiss each time he snapped his hips forward at the same time he abruptly slammed you onto his cock to meet him halfway. Your eyes were rolling to the back of your head from bliss.

Savoring your luscious taste and indulging in your heavenly warmth, Choso felt like he could go on for hours. He was getting drunk from the intensity of your smell and taste.

However, his cock was already throbbing and your gummy walls were pulsating around his girth, seducing him to cum inside. The least he could do was to give you what you wanted.

Grabbing you harder until his fingers dug into the meat of your ass and planting his knees stably on the tent’s floor, Choso quickened his pace.

Unhinged.

You could feel something bubbling in your stomach as he was moving way too fast inside of you. There was a voice in the back of your mind yelling, shouting, breathlessly telling you to wake up, to push this stranger away but all you did was to pull him closer and wrap your legs around his hips to shamelessly encourage him.

You knew his name, he was no stranger… right?

When his hips started staggering, Choso slammed his hips into yours one last time, burying himself balls deep inside of your cunt. Your not so virgin walls clenched around his pulsating cock, moments later you felt the small twitching of his balls against your skin before thick spurts of cum painted your insides white.

Choso groaned audibly and pulled back from the kiss, simultaneously pulling out of you before his seed could overflow your pussy.

He threw himself next to you on the large sleeping bag and stared at the tent ceiling. The sweet smell of your innocence was still in the air, he inhaled it deeply one more time, treasuring this moment of satisfaction a second longer.

You on the other hand were barely awake and kind of in pain since it felt like he had broken your hips or a rib… or two, maybe three. You would live, he guessed.

Choso left you in your tent and returned to the hideout after a long walk. During his walk, he promised himself to hold back if he smelled another chaste woman again, just like he had many other times in the past.

#choso x reader #damn i should really quit writing #wtf what that like i have no idea #this was supposed to be a warmup but i added plot to it jedsbkghrf #anywayy byee going inactive <3

[words-writ-in-starlight]

where's the essay op

Okay so bayonets.  I don't know why I ever pretend that I want to talk about anything but military history and battlefield medicine.  I checked all my sources in the waiting room of a doctor's office so you're just going to have to trust me because they are Gone.  I’m pretty sure this can all be found on a few Wiki dives, though.

First of all, to recap, let me clarify a common misconception.  The triangular bayonet was NOT outlawed in the 1949 Geneva Convention, nor any future revisions—as it was originally a musket weapon, it was fading out of use by World War II and the subsequent Convention.  However, you'll notice that I opted to use to word "violates" rather than "were banned by," which is a fine semantical hair to split and, I suppose, debatable.  Most bayonets were not explicitly banned in the GC, in that there is not an article in the GC saying you can't use them.  However there IS an article in the GC, adopted from the earlier 1899 Hague Regulations, stating that it is prohibited to "employ weapons...of a nature to cause superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering" (originally part of Article 23 of the HR, now Article 35 of the GC, expanded in 1977).  Personally, as someone who knows a lot about how a lot of weapons impact the human body, I think that is a more expansive statement than most people would expect, and should be treated accordingly.  Regrettably I do not work for the UN.

Point is, triangular blades specifically are known to cause wounds that are difficult to heal, highly prone to infection, and extremely likely to never fully recover, while also having a relatively low mortality rate.  This is because the axes of a triangular wound, which is shaped sort of like a Y, make it very hard to stitch closed, and very easy for any "twisting" of the blade to create a large hole with ragged edges that's functionally impossible to stitch closed.  As an added bonus, because of the way scar tissue forms, it's possible for one "line" of a triangular wound to pull open other parts of the puncture while the scar tissue forms and pulls on the skin.  Even by standards in the 1700s, triangular bayonet wounds were phenomenally likely to infect and consistently difficult to repair, and modern medicine has made only limited improvements on that situation.  As such, cases have been made that certain types of bayonet/triangular blades in general are therefore in violation of this article, despite not being explicitly banned.

(Side note: yes, the American military violates the GC on the regular.  The American police violate the GC.  I am excruciatingly aware.  The GC is interesting reading generally, but especially if you're an American and you ever feel like being appalled for a few hours.)

Anyway, with that covered again, let's actually talk about the development of triangular bayonets, which might've been out of use by the time of the GC but DEFINITELY violated that article in a big way for a good two centuries prior and are also a fascinating insight into the fact that humanity, as a whole, is really determined to do things in the dumbest way possible.

The first thing you have to understand about bayonets is that they were originally invented as a way to integrate pikes with guns, not knives or even swords.  When arquebuses and muskets were first invented, you were lucky to get a rate of fire around one round per minute, and you still had to protect your army while they were reloading their clunky black powder guns.  Therefore, most infantries between like...the invention of the gun and the late 1600s were comprised of soldiers equipped with muskets, and also soldiers equipped with pikes (a type of spear).  The idea of a bayonet was "what if we put a pike and a musket TOGETHER and then we could give everyone THAT and have way more guns in our army because we don't need pikemen anymore." Which makes sense when you think about it.

What makes less sense is that the initial effort at bayonets was something called a plug bayonet.  You'll never fucking guess what these geniuses (first record is Chinese infantry around-abouts 1600, popular use of plug bayonets recorded in Europe around the 1630s) figured out for their first try at a bayonet.  Here's a hint!  There's not a lot of places on a gun where you can "plug in" a sword. 

Obviously plug bayonets did not exactly catch on as a fantastic solution, because these guns were either a gun OR a short spear and neither was especially good at their jobs.  A bunch of battles hinged on this problem. Which brings us to the end of the 1600s, when English forces in Scotland got absolutely obliterated by a bunch of Highlanders in 1689 because the English were so busy trying to fix their bayonets that the Highlanders literally just charged them, fired one volley, and cut them down with swords and axes. The English took that one very personally (which, you know what, fair, it was a humiliating defeat, especially since the Highlanders had been using that tactic very successfully for a while) and started developing better bayonets.

This is where we get to socket bayonets, AKA what you would probably recognize as a bayonet from a period TV series or a museum.  Socket bayonets have a metal sleeve that gets attached around the barrel of a gun (in this case a musket), so that you can still theoretically use the damn gun while it's attached.  There were problems with the development of socket bayonets (notably, it took a while to figure out how to keep them from falling off the gun during battle), but overall they worked much better and armies started getting rid of pikemen. This was also when bayonets were shortened to a little over a foot, which isn't really important but made them much easier to maneuver.  Socket bayonets were the European order of the day by the early 1700s, and mostly came in three flavors: single edge (like a knife), double edge (like a sword), and spike (like a...spike).  There were pros and cons to all of these (single edge wasn't great for stabbing, spike was ONLY good for stabbing, and double edge was kind of okay at stabbing and kind of okay at slashing), but most importantly, both single and double edged bayonets were fragile.  The heads of polearms were shaped on patterns other than "sword on a stick" for a reason, and it's because "sword on a stick" is not very sturdy.

Triangular bayonets were the solution to this problem.  Triangular bayonets are basically a single piece of metal creased long-ways, with both edges sharpened and the top fluted to form a third edge at the crease.  This makes a much more resilient weapon than a flat blade, because a twisting motion doesn’t risk snapping the blade in the middle.  It also means that now you have three edges, and human nature is to figure “more knife better.”

And don’t get me wrong, as a weapon of war, the triangular bayonet was a great one.  It was introduced in the 1710s and then got used regularly to maim and terrify through the start of the 1900s.  In fact, the triangular bayonet worked so well that it only began to get phased out of use when the style of war itself started to change dramatically during the World Wars.  When warfare was focused on pitched battle (your old school “two armies enter, one army leaves” kind of warfare), the emphasis of a bayonet was on extending the reach of a gun.  A bayonet lets a soldier have a weapon for closer range combat, where a gun—especially a long gun like a musket—is not as effective.  So when you had two armies on the field and a bayonet was first and foremost a way to keep the enemy at least gun-length away, longer bayonets were better.  

But World War I was the advent of trench warfare, which was a terrible idea and also meant that a long weapon, like a gun with an extra foot and a half of sword on top, was much, MUCH harder to work with.  Either fighting took place in no man’s land, where you probably weren’t going to get close enough to use a bayonet anyway, or in a trench, where a weapon as long as you were tall was just impossible to work with.  

(If you know anything about WWI, you’re probably asking me about bayonet charges right now, specifically the concept of “going over the top.”  Contrary to every media representation of WWI ever, “going over the top” of a trench faded out of use pretty quickly.  It was a type of bayonet charge where the soldiers in ONE trench fixed their bayonets and tried to charge no man’s land in an effort to reach the OTHER trench, but it was basically never effective because no man’s land was often heavily trapped and strafed with gunfire and mortar shells.  Also, it was the kind of battle tactic that military history books talk about with phrases like “total annihilation of whole attacking battalions,” so that’s the kind of mortality rate we’re talking about here.  The Battle of the Somme featured a good number of bayonet charges by the British, for context, so people learned and started using other tactics.)

So, since bayonets were only useful in trenches, suddenly everyone was scrambling to shorten bayonets and guns so that their soldiers could get ANYTHING DONE.  And THEN soldiers started admitting that they were literally taking their bayonets off their guns and using them as knives instead, because for trench fighting that was way more useful, and so everyone just decided fuck it, let’s just make bayonet-knives, which is why WWI weapons with bayonets usually look, very literally, like someone duct taped a short knife to the front of a gun.  This was the start of the decline of the triangular bayonet, a full two hundred years after it hit the battlefield, which is a frankly spectacular run for any weapon since the invention of the gun.  Triangular bayonets held on, here and there, through part of WWII, but they were almost entirely gone by the time of the Geneva Convention being ratified in 1949.  However, spike or knife bayonets are still issued to many armies as a weapon of last resort to this day, although they aren’t often used in actual attacks.  Now we have bigger, worse weapons for actual attacks.

 TL;DR, the development of bayonets went like this:

“What if we put a pike ON a gun?  …oh wait, you still want to use the gun?  Sucks to be you, I guess.”

“What if we put a sword on the gun instead?  Then we could put it somewhere where we can still use the gun!  Good luck keeping it on there, though.”

“What if we actually made something designed to get put on a gun and stab people effectively?  Like, what if we designed something with that purpose in mind?  Perhaps?” SMASH CUT TWO CENTURIES

“Well if you’re just gonna take your bayonet off and stab someone with it anyway, can we just go back to giving you knives, then?”

And now you’re caught up on all the dubiously successful ways we’ve tried to mutilate people with a knife-gun.

