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kenjakusbraincum · 9 months

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Reverence

Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: Sukuna finds you clinging to life by a thread, trapped underneath the rubble of fallen buildings, after the final showdown. He saves you, deciding you’d make a good pet to keep him company at his lonely mansion. Word count: 8.9k Tags/warnings: Afab reader + gn language but the word ,whore’ is used, true form 2 dicks sukuna, dubcon, masturbation, fingering, penetrative sex, dacryphilia, size difference, biting, bruising, belly bulge, creampie Author’s note: First fic I’ve written in ages!! :> Feedback is very appreciated! This may be a part 1 depending on how inspired I get.

The razed city is quiet around him as he stands and scans the aftermath of his destruction. A moment of calmness after a catastrophe, similar to the rays of sun after a thunderstorm. But when he looks up into the sky, no sun shines down on him. The city is engulfed in dust, and beyond it, dark clouds gather above, weeping over the fate of the world that now lays in his four hands.

Everyone unfortunate enough to be close in the moments the battle went down is gone. Everyone who fought him has either died or escaped. He wasn’t a foolish man. He knew he would win, and once again on top of the world… what awaited him was loneliness and boredom. He let them escape. One day when they think they’ve grown strong enough to face him again, they will entertain him. But for now, they’re gone, and he’s bored.

Then there’s a rustle. Little rocks topple over each other in the ruins. You push them out of your way, crawling out from under blocks of concrete. Bloody, dusted, dirty… and still, he finds you beautiful. He follows you with sharp eyes. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve noticed you were being stared at. But now it’s different. Your vision is blurred by blood dripping from your forehead into your eyes, and every movement of your body hurts. You are dying, you know that. You just don’t want to die under a rock. If you’re going to die, let it at least be in the open. Let it be under the bright blue sky, under the sun, so you’re at peace. But when you turn around to lay a final look at what you wish for, you are met with a heavy gaze of four red eyes.

You’ve sparked his curiosity. A human who survived his divine chaos. A human he’s seen before, in passing, while possessing Yuji. His eyes always did linger on you, but he’s always had something more important to focus on. Now, you’ve fully got his attention.

The warmth of sunshine that you so badly wished for in your last moments welcomes you when you wake up. Reborn. You shuffle around in bed, letting out a strained noise. You look around to find you’re alone in the room. Your memories slowly come back to you as you sit up. Fighting alongside your friends. The falling building. Crawling out of it’s remains. The pain, god the pain. It’s all gone now. You look down on yourself, dressed in sleeping robes. Clean. Not a scar on your body. The light soreness you feel is probably from too much sleep. But despite the fact you’re healed, you feel uneasy. You search through your head for your last memory. The realization comes to you grounds you with it’s heaviness, and you feel like you’re sinking into the depths of the earth.

Your friends didn’t come back for you. They either died, or left you to die. But you ended up here instead. This was Sukuna’s home, unmistakably. Where else could you have ended up, after the last thing you saw was him? Who could’ve possibly rescued you from him? Who could rescue you now? Your fate was sealed the moment you were crushed under debris, but you were supposed to be dead. This was a change in plans. This was an impulsive decision, that someone is yet to see prove it’s worth. Or disappoint.

You understand immediately what position you were in. The situation is very clear. The entrance to the garden from your room is closed, undoubtedly to prevent you from running away. But truly, even if it was open, how far would you get before getting caught and inevitably punished? And where would you run? Where in this world, that now belongs to him, is it safe to hide, and how far away is that place? No, running away is impossible. In a way, the safest place from Sukuna was his home. Surely if he let you reside in it, that meant something. Fighting was another foolish option. You discarded it as soon as it crossed your mind. You don’t even have to instigate to know you’d lose. Everyone lost. You were no different, despite of your strength and potential. Besides, your gut told you that running and fighting wouldn’t end in simple terms such as being killed immediately. No, if he brought you here, there was no way he would just kill you. He likes to watch people suffer after all.

Your only option is to stay. You are grateful he gave you this time alone to come to terms with your fate. You understand that staying here, and staying unharmed, would mean compliance. Obedience. Something that went against your very essence as a person, and as a sorcerer. You laugh with unease. Just as you begin to imagine what your life will entail from now on, the door opens, and you’re met with a short white haired person. Sukuna’s minion. You recognize them from before.

‘’You’re awake.’’, they exclaim with no emotion. They look at you, but it feels like they’re looking straight through you.

,,I am.’’, you say after a moment. An attempt to break the discomfort.

,,I didn’t ask.’’, they shoot you with a stare, a warning.

,,S-sorry…’’, you correct yourself immediately, trying to cause as little problems as possible. It’s merely your first interaction in this estate, and you already find yourself backtracking. Giving in.

They let out a tiny tsk sound. ‘’What do you remember?’’, they ask. They sound completely uninterested, and their eyes are empty.

‘’Everything.’’, you reply sadly. It comes across as a smile.