#military history #medical history #sort of...? #bayonets #honestly i have no idea what this would be classified as. i just had a really good time reading about bayonets in a waiting room. #Y'ALL WANTED TO KNOW SO HERE IS MY ESSAY #IT IS VERY LONG YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELVES I'M NOT SORRY #incidentally i HATE the fact that plug bayonets were a thing. what a terrible solution to a problem. what the hell. #'we went to all this trouble to make a gun that won't blow us up (much) so now we're gonna put a knife in the end' #i would love to talk to the guy who came up with that and ask politely what the hell decided them on this #as opposed to SAY FOR EXAMPLE A SOCKET BAYONET #WHICH IS NOT THAT MUCH MORE ADVANCED A CONCEPT #it does bear mentioning that bayonets weren't often major killers in war! #...because you were much more likely to be maimed and/or die later of infection than die outright on the field from a bayonet wound #so take from that what you will #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #anonymous #asked and answered

[whatwillyoudodifferently]

Look, Louts! Lilies! - Yuri For A Hope-Flung Present and Hopeful Future

Look, I’ll be frank. I typically try to keep to a more formal tone when I write for this blog. I’m not in a formal mood. It is June October 2020, and I, like the rest of you, have been under quarantine for a little over three almost seven months now due to the Covid-19 virus. Throw in a eensy, teensy bit of massive political movements and change in response to police violence and racism, and an increase of police violence and racism in response to those movements, and I think it’s fair to say it’s been a tumultuous couple of months. Except, strangely, it also hasn’t been, because so much of this time has been characterized by ennui and isolation. Stressful, yet soul-numbing. In short, it’s been a very weird place to be in.

So, we’ve all found our different ways to cope. My sister’s way has been getting really into succulents(?), and my way has been buying digital manga and video games. I’ve finished stuff I’ve put off for literal years and bought stuff I had heard was good but wasn’t that hyped to get into. And somehow, the one thing I’ve really gotten into has been yuri? 

Now, yuri has a very long and rich history, as well as its own sets of conventions and nuances, so it is with a great, great, GREAT deal of respect that I say that I’m going to simplify it for this essay as “Japanese media with a particular focus on romance between women” for brevity’s sake. If you want to know more, there’s actually quite a lot that’s been written about it in English, but I’m aiming this essay at English-speakers who have had at least a little experience with yuri and more than just passing knowledge.

Because you see, I’ve found that yuri fans have a lot of things to say about yuri! And a lot of those things really bug me!! “Yuri is only fetish quasi-porn written by men,” “yuri is only bland wholesome fluff,” “yuri is only high school drama,” so on, so on. It made me mad, but it also made me realize something: a lot of people simply must not know how big this field of lilies truly is! How else can we get people saying “yuri is oversexualized” and “yuri is sexless” as gospel truth? Something’s not adding up here, guys!

So, all that is to say I’m doing something different for this blog: I’m writing up a recommendation list of yuri. A large chunk of it will be stuff I’ve read and can officially give my seal of approval to, while some of them are just titles I’ve heard of that I think will interest others. All of them have been specifically chosen to counter common untrue things I’ve heard about yuri as a whole. I hope you can find at least a few things on this list that you will enjoy and help you keep your head as the encroaching darkness lurches yet a few inches closer!

1. “Yuri is all schoolgirl stuff! Where’s the sci-fi, the period pieces, the action, the fantasy?”

Otherside Picnic

What It Is: A light novel series written by Iori Miyazawa (illustrated by shirakaba). Ongoing, four volumes at time of writing. The story is being adapted into a manga by Eita Mizuno, and an anime adaptation directed by Takuya Satou will be airing in January 2021.

What It’s About: It was on her third trip to the Otherside that Sorawo Kamikoshi almost died, and it was on that same trip she was saved by an angel. Toriko Nishina is a beautiful and confident young woman who also happens to have intimate knowledge of the Otherside, a dangerous yet captivating world that Sorawo can’t help but being drawn to. Toriko convinces Sorawo to join her on her expeditions to the Otherside, fighting off bizarre creatures that have somehow been ripped out of Japanese urban legends and finding strange artifacts in order to make a little extra cash-- all the while keeping an eye out for someone dear to Toriko’s heart.

What I Think: Otherside Picnic is heavily inspired by the novel Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky and features several creatures and scenarios from ghost stories, net lore, and-- there’s no other way to put this-- creepypasta. On paper this sounds deeply unoriginal, so it’s pretty surprising that OP has an incredibly strong identity. The idea of fusing horror with a yuri love story excited me enough the moment I heard about it, so when I finally got to read it for myself, I was delighted to find that the horror elements and the romance elements are both quite strong. 

I will say that thanks to the author’s commitment to following his sources of inspiration to the letter sometimes causes him to undercut his own writing (good example: in one arc there’s an ominous train that keeps being mentioned, causing the reader to dread its arrival with each passing page, but seeing what’s on the train will inevitably fall flat in comparison to the reader’s imagination), but those moments are made up by the more original moments-- the things that are left unseen and unexplained.

The place where the story truly shines is the relationship between the two leads. Sorawo and Toriko are great characters, both incredibly charming and deeply flawed, and they achieve a great chemistry with each other right off the bat. Sorawo is a very interesting protagonist, one who turns out to have a deeply tragic past that has made her into a reclusive, somewhat selfish young woman. What’s great is that Toriko, vivacious and confident, everything Sorawo isn’t, accepts this part of her, in a way. Toriko flat out admits she’s not looking for a particularly virtuous person to accompany her, but an “accomplice.” A big part of the appeal of OP is seeing these two “accomplices” bounce off each other, and eventually come to care about each other, all playing against a background of some genuinely spine-crawling horror. Otherside Picnic is a truly underrated series, and I deeply hope that the anime adaption next year will finally get it all the eyes it deserves (menacing phrasing very much intended).

Where To Get It: The light novels are published by J-Novel Club and can be found via various digital platforms and bookstores. The manga will be published by Square Enix Books starting May 2021. The anime will start airing on January 4th, 2021.

Goodbye My Rose Garden

What It Is: A manga by Dr. Pepperco. Three volumes, complete. It inspired a stage play that ran for a while in Japan, but not much information is available about it in English. 

What It’s About: Hanako has two goals: to meet Victor Franks, the mysterious author who pens the books she adores, and to become a writer herself. Despite having the mettle to travel to England on her own to pursue her dreams, she soons finds that it’s difficult for a young, unwed Japanese woman to dream in 20th century London. However, her luck seems to turn around when she meets Alice Douglas, a noblewoman who offers her a job as her maid-- as well as a surprisingly warm friendship. Alice even offers Hanako a way to meet her idol… but at the price of a horrifying request.

What I Think: In the afterword of Volume 1, Dr. Pepperco openly admits that Goodbye, My Rose Garden was the result of them trying to marry all of their favorite tropes (“Victorian maids! Loads of frills! An English family manor!” are some standout items), and this is apparent in the best way possible. GMRG is a lush period piece that will likely appeal to fans of movies like The Handmaiden and Portrait Of A Lady On Fire, with loving attention paid to details like clothes and settings. 

The relationship between Alice and Hanako is quite charming, with Alice supporting Hanako as much as she can while still taking every available opportunity to tease her, while Hanako constantly surprises Alice each time she shows her moxie and strength. It’s an adorable, sweet dynamic, yet a dark, melancholy weight lurks in the background in the form of Alice’s request-- in short, it’s a relationship that feels tailor made for me. Still, I believe this “darkness” never threatens to overwhelm the story, only enhance it in such a way that the reader will soldier on, hoping for a happy ending for our two leads. With an engaging plot and gorgeous art, this is a great manga for both longtime yuri fans and newcomers looking for an introduction to the world of yuri.

Where To Get It: Seven Seas Entertainment has translated the first two volumes, with the final one coming to English soon all three volumes into English.

Seabed

What It Is: A visual novel by paleontology, a Japanese doujin circle.

What It’s About: Mizuno Sachiko is a designer who is haunted by visions of Takako, her vivacious childhood friend and former lover. Narasaki Hibiki is a psychiatrist who wants to help Sachiko make sense of these hallucinations. Takako is… confused, trying to figure out why she keeps losing her memory and why she and Sachiko drifted apart despite being so close. Seabed is a story that spans the pasts and presents of these three women as they attempt to find and understand the truth.

What I Think: At first glance, Seabed seems simple, but it’s a bit of a hard story to explain. In a way, there isn’t much to explain-- it’s a very slow, down-to-earth story that gets almost tedious at times. I think it would be a hard sell to someone who isn’t used to visual novels, but I could imagine it being challenging even for fans. All I’ll say is this: if you give Seabed a chance, it will draw you into a surreal, gentle, melancholy tale akin to slowly sinking beneath the water of a strange, yet not unfriendly sea. For its simplicity, it’s got quite a few surprises in its long, long runtime, and any attempt to explain further will just ruin an experience that’s meant to wash over the reader over time. The only thing I’ll say is the one thing I think everyone knows: the climax will make you cry.

Where To Get It: Seabed is published in English through Fruitbat Factory and is available on Steam, Itch.io, and Nintendo Switch.

SHWD

What It Is: A manga by Sono. Ongoing.

What It’s About: Sawada is one of the few women working for the Special Hazardous Waste Disposal, and the only one in her office. But that changes when the stunningly-strong yet staggeringly-sweet Koga is hired, and the two become close in no time. Sawada trains Koga and soon the two go on their first mission to dispose of the “hazardous waste” left after a recent war… the dangerous, organic anti-human weapons known as the Dynamis.

What I Think: SHWD opens with several close-ups of Sawada’s arm muscles as she works out. I have found that page alone is sometimes enough to convince someone to read SHWD, and if not, pictures of Sawada and-- especially-- Koga are often enough to do the job. In all seriousness, what I love about SHWD can be summarized by something Sono said in an interview about the manga:

‘The first motivating force was "I want to write a yuri manga featuring strong women." I was very drawn to strong female characters by watching "PERSON of INTEREST" and "Assassin's Creed Odyssey." However, I felt that I should differentiate myself by doing something other than a "strong woman" and "weak woman" dynamic. So, I thought about coupling women with different types of strength. This is why all of the SHWD main characters are "strong women."’

It’s a mindset I love a lot. Koga is remarkably strong in a physical sense, but her mental fortitude is fragile due to her past experiences with the Dynamis, and as such, it’s Sawada who uses her immense mental strength to support her. Indeed, every character in SHWD so far bears intense trauma born of the Dynamis in some way, and it’s hard to see how their pasts still hurt them in the present. But that just makes it satisfying to see these women come together to support one another. SHWD drew me in with a unique and often dark action-oriented story with horror elements, but it’s this idea of “strong women” who make up for each other’s weaknesses that really makes it dear to me. 

Also, it can’t be stated enough that Sono is so so so so so (etc) good at drawing muscular women. 

On a completely unrelated note, there’s a side story about Koga and Sawada playing sports together. This includes judo. I am saying this for no reason.

Where To Get It: The English translation of the manga is released in chapters by Lilyka Manga.

Sexiled: My Sexist Party Leader Kicked Me Out, So I Teamed Up With a Mythical Sorceress!

What It Is: A two volume light novel series by Ameko Kaeruda, illustrated by Kazutomo Miya. Possibly complete.

What It’s About: Tanya Artemiciov is an absurdly talented Mage. So why the hell was she kicked out of her adventuring party? Her leader and former friend sums it up in four words: “You’re a woman, Tanya.” In a fit of rage, Tanya channels her anger into a “venting” session that involves swearing her head of and casting a volley of Explosion spells into the wasteland… and accidentally releases a legendary sorceress! Luckily, Laplace is actually quite nice, and just as powerful as the legends say, so the two decide to team up so Tanya can have her revenge!

What I Think: So, this is a silly one, but after a couple of darker entries I think it’s a good palate cleanser. Sexiled is a loud, not-even-remotely subtle, unabashedly feminist take on the “power fantasy” light novel, especially the “revenge fantasy” subgenre-- and even if that sounds awesome on paper to you (ex. me), it will probably feel over-the-top at times to you (ex. me). But in a way, that’s actually kind of its charm. 

I like that Kaeruda utterly refuses to let up on what she wants to tell you, especially because the story was inspired by a real case in Japan. One may be tempted to think “this story is ridiculous, no one would ever be this cartoonishly sexist!” and then you read a news article about how in a famous Japanese medical university was found rigging the test scores of women, and you realize, “oh, people are still this cartoonishly sexist.” So I’m fine with Kaeruda letting it all out in this story. At the same time, I think Sexiled is best when it’s focused not on Tanya’s revenge but on her kindness, and the way her compassion, her strength, and yes, her anger inspires the women and girls around her. 

Sexiled is a fun and often very funny romp about assholes getting theirs, with some surprisingly deep and nuanced moments hiding in a very unsubtle story.

Where To Get It: The light novels are published by J-Novel Club and can be found via various digital platforms and bookstores.

BONUS: Other titles with sci-fi/fantasy/action elements that may interest you!

The Blank Of Describer: A one-shot manga by kkzt about a pair of two dream-builders. They’ve taken all kinds of commissions in the past, but one job they recieve throws them for a loop: a request for a shinigami that can predict and report death. And then comes the kicker: the customer asks the two of them to give it features that the both of them “adore the most…” (Published in English by Lilyka Manga)

A Lily Blooms In Another World: A light novel by Ameko Kaeruda (illustrated by Shio Sakura), author of Sexiled, about Miyako, a Japanese wage slave reincarnated into another world based on her favorite otome game. However, she’s not interested in her would-be love interest, but in Fuuka Hamilton-- the game’s villainess! After Miyako confesses her love, Fuuka decides to give her a challenge: if Miyako can make her say the words “I’m happy” in fourteen days, she’ll stay by her side! (Published in English through J-Novel Club, available on various platforms)

Superwomen In Love: An ongoing manga by sometime about the sentai villainess Honey Trap and her infatuation with the masked superheroine Rapid Rabbit. After being kicked out of her evil organization, Honey Trap decides to team up with her former nemesis to fight evil-- and hopefully, find romance! (To be published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, coming in April 2021)

2. “Yuri is all stories about teenagers! Where’s the stuff about adults?”

Take a look at the previous section: there’s the stuff about adults! Otherside Picnic, Goodbye My Rose Garden, Seabed, SHWD, Sexiled, The Blank of Describer, A Lily Blooms In Another World, and Superwomen In Love are all stories with adult-aged protagonists! But if you’re searching for a more down-to-earth romance, I’m happy to report there’s quite a bit of options to look into!

Still Sick

What It Is: A manga by Akashi. Three volumes, complete.

What It’s About: Makoto Shimizu is an office lady with a secret: she’s a yuri fan who draws doujinshi. She’s able to keep her two lives separate, all until the day she comes face-to-face with her co-worker at a convention! To Makoto’s horror, Akane Maekawa is amused by her nerdy secret, but Akane may have some secrets of her own...

What I Think: This one was a roller coaster for me: I loved the premise of the manga, but wasn’t sure about the dynamic between the leads… that is, until near the end of the first volume, where something happened and everything changed. Without giving too much away, I implore people to give Still Sick a chance-- it has a much deeper story than one might initially guess, as well as an interesting character dynamic between the two leads with some surprising turns.

Where To Get It: The first two volumes of Still Sick are published in English by Tokyopop, with the final one coming soon All three volumes have been published in English by Tokyopop.

After Hours

What It Is: A manga by Yuhta Nishio. Three volumes, complete.

What It’s About: After being ditched by her friend at a club, Emi Ashiana is ready to write the whole night off. All that changes when she meets Kei, a DJ who seems to be everything Emi is not-- cool, confident… employed.... But Kei and Emi hit it off and Emi’s life changes as Kei draws her into the world of Japan’s club scene!

What I Think: It’s hard to explain exactly why I like this manga, but I reeeeally like this manga. 

There’s just something about the sleek art, the amazing atmosphere of the scenes set in nightclubs, the chemistry between Emi and Kei, the focus on more mature topics.... it’s a manga that’s remarkably magnetic for how down-to-earth it is. It’s also just interesting to read stories about subcultures that don’t normally get a spotlight in comics. To sum it up, After Hours is just a lovely manga that’s severely underrated that’s perfect for someone who’s looking for a story that’s both fun and mature.

Where To Get It: All three volumes are published in English by Viz Media.

How Do We Relationship?

What It Is: A manga by Tamifull. Ongoing, five volumes at time of writing.

What It’s About: Miwa and Saeko’s first meeting is… interesting. But despite that, and despite their clashing personalities, the two of them become fast friends. Well… actually, perhaps more than friends. You see, pretty soon the two of them learn that the other is into women. With that in mind, Saeko suggests they try dating each other-- might as well, right? “Might as well” seems like a strange place to begin a relationship, but perhaps even something like that could end in true love?

What I Think: “Why do romances always end when they decide to start dating?!” That’s the question Tamifull poses in the afterword of Volume 1. And it’s a great question! What makes How Do We Relationship? an interesting manga is how oddly realistic it is, highlighting things like the compromises people make in relationships, people who get into relationships for pragmatic reasons rather than love, the whole “thing” about sex… as well as highlighting the additional issues queer people have to deal with. That may sound like a heavy story, but it’s actually quite light-hearted, as well as very, very funny at times. With a cute art style and surprisingly deep premise, HDWR is a great manga for older yuri fans who are craving a more mature story.

Where To Get It: The first volume has been published in English by Viz Media, with more on the way.

BONUS: Other titles with adult protagonists that may interest you!

Even Though We’re Adults: A manga by Takako Shimura about two women in their thirties. Ayano and Akari meet each other in a bar and almost immediately feel a sense of chemistry between them. There’s just one problem: Ayano is married to someone else. (To be published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, coming in January 2021)

Doughnuts Under A Crescent Moon: A manga by Shio Usui. Uno Hinako wants nothing more than to be seen as a normal young woman, but she just can’t seem to make a “normal” romance work. But maybe Sato Asahi, a woman who works at the same company as her, can show her a new kind of normal? (To be published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, coming in February 2021)

Our Teachers Are Dating: A manga by Pikachi Ohi. Hayama Asuka is a gym teacher, Terano Saki is a biology teacher. One day, they come into work both looking suspiciously happy… because they’ve started dating! (Published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment)

I Married My Best Friend To Shut My Parents Up: A one-volume manga by Kodama Naoko. Morimoto is sick and tired about constantly being badgered about finding a man to marry, so her kouhai from her high school days offers a solution: marry each other to make her parents back off! (Published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment)

Now Loading…!: A one-volume manga by Mikan Uji. Takagi has just snagged her dream job at a games publisher, but being put in charge of a mobile game that’s barely pulling in any attention isn’t exactly what she was hoping for. What’s worse, she’s drawn the attention of her strict higher-up Sakurazuki Kaori… who also happened to design her most favorite game of all time?! (Published in English through Seven Seas Entertainment)

3.  “Yuri is all schoolgirl stuff! Where’s- wait, didn’t we already do this one?”

Yes we did. And you know what? I’m making a stand! There’s a lot of really, really good yuri stories set in high schools, and I think more people need to give them a chance! Here are some high school titles that I think are worth a second look for one reason or another!

Bloom Into You

What It Is: A manga by Nakatani Nio. Eight volumes, complete. A twelve episode anime aired in 2018, covering about the first half of the series. A three volume spinoff light novel series written by Hitoma Iruma was also published.

What It’s About: Yuu Koito has long dreamed of the day she’d find That One, Storybook Romance that would make her feel like she was walking on air, but the day that a boy confesses to her, her feet remain firmly planted on the ground. When she meets Touko Nanami, a girl who seems to have the same strange, distant relationship to romance as she does, Yuu feels like she has found a comrade. But what will happen when the next person to confess to Yuu… is Touko?

What I Think: What can I say about Bloom Into You that hasn’t already been said? There’s a reason it’s basically considered a staple of yuri despite being only five years old. The art is beautiful and delicate, the story has a deft mastery of comedy, drama, and romance, and the characters are deeply loveable. Really, the only reason this one is here is to tell you to get to reading this manga (or watching the anime) if you haven’t already. So get to it!

Where To Get It: The entire series-- as well as the spinoff light novel series Regarding Saeki Sayaka-- has been published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment. The anime is currently streaming on HiDive.

Yuri Is My Job

What It Is: A manga by Miman. Ongoing, seven volumes at time of writing.

What It’s About: Hime wants nothing more than to be adored by everyone and to someday bag a rich husband. Of course, being loved by all takes a lot of work, and she prides herself in keeping her perfect, adorable facade so well-maintained. But of course, the one time she slips up, she ends up injuring the manager of a local cafe! Hime finds herself strong-armed into working for this cafe under their star employee, a kind, graceful girl named Mitsuki. But things aren’t quite so simple-- you see, this cafe has a gimmick in which all the employees are constantly acting out yuri-inspired scenes for the customers, so in a way, the employees also have their own facades. And under her facade, Mitsuki… hates Hime’s guts!

What I Think: Yuri Is My Job is an odd duck, but in a good way. It’s advertised and initially framed as a comedy, but it becomes a surprisingly thoughtful drama about the personas people adopt and why they do so (though, luckily, the comedy never truly goes away). There’s an interesting web of relationships between the girls, and having those interactions take place in a setting where they must act out a completely different sort of drama adds an extra level of drama and intrigue. The cute, polished artwork is just the icing on the cake. YIMJ is a good manga for those who are already familiar with yuri tropes and those who are interested in a drama that doesn’t get too heavy.

Where To Get It: Six volumes have been published in English by Kodansha comics, with the seventh on the way.

Riddle Story of Devil

What It Is: A manga written by Yun Kouga and illustrated by Sunao Minakata. Five volumes, complete. A 12 episode anime aired in 2014.

What It’s About: At Myojo Private School, an elite all-girl’s academy, Class Black has a secret. Twelve of the thirteen girls are actually assassins who have been offered a dark deal-- one wish will be granted to whoever manages to kill Haru Ichinose, the thirteenth student. But there’s still hope for Haru in the form of Tokaku Azuma, one of the assassins who has decided to defect to Haru’s side-- and defend her from the other girls at any cost.

What I Think: I’m not sure… if I can say Riddle Story of Devil is “good.” It’s definitely something. Although its premise is vaguely similar to Revolutionary Girl Utena, its tone and atmosphere remind me a lot more of the Dangan Ronpa series. It’s schlocky and ridiculous and often over-the-top and at times exploitative. It’s pure junk food, basically… and I believe that’s where the charm comes from. It’s my guiltiest of guilty pleasures. It may not exactly be good, but more often than not, it’s fun. It’s hard not to be immediately interested in a yuri battle series, you have to admit. 