‘’You don’t need catching up then.’’, they sigh, not considering that maybe you would like to be caught up as to where exactly you are right now, and how long have you been sleeping. ‘’My name is Uraume. I’m assigned to help you transition into this new environment.’’, a moment of silence, and they scan your face for a reaction. ‘’Master will see you. The ladies will come to prepare you and dress you up promptly.’’, another pause. Uraume lets you process the information. ‘’When you are around Master, you should act properly. Do not look up at him without permission. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do everything he says with as little delay as possible. He’s your Master now. Obey him and address him as such.’’

Silence drowns the room. The instructions strike a wave of fear and anxiety in you. What bothers you now is not whether or not you’ll be forced to do things you don’t want to, it’s will you be able to do everything right? Will you slip up, or forget an instruction? Will you embarrass yourself, or more importantly disappoint your master?

‘’Understood?’’, Uraume asks, clearly annoyed judging by their tone. You wonder if they’ve asked this twice but you haven’t heard the first time. You simply nod, and your head droops down. Uraume watches you. ‘’When you’re ready knock on the doors, the ladies will come in. Don’t take too long.’’, they say and turn back to the open door. ‘’I’ll see you later.’’

You sit with yourself and think about your future. Every passing second makes it more imminent and clear. Seeing as there’s no other option, you make peace with your future of servitude. You can only imagine what it entails. You’d be lucky if you were assigned with mopping floors or chopping human meat in the kitchen. Deep down you know that the job you’ll be assigned with is a much less dignifying one. You rationalize things in your head. Since there’s nothing else you can do, you might as well try your best to avoid problems by being good at what you’re tasked with. You sense that it will rid you of all your pride and personhood. Your innocence, that you’ve been saving your whole life for a moment that’s supposed to be special. It will be special, but not in the way you’ve always imagined. It will be ceremonial, a symbol of entering a new chapter in your life. You dread this. But, the alternative is death, or possibly worse. Between those two, you’ve already made your choice. You’re not going to die twice.

You will yourself to stand up and knock on the door. Get it over with as soon as possible, you think. Once the deed is done it will be easier. Two women open the doors and greet you with a deep bow. You’re confused as to what about your presence warrants an extraordinary show of respect. You guess that in the hierarchy of this estate you are above the measly servants. But just by a little bit.

The women guide you down a long hallway, into a bathhouse. They begin to undress you, and there’s not much you can do to protest. Not that you’d say no to a warm bath, but the discomfort is still there. You feel watched, violated, even when their touch is light, even gentle. The women sense this, and they incorporate asking questions into their routine, checking if you’re okay with this, that. It helps you relax, at least a little bit. Over the course of the next few hours you’re thoroughly bathed, shaved, and dried. By the end of it, you don’t mind the little spa treatment you got. It makes the situation seem a little less bad, if you pretend you don’t know why you were taken care of with such precise detail. They dress you up, wrapping you in expensive silk and comment on how beautiful you look.

It’s true, you look mesmerizing. Your skin glows under the dim lights. If it wasn’t for the sadness in your eyes… no one could tell that a day ago you were on the verge of death. Time came to thank your Master for gracefully giving you a second chance.

Uraume waits outside of the bathhouse. They eye you up and down, as if they’re checking if the women did a good job at making you look presentable. They nod and the women are discharged. ‘’Did you enjoy yourself?’’, Uraume makes small talk as they lead you back down the hallway. Nothing in their voice suggests they’re interested in your answer. Everything they do feels like they’re filling out a form.

You don’t know how to answer. ‘’Yes.’’, you answer. It’s not completely truthful, but your emotions are too complicated to explain. Especially since no one here cares about them anyways.

Uraume doesn’t look at you. ‘’Master knows when people lie to him.’’

You’re caught off guard. Are you that bad of a liar? Once again, your impulse to come clean wins over you, and you spew words. ‘’I didn’t mean to come off as ungrateful..’’, you say.

‘’You need to work on it more.’’, they say. You wonder if they could spare you at least one word of encouragement for trying. You wonder if something like that even crosses their mind. If they think about this at all. Or is this a routine they’re used to from before. ,,Master has been busy today. Try not to get on his nerves.’’, they add after a moment.

You stop in front of a huge, monumental door. Uraume faces you. They give you a long stare, fix your collar and tuck your hair behind your ears. Anxiety never left you, but now it’s drumming in your ear, overwhelming you. It feels like static in your whole body, rendering you weak. Your palms sweat and tears begin to pool in your eyes.

Uraume notices. You are their responsibility after all. Master won’t be happy with them if you come in crying and disheveled. They try to come up with something that would console you quickly. ‘’Don’t worry too much. Master wouldn’t go out of his way to heal you from imminent death just to kill you immediately after.’’, even they sound like they’re not sure what they said is completely true. Was Sukuna really above doing such a thing? Somehow the statement has an opposite of the intended effect, and you feel even worse now.

Uraume grabs your shoulders and looks you intently in the eye. What they say sounds like the most sincere thing that’s left their mouth so far during your conversations. ‘’You will be fine.’’. With that, they open the door and enter before you. You try your hardest to stop yourself from crying.