And if it does have one undeniably good element, it’s Tokaku and Haru’s relationship. They contrast each other nicely, and while one might expect Haru to be boring and helpless, she’s actually quite proactive at times, and some of the most interesting, engaging parts of the series come from seeing how the two work together to fend off the latest assassin. It’s a short read and if anything, it’s worth it to see how each girl ends up. I recommend it for older viewers who are okay with violence and ludicrous battle scenarios.

Where To Get It: All five volumes are available through Seven Seas Entertainment. The anime can be watched through Funimation.*

*Please don’t watch the anime.**

** At the very least, please don’t watch the anime unless you’ve read the entire manga. Riddle Story Of Devil was one of those unfortunate cases where the anime adaption was produced before the manga reached its conclusion, and as such it has a very strange, rushed ending that includes none of what I enjoyed about the actual ending. Several scenes were also changed, and if I recall correctly, fanservice was added in several places where there was none previously. All in all, I’d really only recommend it for big fans of the series.

Side By Side Dreamers

What It Is: A light novel by Iori Miyazawa, illustrated by Akane Malbeni. One volume, complete.

What It’s About: Saya Hokage has been suffering from insomnia, but one day finds relief in the form of Hitsuji Konparu, a strange girl who can put people to sleep. As it turns out, Hitsuji is a person who has the special ability to move freely in their dreams, known as a “Sleepwalker.” The Sleepwalkers have been battling beings that possess people through their dreams, and it turns out they want Saya to join them in the fight.

What I Think: Side By Side Dreamers is short and… well, dreamy. I really enjoyed the premise and I think it’s a good novel for people who think Otherside Picnic may be a little too much for them. I also enjoyed each dream sequence-- I tend to find that the writing in light novels is a little dry, so the use of figurative language to describe these scenes was really refreshing and interesting. SBSD is a fun oneshot that I think is especially ideal for newcomers to yuri.

Where To Get It: Side-by-Side Dreamers is published by J-Novel Club and can be found via various digital platforms and bookstores.

Cocoon Entwined

What It Is: A manga by Yuriko Hara. Three volumes, ongoing.

What It’s About: Hoshimiya Girls' Academy is a strange, almost otherworldly paradise with a peculiar tradition. For all three years, each girl grows out her hair to absurd, breathtaking lengths, in order for it to eventually be cut and weaved into uniforms for future students. Perhaps it is these strange uniforms that seem to whisper about the past that makes the school seem frozen in another time… picturesque, yet stagnant. But one day, a shocking incident shatters the quiet peace of the academy, and the tumultuous feelings that have long been hidden in the hearts of these girls come rushing into the light.

What I Think: Cocoon Entwined is, in a word, eerie. It’s not marketed as a horror story, and I don’t think it’s intended to be one, but I’ve seen some that say they get horror vibes from it. I definitely understand that-- there’s a deep sense of unease that permeates the entire story in a way that’s a bit hard to articulate. The running thread of uniforms made from human hair definitely doesn’t hurt (it does-- I’ve seen many people understandably turned off by this element), but it’s more than that. It’s the sense that everything at Hoshimiya feels frozen and fragile. It’s the sense that everyone is burying their true feelings under countless layers. It’s the fact that in one scene, Saeki reaches out in a dark room full of uniforms and feels her arm touched by countless hands made of hair. 

Cocoon Entwined is a strange manga, and I feel it’s not for everyone-- besides the way many are put off by the central premise, the way that the story jumps around in time can be a bit confusing to follow. But in my opinion, I love it for these elements: the uniforms and their marriage between beauty and grotesque, the sense of frozen time, the delicate artwork that feels like it might be shattered by the weight of your gaze, the strange, airless atmosphere, the girls and their clear exhaustion of having to be ideal women. It’s a strange little series that I think should be given a shot, particularly if you want something a little more out there, or a darker take on Class S tropes.

Where To Get It: Yen Press has currently published two volumes in English.

BONUS: Other high school titles that may interest you!

A Tropical Fish Yearns For Snow: A manga by Makoto Hagino. Konatsu Amano has just moved to a new town by the sea, and must deal with her new school’s mandatory club policy. Luckily, she meets Koyuki Honami, an older girl who runs the Aquarium Club. Recognizing her loneliness, Konatsu decides to join her club. (Published  in English by Viz Media)

Flowers: A four-part series of visual novels published by Innocent Grey. Flowers focuses on Saint Angraecum Academy, a private high school that prides itself on overseeing the growth of proper young ladies. One notable thing about the academy is the Amitié program, a system that pairs students together in order to foster friendships between the girls. But friendship isn’t the only thing blooming… (Available in English from Steam, J-List, and JAST USA)

Adachi And Shimamura: A series of light novels written by Hitoma Iruma and illustrated by Non that has recently received a manga adaptation and an anime adaption. Adachi and Shimamura are two girls who encounter each other one day while cutting class. Little by little, the two girls become a part of each other’s lives, and feelings begin to form. (The light novels are published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, the anime is licensed by Funimation)

And there we go! 24 different yuri titles. I didn’t even go into the series that I tried but personally didn’t like that still might interest other people. I primarily made this list to gush about yuri that I liked, but I also tried to include a fairly wide range of things so that, hopefully, any random person who read this whole list could find at least one new title that interests them. And I hope that includes you!

The yuri scene is quite large and wonderful if you know where to look, and it too often gets a bad rap. I hope that this list could give you a new perspective on what kinds of titles are available, and I hope it gives you something new to try. And remember: if you want something specific, try looking for it! There’s a good chance the story you’re craving is already out there, waiting to be discovered!

#otherside picnic #shwd #goodbye my rose garden #sexiled #seabed #a lily blooms in another world #superwomen in love #the blank of describer #even though we're adults #doughnuts under a crescent moon #how do we relationship #still sick #bloom into you #yuri is my job #riddle story of devil #our teachers are dating! #yuri #cocoon entwined #wwydd #side by side dreamers #a tropical fish dreams of snow #now loading...! #i married my best friend to shut my parents up #adachi and shimamura #after hours #flowers #wwydd?

[dwellordream]

“I can’t believe I have to write this down right now, but my dear friends, medieval people bathed regularly. Yes. I assure you. I am very serious. It is true. In fact, medieval people loved a bath and can in many ways be considered a bathing culture, much in the way that say, Japan is now. Medieval people also very much valued being clean generally in an almost religious way. This is not to say that getting clean was as easy for medieval people as it is for us now.

But medieval people were very clever and had ways of getting around that. So, say you are an average-ass medieval person. That means you are a peasant, because 85% of the population or so were peasants. This meant that you were working very hard doing manual labour in a field. How would you stay clean? Well you would probably wash daily at home. This usually involved filling an ewer with water, heating it and then poring it into a larger basin which allowed for ease of scrubbing….

Say that you couldn’t or didn’t have time to heat up water though, what then? Well people would just bathe in a local water source… So, fine, regular people figured out how to get wet, right? Well, the other thing that is important to note here (and I can’t believe I am saying this), when washing at home medieval people used soap. Yes. I am serious. They did. In fact soap is a motherfucking medieval invention. Yes. It is. The Romans – whomst I don’t see a bunch of basics going around accusing of being filthy – did not, in fact have soap, in contrast. They usually washed using oil. Medieval people? Oh you better believe that they had soap.

It was first introduced from the East, like most good stuff was at the time, but it took off rather quickly. Your peasant ass would likely have been making soap at home, and books of secrets often included various recipes for soap, all of which can still be made today. The general ingredients were usually tallow, mutton or beef fat, some type of wood ash or another, potash, and soda.

However, soap could also be purchased. As early as the seventh century soap makers guilds began to spring up , trading it as a high value commodity. If you were fancy enough to be buying soap you could also get the good imported stuff initially from Aleppo, which was traded heavily and involved laurel oil rather than animal fat. After importing rather a lot of this to Castille, in the twelfth century the denizens there got to thinking that they could probably create a similar product using the local olive oil. Voila! Castille soap was born and also became a popular trade good.

Even if you couldn’t get the good fancy soap, many people would scent the water that they bathed in, often with thyme or sage. People often used herbs not just for washing, but in deodorant as well. Yes. They had deodorant. It was often made of bay leaves, hyssop or sage. In fact, one of the more popular medieval deodorant recipes came from Dioscorides, a Greek physician active in the first century AD. His De Materia Medica was super popular throughout the medieval period and advised readers on how to make a deodorant using salvia and sage.

Medieval people also regularly washed both their hands and faces both before and after meals when in between baths because – stay with me here – they knew that dirt and grime could be hazardous to their health if ingested. Yes. They did. They really really did. In fact, the whole washing after eating thing was an explicit health concern, because as medieval medical writers such as Magninius Mediolanesis noted, If any of the waste products of third digestion are left under the skin that were not resolved by exercise and massage, these will be resolved by the bath.

Our girl Hildegard of Bingen even had a recipe for face cleanser because apparently she was a skin-care bitch. She advises that, one whose face has hard and rough skin, made harsh from the wind, should cook barley in water and, having strained that water through a cloth, should bathe his face gently with the moderately warm water. The skin will become soft and smooth, and will have a beautiful color.

So yes, medieval people, even regular old peasants were pretty clean types of people. In fact, they were so clean that for them bathing constituted a leisure activity. So the average person would likely wash daily at home, but once a week or so they would treat themselves to a bath at the communal bath house. That is where the party was at.

…You, my gentle readers may have picked up on something here, and that is that our girls the sex workers be showing right TF up in the public baths. This meant that whether or not you admitted them made the difference between whether you were keeping a bathhouse or a brothel. Here in London, of course the Stews in Southwark were essentially brothels where you could also have a bath (and were largely owned by the Bishop of Winchester (as you do).

Having said that, there were plenty of people who went to bathhouses just to go to bathhouses and by 1292 in Paris, there were at least 26 running that could give you just a bath. Medieval people related to this very much as we do having a spa day, and medieval bathhouses often included steam baths along with big wooden tubs where you could sit down and enjoy a meal. In order to stand out from the crowd, the Parisian bathhouses would even employ criers to advertise themselves.

And, I cannot stress this enough, this was just for regular ass people. Rich people? Oh, you better believe they were bathing, and often had dedicated rooms for washing unlike the poors. They also might go places simply to bathe, like Bath in England, or the thermal baths in Pozzuli in Campania, which was so famous it had a whole ass poem, De balneis Puteolanis written about it. They could also afford that nice soap and perfume and all that good stuff. In fact they were so into poncey baths that most medieval knighthood ceremonies involved having a scented bath.

So OK, clearly, fucking clearly medieval people bathed and were clean and into it. So why am I telling you all of this? Well the idea that medieval people didn’t bathe is a persistent myth that some basics on twitter will come at me with at least once a week. Why is that? Well part of it is a modern misunderstanding of the idea of bathing. It’s true that we have medieval sources which warn against “excessive” bathing. But here’s the thing, that wasn’t really about being clean, it was about hanging out naked in bathhouses with the opposite sex. They didn’t want you to not be clean, they wanted you to not be going down the bath house and getting your fuck on.

And yeah, some holy people didn’t bathe, notably saints who would forego bathing themselves but bathe sick or poor people. But if you bring that up you are missing the point. Medieval people thought that bathing and being clean was really nice, so giving it up and living with your stank was a sign that you had given up on the corporeal world and only thought of heaven. It was holy because it was uncomfortable, like wearing a hair shirt, or eating vegan, and hitting your chest with rocks and sitting in the desert trying not to wank. You know, standard saint stuff. It is mentioned because it is uncommon and uncomfortable.

These things, while they make sense in context are often taken by people who have never learned a damn thing about the middle ages and read in the worst possible light. If you intrinsically believe (and it is a belief) that the medieval period is the Dark Ages, and very bad, then you read stuff like this and just assume people are gross and dirty, even if there’s no real evidence of that.

You know what else helps? Well, in the modern period sometimes people were gross. In both the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, there were times when some doctors claimed that bathing was harmful. This was often linked to the idea that bathing with warm water would open the pores and allow contagion in. And here’s the thing about that – a lot of people just don’t know what the medieval period is, but they are pretty sure it is when stuff was gross. So if they hear about doctors telling you not to bathe they are like, “LOL medieval people were gross”, even if that is going down smack bang in the modern period.

Now on the one hand we can see this as a historical quibble. After all it’s not like I don’t have a history of getting big mad about someone incorrectly relating to the medieval period. But here’s the thing, allowing myths like this to perpetuate allows us to keep upholding harmful ideas about the medieval period that furthers our colonialist ideas about history, and simultaneously allows us to gloss over all the harmful and gross stuff that we as modern people do. If we always blame medieval people for everything difficult it allows us to deny their humanity and write off a thousand years of thinking and culture that still influences us now. So, like, could you not?

- Eleanor Janega, “I assure you, medieval people bathed.”

#eleanor janega #hygiene #medieval #history

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Late Fees // D.M.

Summary: Draco moves to a sleepy village after the war, wanting some time away. To keep himself busy and his mind occupied – away from the terrors lying in wait – he volunteers at the local library. There, he meets all sorts of characters. Mrs Taylor who has a love for trashy romance novels, Mr. Roth who is more than happy to be left alone with his books, and you.

A/N: A Librarian AU that absolutely no-one asked for.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Muggle!Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, mentions of nightmares, flirting, pining, cuteness

Word count: 7k (this got away with me)

The sleepy Yorkshire village never changed. Perhaps that is what Draco liked so much about it. Routines established and set in stone; everyone knew everyone and what they did every day.

The decision to move to Yorkshire from Wiltshire had been made overnight. Draco had sat through another painstakingly awkward meal with his barely-keeping-it-together parents and decided that he had had enough. Draco had returned to his room; hands shaking as his mind raced through the pros and cons of his decision. He needed to leave; he had to – he was injuring himself further the longer he stayed, yet he had nowhere to go. The Malfoy name was not one to be greeted with open arms and warm smiles.

He had chosen Yorkshire for the fact that other than Neville Longbottom; he didn’t know of anyone from there. With Neville training under Professor Sprout at Hogwarts, Draco had high hopes that he would run into the Gryffindor there. He was not yet ready to confront the sea of apologies he owed Neville.

So Yorkshire it was and Yorkshire it is.

He had moved in the spring; the fields surrounding his sleepy village finally turning green after the winter’s frost, fresh blooms on the trees lending the air a floral scent. The house in which he chose was relatively smaller to that of which he was used, but that was what he wanted. He wanted a complete change from what he had grown up; from what he was accustomed to. Draco needed to shake up his life entirely and his three bedroomed cottage in the Yorkshire Dales would do just nicely.

It takes six months for Draco to become bored of the same routine. He wakes on the couch after another restless night, he makes his first coffee of the day as he cooks his breakfast and then he leaves the house. He tries to spends as much time as he can outside; believing the fresh air to be doing him the world of good as he follows the well-worn paths through fields and forests, the temptation to get truly lost almost too much as he ambles aimlessly.

It takes six months for Draco to give into the desire to find something to do. He needs a job, he tells himself. Not for the money – no, Narcissa Malfoy had ensured he would be set for life when he moved out. He needs to a job to keep his mind occupied; to keep his body busy and his mind on other topics so he doesn’t continue to focus on everything that happened before. The Second Wizarding War had destroyed so many lives, and he bitterly regrets the part he played in destroying those lives. The survivor’s guilt mixed with the guilt by association is a nauseating concoction that leaves him unable to sleep, paralysed with the fear of what his mind could conjure once his eyes slip closed.

The sighting of the job advert in the window has Draco feeling as if all his Christmases have come at once. It was on his daily walk through the centre of the village that he sees the sign hanging in the window of the small library. A place he hadn’t yet ventured for fear of the silence, but a place he would happily enter if it kept him somewhat busy.

He had rushed inside; striding quickly up the small ramp and grabbed the ‘Volunteers Needed’ sign from the window, barely stopping himself from slamming it down onto the counter.

It was almost laughable; his desperation for the job, but he didn’t know how long he could continue the same mind-numbing routine. He didn’t know how much longer he could explore the forests of Yorkshire and not want to scream; he had seen vista after vista, his breath stolen at some of the views, but he wanted something else. He needed something else.

The grey-haired lady behind the counter jumped as Draco cleared his throat. “Morning dear,” She greeted, “How can I help you?”

Draco pushed the sign across the counter, “I’d like to volunteer with the library, please.”

That had been that. Madge, the elderly librarian, was wanting to retire. She had been a volunteer with the library service for nigh on forty years; her love for books something else entirely as she dedicated her life to lending them to others. After a brief conversation over the role in which Draco would take, she had given him his start date and that was that.

Draco had left the small library feeling lighter than air. The usual pressure upon his shoulders and behind his eyes barely there as he sprinted home; wanting to write a letter to his beloved mother to tell her of his news.

-----

The library was situated in the centre of the village. On its left sat the only pub, a large building that exuded nothing but happiness as it opened at noon on the dot. On the library’s right was one of the few general stores – it held everything. In his first few weeks in the village, Draco found himself spending his money there rather than travelling to other towns and cities. It had everything he could possibly need.

From his position at the desk, Draco had the perfect view of the village green along with the sole church in the village that catered to nearly every single resident. Day in and day out, Draco sat happily at his desk, sorting through returns and library catalogues as he ambled through the aisles when he needed to stretch his legs.

It wasn’t a large library. He felt certain that the library at Malfoy Manor was twice the size of the one he finds himself standing in now, but nevertheless, he appreciated this one just as much. Books had been his solace for much of his life. The library at the manor becoming his safe space at the age ten to the age of twenty. He had never worried when he was there; he could find an escape in the pages of an ancient tome explaining the histories of spells and charms, or he could find solace in one of the risker muggle books his mother kept hidden away from his father.

He doesn’t need to spend too much time inside to know he loves it. It was an oddly shaped building; octagonal with a shoot off where Draco’s new desk sits. The shelves line the walls; each one titled clearly with its genre and then books sorted alphabetically by author. The building itself was just over a century old; having seen two world wars and survived to tell the tale like many of the residents of the small village.

As Draco wanders the library, running his fingers over the spines of much cherished books, he knew he was going to be very happy within these walls.

-----

Draco meets Mrs. Taylor on a Wednesday morning a month after he started working at the library. It had not been a very busy morning; Draco spending most of it going through the ancient catalogue system and wondering whether it would be worth it to apply for a grant with the local council to get a computer. He’s thinking of his very first day in the old library, staring at the shelves and shelves of loan records when a loud cough breaks him from his daydream.

“You must be Madge’s replacement?” A feminine voice chimes: there’s no hint of the Yorkshire accent that Draco has come accustomed too in his time up north. Her accent is southern, but whereabouts, he couldn’t place.

He smiles politely at the grey-haired lady. “That I am,” He confirms, “I’m Draco. How can I help you?”

The elderly lady doesn’t reply. Instead, she rakes her eyes from Draco’s face down his body, leaving him feeling like a piece of meat rather than a living and breathing human. She must like what she sees, Draco thinks, as she smiles broadly, stepping closer to the counter. She holds a hand out to Draco, expectant in his taking of it. Draco shakes her hand once before letting it drop as she introduces herself, “I’m Mrs. Taylor, dear. I’ve been visiting this library for nearly forty years now.”

Draco blows out a puff of air; impressed with Mrs. Taylor’s dedication to the library. “So you’ll have known Madge well then?”

“Oh yes, but I can’t help but wonder whether I’ll get to know you just as well too.”

Draco reels back at the obvious meaning to her words. He raises a single eyebrow at her tone, replying carefully, “I plan on being in the village for some time. I’m sure you will see me around.”

Mrs. Taylor nudges her rounded glasses further down her nose; resting them on the tip, “I hope I do.”

Not knowing what else to do, Draco laughs, “How can I help you today, Mrs. Taylor?”

Disappointment evident in her tone, Mrs. Taylor drops a tote bag onto the counter. The bag is full to the brim with books; all returns for Draco to sort through this afternoon. He has to resist the urge to give Mrs. Taylor hope in the form of a loud kiss on the cheek; she had just sorted out his plans for the afternoon to keep his mind deliciously numb from the panic that had started to creep in once more.

“These are all to be returned, lovie,” Mrs. Taylor states, pushing the bag closer to Draco in the effort to get their hands to brush like in the romances she adores so much.

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. Will you be taking anymore out while you’re here?”

She laughs; her hand on her chest as if Draco had asked the most ridiculous question known to man. “Of course, I always take out new books. I shall see you in a bit, lovie.”

Mrs. Taylor toddles off, her red polka dot skirt swishing with every step. Draco shakes his head, amused by the older lady before getting to work on her bag full of returns.

It takes three books to realise the genre Mrs. Taylor enjoys reading. He catalogues romance novel after romance novel; each with a title that leaves very little to the imagination. Seducing The Viking and Romancing The Cowboy make their way to the returned stacks as Draco continues to work on the bag of books.

The more books she returns, the more he gets an insight into Mrs. Taylor’s mind. Draco has nothing against romance novels; he’s read a fair few in his time, but he had never read books with titles such as Taming The Pirate and Teasing The God.

Hurriedly, he makes a mental note to visit the romance section of the library to get a peek at any further books with such titles. He could see exactly what the appeal was; half naked men with ripped abs on the cover promising romantic liaisons in the rudest of manners. He understood why they were so popular despite having not ventured into the genre himself, preferring classic romances like that of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.

Mrs. Taylor returns to the desk; her arms full of new books to read. At the sight of her struggling, Draco rushes out from behind the counter, “Let me get those for you, Mrs. Taylor.”

“Oh… thank you, lovie,” She responds, smiling, breathless from the walk around the library but also from the weight of the books.

Draco leads Mrs. Taylor back to the desk where he spies the title of the first book in her large pile. Bewitched By The Billionaire stares up at him as he writes out the title and stamps the return date in the designated section of the book.

To help, he places all the newly borrowed books back into her tote bag, smiling politely at the grey-haired lady as he does so. “There you are, Mrs. Taylor, I hope to see you again soon,” Draco comments, handing her the full bag of salacious books.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Draco,” Mrs. Taylor croons; hoisting the tote bag full of new books onto her shoulder. She waves at him so flirtatiously that Draco cannot help but respond with a wave of his own as she leaves the library.

He feels amused long after the pensioner leaves; her overly flirtatious manner and her taste in books providing Draco his afternoon entertainment as he returns books to shelves and goes through catalogue records, trying to make some sense of the librarians that came before him.

All too soon, however, the light of the day fades behind the clouds as the sun sets. Draco releases a shuddering breath, going through his routine for closing up the library – making sure all records are locked away along with any money. He locks the door behind him, pulling down the shutter and shoving his hands into his jean pockets, setting off up the road in the direction of his home.

He dreaded this part of the day. In the daylight, he could keep himself occupied with the shelves and shelves of books, organising and recording. He could keep his mind busy, away from the terrors that lurked on the sidelines – waiting for the moment in which they could invade.

That moment is always comes. Draco tries to avoid it as much as he can; does anything he can to stave off the inevitable, but it always arrives, and it always catches him off guard.

Tonight, it’s as he’s sleeping. He’s pulled from a nightmare; scream lodged in his throat so tightly that his throat aches from the power of it. Tears trail down his cheeks as he tries to catch his breath; tries to slow his heart rate to an acceptable rhythm.

Draco looks around his bedroom; counting whatever he sees. Two bookshelves, one dresser, one wardrobe. He counts them all over and over again until his mind has cleared of the paralysing terror he had just experienced.

Nightmares came often. They started after the end of the war, and for now, it seemed like they were here to stay. It was never the same one, however. Draco had experienced so much trauma through the events of the war that his mind constantly replays them like a film; choosing a select memory and letting it play as he sleeps.

He settles his face in his hands, counting to ten as he inhales and exhales. He has to calm down; he cannot focus unless he calms down.

What feels like a lifetime later, he pulls his face from his hands, letting the inevitable wave of tiredness wash over his body. His body is tired; it’s dead tired and screams for rest, but his mind. His mind is awake and it’s restless. Draco sighs heavily, glancing at the clock on his bedside table, noting the early hour and knowing he would not be able to sleep anymore.

He flips on the light to the bathroom, turning on the shower before getting a look at himself in the mirror. skin pale save for the shadows under his eyes; whilst his sleep pattern had improved since moving away, there were still nights where Draco struggled to get more than three hours sleep. He tugs off his t-shirt, his eyes running over the pale pink scars that could not be wholly healed by Snape and Madame Pomfrey. The curse he had been hit with was brutal; only to be used on the worst of people and he understood why now. He had healed wonderfully; only a few scars remaining, but it would take longer to recover mentally from what had happened. His most common nightmare revolves around the pain he felt after the duel in the bathroom.

A shive runs through his body as he steps into the warm spray of the shower. Lavender is his body wash of choice as he squirts a large glob onto a sponge. He refuses to think as he washes himself; refuses outright to think about a thing other than what he needs to do next. Now you need to wash your hair Draco, grab the shampoo and wash your hair. Then you need to rinse off, Draco.

He talks to himself, getting himself through the aftermath of the nightmares just like he has always done. He brushes his teeth before leaving the bathroom; hoping that the spearmint of the toothpaste will overcome the acrid aftertaste of the scream that was lodged in his throat for Merlin only knows how long.

Draco dresses robotically; going through his list in his head to make it easier to cope with the fog that feels like it will be staying with him all day. He gets downstairs, only managing a cup of tea before deciding to head out.

The brisk walk to the library has Draco’s mind starting to clear. The early morning air tied with the frost has Draco startling awake even further, rejuvenating the blood in his veins and making his steps faster.

He barely looks around on his walk to the library; too used to his surroundings to be in awe of the rich landscape around him.

It’s why he freezes when he spots you.

You stand outside the library; breath nothing but white puffs in the air as you huff into your hands, trying to warm them up. You feel someone watching you; startling slightly when you catch Draco’s eyes on you.

You smile at him, “Please tell me you’re opening the library.”

Draco nods; holding up his keys as evidence, “How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long. Fifteen minutes at the most.”

“That’s not so bad if the weather wasn’t this cold,” He comments, unlocking the shutter and then the door, turning back to face you, “Are you coming in or what?”

You come back to life; dragging your eyes from the lithe figure of the man before you to meet his eyes with a sheepish glance, “Let me unfreeze and I’ll follow you.”

Draco laughs, he truly laughs. He opens the door to the library; glad to hear your footsteps following close behind him. Draco doesn’t take off his coat, he heads straight to the desk where he counts down the seconds for you to join him.

Timidly, you hand him your return. He takes it from you, automatically flipping to the record at the front of the book. “It’s two weeks late,” He comments; eyes wide, voice aghast.

You purse your lips, “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.”

His eyebrows raise in shock, “How could I not notice that when I have to check the return dates?”

You shrug, “I’m not sure, but is there any way I can get out of the late fee?”

“What?” Draco asks, voice loud and in shock once more.

“I’ve never returned a book late. This is the first time this has happened,” You defend, crossing your arms across your chest.  

Draco hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip. He had seen the late fees waived before; had seen Madge’s notes in the columns of the records, but he had never waived a late fee before. He watches you; noting your body language as well as the dark shadows under your eyes that reflect his.

He nods twice, “I’ll waive the late fee this time.”

“You will?” You ask, your voice breathless, your eyes wide in shock.

“Yes, I will.”

“Thank you,” You say; repeating the words over and over as you smile widely at him.

Draco waves away your thanks with a motion of his hand; he’s simply happy he could bring a smile to your face.

With another smile, this one smaller – more genuine, you gesture towards the shelves, “I’m going to find something else.”

Draco nods, “Of course. I’m here to help if you need anything.”

You nod your thanks, turning from him and heading towards the stacks of books. Draco watches you walk away, unable to truly comprehend the conversation. He should have charged you the late fee; he knows he should have, but he took one look into your eyes and knew that he wouldn’t be charging you much of anything.

Clearing your throat, you bring back Draco’s attention. He smiles at you, “Did you find something?”

“I did. I’ve had my eye on this for a while,” You reply, holding up the cover to a fantasy novel, “I’m glad it’s finally available.”

Draco smiles, taking the book from you. No words are spoken as he records the borrow along with the date it needs to be returned. On a whim, he underlines the date twice before handing it back to you. You tuck the book in your bag; smiling gratefully at the blonde haired man before a laugh escapes your mouth,  “You’ve met Mrs. Taylor, haven’t you?”

Draco averts his gaze; feeling the familiar blush creep onto his cheeks, “How did you know?”

You point towards the stack of romance novels behind him, “She’s the only one in the village to read them. Madge would order them special for her to save her travelling to the next town.”

Draco feels oddly touched on behalf of Mrs. Taylor; that Madge cared that much for her to order books to save her travelling so far. He smiles softly, “I’ll have to see if there’s any new that have been published to save her reading Seducing The Viking again.”

You snort, “From what she’s told me, that one is her favourite. She would love you very much though if you were to order some new novels for her.”

“I’ll have to have a look into it though she might love me already.”

A fond grin makes it way across your face, “She’s a regular flirt, but she means well. If you’re ever in a pickle, it’s Mrs. Taylor you need.”

“How long has she lived here?” Draco asks; curiosity getting the better of him.

“All her life. She was born here in the forties and never left. She met her husband, had her family and that was that. She was settled. She’s like the village’s grandma.”

“She sounds like she has lived a whole life,” Draco murmurs, hoping slightly that the elderly lady would pop into the library today so he could hear some of her stories. It makes him miss his parents bitterly; they had their mistakes, but they loved each other wholly with a passion entirely encompassing.

“She has,” You utter, “I have to get going, but it was nice meeting you…”

“Draco,” Draco supplies.

“It was nice meeting you, Draco. I’m (Y/N).”

“It was nice to meet you too. I hope to see you soon… minus the late fee.”

You laugh once more; promising him that there would be no more late fees. Draco watches you leave once again, shouldering the bag on your arm. You tug your coat tighter against your body, shivering against the bitter cold air.

As he watches you walk away from him, Draco briefly wonders how long it would be until he saw you again, and just how much he was looking forward to it.

-----

Three weeks later and the library is the busiest it had ever been. Not only does Draco have a slew of new orders to get ticketed and on shelves, he has three people wandering the shelves.

Mrs. Taylor returned first; her tote bag once full to the brim of her returns. She had shamelessly flirted with Draco some more, stating that it was his grey eyes that did the trick. She had never seen eyes like it. Mrs. Taylor grasped Draco by the cheeks and kissed him on the forehead when he showed her the new delivery of romance books. At one point, Draco swore he saw tears in her eyes as he let her delve into the new books.

Then entered Mr. Roth. Mr. Roth was a man he had only met twice in the whole time Draco had been working at the library. He was a man of few words; happy to keep to himself and his demeanour reminded Draco too much of his own grandfather. A man he had only met a handful of times yet knew he was happy to never meet again.

Mr. Roth nodded at Draco in greeting before making his own way to the military history section, browsing the titles silently and happily. Draco had left him too it; too nervous of Mr. Roth’s reaction should he be asked for any help.

For a time, it was those two. The both of them milling about the library, adding more books to their pile to be read.

However, they are soon joined by Madge herself. She smiles widely as she enters the library; rushing over to Draco to sing his praises for how well the whole place looks. Draco blushes something silly at her words; he hadn’t heard much praise through his life, had needed to for the perfect mould and was disciplined when didn’t. For Madge to praise Draco over the care he takes with the library, it isn’t something he’s likely to forget anytime soon.

Madge leaves Draco after that. She dawdles through the shelves, knowing the exact layout like the back of her hand. She spies Mrs. Taylor by the romances and Mr. Roth by the history section, but she herself, heads towards the classics. Having read them all multiple times, Madge was always happy to revisit her favourites whether it be Pemberley, Wuthering Heights, or Thornfield Hall.

All the while, Draco couldn’t help but hope that you would walk in through the door. He had met you once, spoken to you once but he longed to see you again. Twice now he had seen you walking past the library; earphones in and nodding your head to whatever song you were listening to. He had raised his hand both times, waving to you. You waved back, smiling gently to him.

He didn’t want to tempt fate; didn’t want to harbour feelings for someone he had only met once, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling deep within his gut that you were going to mean something to him one day.

If only you would enter the library.

----

It takes another week.

It’s another week of wondering and wishing. It’s another week of nightmares and early starts.

At this point, Draco has been living in this sleepy Yorkshire village for a year. He celebrated by working late at the library; organising new stock and creating a new display depicting the best reads of the month as voted for by the residents of the village. He had unashamedly added Mrs. Taylor’s newest favourite book at the top; that alone had earned him a wet kiss on the cheek.

You enter the library on a slightly warmer day in March. The month had begun frigid and frosty, but now closer to the middle, it seems that spring had finally taken its hold of the village.

You enter with yet another sheepish smile on your face, an apology already falling from your lips as you hand Draco the late book. “I know it’s late,” You ramble, “But I really haven’t had the time to sleep never mind drop it off considering the commute to work and back and the weather.”

Draco stops you by raising his hand, “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

You chew on your bottom lip, “Are you sure? I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to pay the late fee either.”

“What?” You ask; hand already reaching for your purse.

“You don’t need to pay the late fee.”

“Why?”

Draco sighs, “Can I be honest with you even if it’s only our second time talking to each other?”

You nod wordlessly; nerves beginning to settle in your stomach in response to whatever could come out of his mouth.

“You look like you have a lot going on right now. You mentioned the commute to work and back, but you also look shattered, so I get it. I get what you mean when you haven’t had the time.”

You blink, the familiar burn of tears starting at the back of your throat. “You get it?”

Draco nods, “I get it. I know what it feels like to be so tired you feel like doing nothing else. I don’t know why you’re so tired, and you don’t have to tell me, but if you need to talk, I’m here.”

He’s stretching his neck out. It’s only the second time he’s spoken to you, but he doesn’t like the way the shadows under your eyes are looking. They seem to suck any happiness out of your face, leaving you almost gaunt looking.

“Can I repay you?” You ask suddenly; voice determined.

“What? Why? How?” Draco asks in a barrage of questions. He doesn’t need repayment; he would never ask for such a thing in the first place.

“You’ve shown me kindness. Can I repay that?” You state; voice clear as it rings out across the empty library.

“How?” He repeats; still unsure as to just how you would repay his kindness.

You glance at the clock; it had barely past ten am. You smile at Draco, “Would you like a late breakfast?”

It takes him less than ten seconds to answer; of course he would join you for a late breakfast. Draco grabs his coat; scrawling a sign for the door stating that he would be back in less than an hour, but truthfully, he didn’t think anyone would be in today.

----

Breakfasts consists of a full English rounded off with a pot of Yorkshire Tea. You argue stubbornly over brands of tea; yourself choosing Yorkshire as Draco opts for another brand.

Conversation never stops flowing; any silence is filled with a question or a story that always seems to lead to laughter either from Draco or yourself. Draco sits through the whole breakfast with a smile; he hadn’t felt this good in a long time. He had spent such a long while dealing with the guilt he harboured for surviving a war he was on the wrong side of.

It’s over this breakfast that he realises he needs to tell you. He needs to explain to you who he is and why he is here. Draco could talk to you all day long about tales from his education and his childhood, but they would all continue to be half-truths if he never told you about the magic that flowed through his veins and made him capable of incredible things.

Walking back to the library after breakfast, he resolves to tell you if he sees you again. You hadn’t taken out another book so he doubted he would. However, the small voice in the back of his head and also resided in his heart hoped that you would so he could confess.

-----

Draco does see you again. You start to frequent the library; wandering the aisles in search of your next read but also to spend time with Draco. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find him fascinating and handsome, but he had an air of mystery around him that you were desperate to get to the bottom to.

A friendship forms. The both of you finding yourselves better matched for each other than anyone else; becoming close and confiding in each other when things seem darkest. You confide in him your deepest secrets, explaining the nightmares that hide behind the dark circles under your eyes. Draco confesses much of the same, but his desire to tell you about the magic he can wield remains on the tip of his tongue, turning more bitter the longer he waits to tell you about himself.

He tells himself excuse after excuse: it’s too soon, it would scare you off, he isn’t ready. In actuality, he is ready, and more than enough time has passed for the relationship to be so firmly cemented that it wouldn’t scare you off.

Yet he panics, and it keeps him up more often than his nightmares. How does he tell the one he’s closest to that he can form light with a whisper of a single word? That he can brew potions to not only heal but to incapacitate?

He hasn’t neglected his magic whilst he’s been in Yorkshire; he’s used it well enough. To dry himself off if caught in the rain, to send books back to their shelves if he’s comfy in his seat. However, he has always been wary of his talents around you, too worried about being caught out and destroying the one positive friendship he has had since he was fifteen years old.

Draco needs to tell you. He knows he does; he’s let his feelings get in the way of confessing who he really is and what he can do. His feelings for you hadn’t crept up on him; he had constantly been aware of his changing emotions. As the friendship progressed, he found himself wanting to reach out and take your hand randomly or wanted to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and then stroke your cheek. These hadn’t been the ponderings of someone who held platonic feelings; they were entirely romantic, and Draco wanted nothing more than to pursue that option with you, but he didn’t know how you would feel after he confessed his magic.

Truthfully, he didn’t want to tell you because he didn’t want to see the fear and disgust in your eyes as he had so often seen reflected in the eyes of witches and wizards around him. To see that in your eyes, it wasn’t something Draco could ever be prepared for.

How long could it last though? How long would he have with you before you sniff out the lie and the friendship falls apart from there?

Draco ponders these questions as he tidies up the library; new books on shelves along with freshly returned ones. The two questions float in his mind as the late afternoon turns into the evening and Draco readies himself for closing.

He startles slightly as you enter the library. You look lovely this evening, and everything Draco wants to tell you sits perched on his lips, waiting to be screamed into existence.

“Are you ready?” You ask, leaning forward on the desk.

“Ready? For what?” Draco questions, confusion lacing his tone.

You frown, “We’re eating at your place tonight? You told me to meet you here and we’d walk there together?”

Draco’s eyes widen as he suddenly remembers the promise he made you last week; to cook for you one evening so you could eat something other than pasta and noodles. “Of course I remember,” He covers, laughing nervously, “I was just messing with you.”

Your frown deepens, “If you don’t want to do this Dray, it’s okay, we can reschedule or something.”

Draco shakes his head rapidly from side to side. “No!” He all but shouts, “Let me grab my coat and my keys and we can go.”

You laugh; feeling the awkwardness that had quickly settled between you, “Are you okay, Draco?”

Draco nods: gulping as he herds you out of the door so he can lock up. “I’m fine, I just have something important to tell you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

He nods once more; the words stuck in his throat. The decision had been made; he would tell you tonight and then deal with the consequences afterwards.

The walk to his home is silent; nerves settling in both your stomachs as minds run into overdrive over what could be said tonight. Draco – terrified for your reaction. You – terrified for what he has to say, wondering nervously whether your feelings for the blonde had been too obvious from the beginning and he was going to put an end to your friendship.

It didn’t matter how often you visited his home; it would always leave you breathless at the sight of it. It had been a home you had admired for years, knowing the family that had lived there before Draco. They had moved to the next village over, wanting to downsize after their children had left home.

The large cottage had always been gorgeous but seeing Draco in a domestic element added more appeal to you. He takes your coat from you, hanging it up before doing the same, toeing off his shoes as he does so.

You expect him to lead you to the kitchen where you had watched him cook so many times before. An expert chef as demanded by his mother, you loved to watch Draco cook and bake. He could create marvellously tasty dishes from just a handful of ingredient – a talent you wished you possessed.

However, he doesn’t lead you to the kitchen, he leads you into the living room where he switches on all the lamps in the room without touching a single switch.

“How did you do that?” You demand, wonder and curiosity making your tone sharper than you intended.

“This is where I need to you to not lose your mind,” Draco whispers, his hand reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a long stick.

“Why do you have a stick, Draco?”

“It’s not a stick. It’s my wand. Hawthorn with a unicorn hair centre.”

You frown, puzzled, “A wand? As in a magician’s wand?”

Draco nods, “If you need to sit down after I tell you, I understand.”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m a wizard,” He states bluntly, no room for argument.

You laugh; it’s breathless from confusion, “I don’t get what you mean.”

“I’m a wizard. I have magic. I can turn on the lights in any room without saying a word or touching a switch, I can brew potions that heal injuries, I can fly a broomstick and I’m pretty good at it too.”

“So you’re a wizard and you can do magic?”

Draco nods, “Would you like me to show you?”

You nod wildly; the action sending your hair flying into your face. You push it away, not wanting to miss a moment of this.

Draco sends you a bashful smile as he holds his wand out, pointing it at a lone book on the coffee table beside the couch. In a clear voice, he calls, “Accio!”

In a single instant, the book flies across the room and lands in his outstretched hand. He holds the book up to you as evidence. Your mouth drops open; in shock at what you have just witnessed. Draco represses a laugh at the look on your face, knowing how hard it must be to comprehend all of what has been unloaded on you.

“Then why are you here? In Yorkshire of all places?” You ask, even more curious for his life in Yorkshire.

Draco sighs, “There was a war. I found myself on the wrong side and I saw too many people I know die. In the aftermath, when everyone was healing and starting to live their lives again, I couldn’t move on. I left home so I could start to heal and find myself, find who I want to be.”

“And have you now?” You ask; hope shining in every word.

Draco nods slowly, “I think I have. I think I’ve started to heal at last.”

“I thought you wanted to end our friendship,” You confess, your voice no higher than a whisper.

Draco steps closer to you; dropping the book and taking your hands in his. “Never,” He promises, then he takes a deep breath, “If anything I want more.”

“What?” You gasp.

Draco bites his lip, feeling the all too familiar blush creep its way up his neck. “I want more,” He repeats.

He waits for your response, desperate to know what you think about everything else he has just unloaded on you. You open and close your mouth a few times; words failing you. Draco starts to panic, starts to form the words to take pressure off you when you step forward and kiss him.

It starts as a gentle brush of lips, but then the pressure becomes firmer, and Draco starts to respond. He gathers you in his arms, tugging you tight against him as his mouth memorises yours and every whimper that leaves it.

Your lips part under his and Draco takes every opportunity to deepen the kiss; relishing every second of the kiss and the way you feel pressed up against him. Your hands find themselves in his hair; carding through the blonde locks before tugging gently, smiling against his mouth at the groan the action elicits from the back of his throat. His hands start to wander; memorising the expanse of your body as he dips you slightly, wanting nothing more than to lay you out on the floor where you stand.

He doesn’t. Instead, Draco breaks the kiss. Pulling away with one, two, three pecks to your lips, grinning widely when you chase him for more. “You don’t care that I have magic?” Draco asks, gasping from the kiss.

You shake your head; tears shining with happy tears, “I couldn’t care less. I thought you were going to end our friendship because you figured out my feelings for you.”

Draco reaches up; tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “Never, darling.”

You feel your face flush at the use of your new pet name. Draco choosing then and there to refer to you only as ‘darling’ if your response what to be that every time.

He dips his head once more; kissing you for all that he is worth. Pouring every ounce of emotion he has in his body into this kiss; hands grip you tightly as your hands start to wander, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and skirting the flat plains of his stomach.

“One condition,” Draco whispers against your mouth.

“Name it,” You whisper, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth.

He groans; low and throaty as he kisses you deeply, barely remembering to break the kiss so he can mutter, “No more late returns.”

The laugh that leaves your body has you shaking in Draco’s arms. He swallows your laughter with his mouth; silencing you effectively as he leads you back to the couch where he politely persuades you into no more late returns.

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @theweasleysredhair​ @harrypotter289​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @figlia--della--luna​ @idont-knowrn​ @birdie-writes​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @black-lake-confessions​ @annasofiaearlobe​ @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @mytreec​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @teheharrypotter​ @chaoticgirl04​ @accio-rogers​ @starlightweasley​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @lestersglitterglue​ @msmimimerton​ @obx-beach​ @izzytheninja​ @slytherinprincess03​ @bbeauttyybbx​ @breadqueen95​ @acciotwinz​ @kashishwrites​ @slytherinsunrise​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @remmyswritings​ @xfirstfemale-marauderx​ @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon​ @ria-rests-here​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​ @inglourious-imagines​ @ithilwen-lionheart​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @ilovejjmaybank​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @minty-malfoy @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @fallinallinmendes @ochrythum @gryffindors-weasley @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @reaganwonders @lahoete @beiahadid @ravenclawbitch426 @detroitobsessed

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #Draco Malfoy

[mxvladdy]

True Form- Belphegor

*collapses dramatically* Oh Gods its done! Sorry for the break! I hope my edits are good! 

More to come in this series soon :) 

Hope y’all enjoy!

True Form- Belphegor

Keeping a defined for is hard. Too hard for him anyway.

His true form is inconspicuous. He just naturally doesn’t take up much space in the physical realm. He likes it this way though.

An overlooked predator is a dangerous one.

If he is ever seen in this form it looks like a thin film. He drapes over everything, like dust in an unopened room, or the cling of fresh dew in the morning in the rose garden.

He never uses it when awake. His human form is more palatable and functional in all honesty. Don’t get me wrong though, he doesn’t hate it. It used to be really useful when he wanted to nap and Lucifer was on the prowl. But, such good things can only last for so long. Now Lucifer can sniff him out from a mile away incorporeal or no after centuries of practice.

His real form is best implemented in the minds of his slumbering victims. He can cultivate himself there, using his form to feel out the needs and desires of his unsuspecting host.

He is a manipulator, tried and true. His cunning and wile gets him pacts more than a promise of power or wealth.

Belphegor draws them in with promises of grandeur and unexplored inventions. Limitless discoveries all at the very tips of their fingers, if only they take one more step further. One more little slip deeper into the abyss. Then they can stay sleeping forever with him.

Even as an angel he was known as a dreamer. More often then not he could be found in the inner sanctums sleeping with Beel and Lilith during lessons or being carried around by Lucifer. Back then he always had pleasant dreams or innovative ideas that the other angels made use of. The little inventor.

Now that he has fallen, nightmares come to him more often than not, uncontrollable flashes of The War, his sister’s death, and the pain of betrayal. Perhaps that was his punishment, always drowsy with no control over when he sleeps, with nothing but nightmares to accompany him.

When he has control over himself in his slumber he likes to flit around into other’s dreams. Most of the time he goes to Beel’s as they are very pleasant and help distract him from the night terrors he had just escaped from.

Sometimes when bored or pissy he jumps to Lucifer’s dreams. It’s a rare occurrence when they are asleep at the same time, but he takes absolute delight in fucking with his oldest brother’s dreams or looking for secrets to lord over him.

He doesn’t come into your dreams uninvited though. Not after you freed him. You have given him permission to. But he uses it sparingly. When he needs a break from his own head he might control when you are tired. Just so he can have some time out of his head.

He is very controlling in that retrospect. He will form the shape of your dreams at first. But, you ween him out of it. Now he trains you to lucid dream. He lets you shape your reality around you both. You don’t know it, but he is allowing you to shape him as well.  

Mini Fic

He watches you from a distance. The grassy knoll you built was bright and airy. Pink and purple flowers sway in the light breeze you created, winking at him as they move. The large willow draping over you pulls a happy little hum from your chest. The swinging branches tickling your sun kissed cheeks. You lounge sprawled out on the ground staring up at the false sun with the largest grin on your face. The rays of sunshine illuminate your prone form, casting stark shadows in its wake. They travel down the hill searching and coiling for shelter from the strong lighting. They find him, latching on to his bare feet and merge with his own disjointed outline. How apropos.

"You can come up here Belphie. Promise I won't bite." You call out into the sky. Your eyes were still closed, but you tilt your head in his direction none the less. The smile you throw down at him is more blinding than the sun you dreamt up.

“I don’t want to intrude.” He steps out from the tree line blinking owlishly. Being welcomed in a dream had been unheard of before you. The mindscape was an intimate and private space. He was meant to be an invader, a taint. Before this he had been nothing but a rogue clinging to the edges. A whisper of temptation carried on the wind, or the hollow thud of a heel echoing down an empty street. It’s different here, with you. You expected to see him or sense him in whatever form he chooses. It was-nice.

“You're never an intrusion.” Your raw honesty floors him still, even after all this time together. “Had a rough night?” You ask patting the space beside you.

“Something like that.” He murmurs dropping down next to you. He is distracted momentarily by the heat radiating off your body. “You’ve been practicing.” You beam, proud that he noticed so quickly. His lessons on dream walking and lucid dreaming were hard, but looks like they were finally paying off.

It had been difficult at first, keeping a solid detailed form while knowing you were asleep. Then trying to stay asleep while doing it. You had to fight against the instinct to wake up constantly. It was like somewhere deep inside your psyche was trying to protect you, like it knew what happened when a human ventures too far into this place. Almost like it knew that a cunning little demon was lurking somewhere down here.  

“How’d you guess?” You ask rolling onto your side. He answers by reaching out to you and dragging a soft finger down your bare arm. You shiver at the cool touch, little goosebumps awakening under his touch. Your picturesque scene wavers at the corners from his touch. The caress breaking your concentration for a moment. Belphegor smirks. “I’m still working on it!” You blush.

“I don’t mind, as long as I’m the only one that that can shake you so.” He pulls away to summon a large pillow for himself. You watch him try to get comfortable. He punches and rolls around the poof for a moment trying to get comfortable. You could tell something was troubling him. The energy in his gaze was borderline manic. His usually relaxed stature was strung taut, right on the border of snapping. He would murder you again if you said it; but he looked so much like Lucifer right now. Tight, cold, and rigid. A clear signal of distress.

“You want to take the helm?” You wave around the small scene offering him a distraction. He could expand the scene far further than you could, probably ever could. “Or do you want to let your hair down?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him. You smile at his little snort, that human saying always got him to laugh.

“Sure you don’t mind?” You shake your head and sit up. Truth be told, you liked his weird demon form. You could never entirely place where he was when he was in it, but you just knew he was there and close. It was reassuring.

He breathes a sigh of relief before flopping backward. He disappears on impact with the soft ground. The grass and flowers coming up to engulf him as he takes over.  He flows around you into every corner of your mind, stretching himself to the furthest corners of your dream. He weaves himself in your fantasy. You get swept up in it for a moment. The raw force of him pulling at your center. It is suffocating for a moment, the oppressive weight of his magic. It brings out a bone-deep weariness in you without meaning to. You feel the growing need to just rest. Just a moment.

“Back with me?” You open your eyes. When had you closed them?

“Ye, sorry.” You lean up onto your elbow and shake your head to clear the fog that still clung to it. It was always a head rush when he did that. Blinking the rest of his magic away you take in your now joint dream. The sun was gone, replaced with twin moons and awash with multicolored stars. His sky bled colors, dripping purples and blues onto the green grass around the edges of your vision. The more you focus the more the field grows and stretches. Off in the distances, tiny tents emerge, sprouting up like shoots from the blackness. “Really?” You eye the tents with a wry smile. If you strained your ear you could hear faint carnival music.

A low rumble bounces around you. “You suddenly have an issue with the circus?”

“Absolutely not!” You raise, calling out into the vastness around you. “You better make a carousel!” You could feel him chuckle around you as you began your trek down the hill.

Belphegor is quiet while you navigate the forest. He’s whole being hyper focused on building the world around your quick steps. His was divided and working overtime in an attempt to distract himself. Part of him was busy building the carnival, another working on making sure you don’t stir from your slumber, and the other awake and aware. He hasn’t done this in a while, splitting his consciousness so thin like this. His human body lumbering along in the physical world while his mind was busy in the subconscious one. Hopefully, none of his brothers were awake and would try to intervene. He wanted to be close to you, in both body and mind tonight. You reach the edge of the woods and he turns his full attention back to you.

He had gone all out for you. Bright lights and the echoing laughter of imaginary guests assault your senses. You could even taste buttered popcorn and caramel on the tip of your tongue. A warm hand takes yours causing you to jump. Belphie gives you an apologetic grin for startling you before dragging you off into the park without a word. Who knows how long the two of you spent. Time, as you understood it, worked differently here. Faster or slower you had no idea. But, right now you didn’t care. He needs you here in the present.

“So-” You start hesitantly much later in the evening. You lick at some cotton candy that had gotten stuck on your fingers. “Want to talk about it?” Belphegor shoots you a look from where he perched. His feet dangling from a study steel fence. He watches you ride the slow-moving carousel as it goes round and round in lazy circles. He mulls over what to say as you make a rotation.  

“I dreamt of Lilith again.” He admits. He comes to sit on the metal animal beside you, disappearing and reappearing in a puff of smoke at your side.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ye. Me too.” He pats the kelpie he sits on. Its listless eyes bore into his. His old nightmares reflecting in their ruby gaze. He wanted to be over this. Why wasn’t he over this? The longer he stares into the horses dead eyes the more his nightmares creep back onto him.The dream shifts around you. The air dropping in temperature drastically. The merry background noises choked off and replace with a buzzing that made your head hurt. The sound of metal striking metal and shouts start to grow at the base of your neck.  

“Belphie-” You reach out for him, cupping his face. He doesn’t notice you anymore. His mind going somewhere you shouldn’t venture. His expression turns stormy, closing off to you completely. Fear begins to build up inside of you. Something uncontrollable riding in on the fast building winds. The night sky he built changes. Stars blinking out one after another like blown bulbs. The moons swelling in size, crashing into each other as your dream begins to crumble. “Shit.” You had to wake up, and fast.

You awake with a start back in your bed. Eyes snapping open while your body lays motionless. An odd sensation of sleep paralysis locking your joints. Something radiates behind you, a lanky body drawn close to yours. Sweet breath tickles the nape of your neck. Fighting the paralysis that held you, you turn to greet your bed guest.

Belphie’s half-lidded eyes seem to look through you. His body was icy, a ghostly vapor wafted over of his pale skin. You tried to wake him but your tongue was stuck. All you could do was stare wide-eyed as he dreamt. He comes back to you slowly. His eyes twitch and roll sporadically until he blinks, drawing in a ragged breath as he comes to. His skin warms with each passing tick of your alarm clock. As your drowsy demon stirs the stiffness in your body begins to ebbs. His chokehold on your mind weakening. After what seemed like an eternity he awakens. He takes you in for a moment and then he’s on you, lurches forward to drag your pliant body to his. “Scared me for a second there Belphie.” You mutter into his soft hair.

He sighs, breathing in your scent and focusing on your strong pulse. It had been a while since he had lost control of himself like that. Building up a world was easy. Tearing it down was even easier. The thread that kept people under was thin, like a single strand of silk. To lose himself to a nightmare in another being’s head? It was unheard of. It terrified him. “Did I hurt you?” He rasps.

“No,” You reassure him, pressing a kiss to his sweaty brow. “I woke up in time.” He goes quiet again trying to keep his breathing steady. “Hey.” You stroke a few strands of hair from his face. “You’re thinking pretty hard there, can I help?”

Could you help? If he was losing control of his dreamscape again… He would have to tell Lucifer. A shudder runs up his spine at the thought of retraining. No, he was still strong enough to keep it under control “Just keep stroking my hair, please?” He yawns widely, lethargy hitting him hard. He drifts off to the feel of your fingers flowing smoothly through his hair. The lingering fears slip further and further from his mind with each soft caress.  

#obey me #obey me fandom #obey me belphegor #obey me fanfic