‘’Master, I’ve brought them.’’, they say, bowing deeply. There’s no answer from the inside, but he must’ve approved, since Uraume opens the door fully and lets you in.

You exchange one last stare with them and step into the room. You do as you’ve been told and keep your gaze fixed to your feet. The atmosphere engulfs you instantly. The air is thick and heavy, the room smells like death. You pass by a couple of pools of blood, fresh and dry ones, and you feel your hands start to shake. There are bones piled around his throne. The weight of the air, his four eyes watching your every move, and the aura of evil, pure evil. You feel as though you’re pushed onto your knees. You weren’t instructed to do so, but it comes to you as an impulse. You do it out of reverence, out of instinct. Out of paralyzing fear. You plant your hands in front of you and kiss your forehead against the cold ground.

‘’Master..’’, you say. It comes out shaky and desperate. You get no approval from him either. You feel his stare in your bones.

When he finally speaks, it’s not directed at you. ‘’Leave us.’’, he says, and you hear the doors close a moment after. You feel his stare lift from you for a second, before you’re granted his full attention. He observes you for another moment, that feels like an eternity.

‘’Stand up.’’

You stand up immediately, straightening out your robe with your hands. You stare at the bones before his throne. Some of them human, some animal. Some old and dusted, some fresh with hints of pink flesh and blood on them.

‘’Come to me.’’

You raise your gaze enough to scan where exactly you should come to. You’re disheartened to find that there’s no such thing as stairs to take you to where he’s sitting. You don’t hesitate for too long, suspecting it may anger him. You place your foot on the pile of bones and climb towards him, quite unceremoniously. You come to a stop a couple of steps away from his feet. You needn’t look directly at him to see how huge he is, sprawled in his seat. His head is leaned against his palm. One of his hands taps the armrest impatiently, the other two sit still at his sides.

Your eyes are fixated on the bones, trying your best to maintain balance on the uneven surface. You hear him tap his thigh twice, signaling for you to come closer. You choose your steps carefully as you enter his personal space. There’s nothing but him to hold onto if you fall. You sit on his knee clumsily, keeping your hands in your lap so as not to touch him without permission. One of his hands comes down on your back immediately, and you shiver.

,,Obedient.’’, he notes. ,,But that’s not what I meant.’’

In a moment, his hands are on you, pushing you back up and guiding you into a different position. He grips your hips, and heavy hands settle you in his lap, making you straddle him. Your legs struggle to stretch far apart to accommodate you in this pose. Your heart pounds in your chest, so loud you’re afraid he may hear it.

Once again you fail to control your words. ‘’Master, I’m sorry, I misunderstood...’’, you cut yourself off before you go into babbling. He must have accepted your apology, because his hands pull you closer by the hip, grinding you against his bulge. Your insides throb at the contact, and you don’t know what to do with your hands.

He finds your flustered reactions amusing. ‘’You may look.’’, he says, and meets your eyes with a smile.

You do as you’re told, returning the stare. Your eyes explore his face for a second before settling on his eyes. Everything you do is unsure, even looking at him. You don’t want him to find it offensive. You don’t have any ideas what exactly you’re dealing with. He stares back only for a moment, before he moves on to your body. He feels your cheek, hair, the fabric of your kimono, your hands and nails. You shudder against the gentle touch. You didn’t expect to be handled with such care, even for this short moment. You don’t think for a second that he will stay this gentle. But you want to cherish it while it lasts. You relax into his touch and observe him. Four eyes judge every detail of your presence. Strawberry blond hair slicked back, strands tucked behind his pierced ears. Strong jawline, accentuated by his tattoos. Wide shoulders, bearing four arms. You feel small and weak in his lap, more aware than ever before of just how powerless you are. Just how much your life hangs by a thread that is his good will and mercy.

‘’Beautiful.’’, he observes you, not quite meeting your eyes yet. His gaze lingers on your lips, nose, cheeks. ‘’Well behaved too, it seems.’’. You shudder under his praise, and the hand that trails gently down your back, teasing you. Two hands sit snugly on your hips, holding you in place. The last one travels from your shoulder, to your neck, lingering for a moment as he drags his finger against your throat. It crawls up to your cheek, cupping it, brushing the soft, flushed skin.

‘’Yes.’’, you say, catching yourself spilling words again. Your mind doesn’t quite work in this moment. You’re completely dazed by his energy, his touch, his gaze. You’re helpless as you feel yourself clench around nothing, slick pooling in your most sensitive parts in response to his advances.

‘’Yes what?’’, he asks, thumb hooking under your chin and tipping your face up.

‘’Yes Master.’’, you correct yourself quickly, catching immediately what it is he wanted you to say. In this moment, you think of Maki. You think of how she would have done anything to get herself killed before ever uttering the words of compliance that just escaped your mouth. You have no spine at all. You’re not, and never were nearly as brave as her. You’d always crumble in the face of danger. You imagine the look she’d give you, if she knew what you were doing in this moment.

‘’Good.’’, Sukuna’s low voice snaps you back to the present moment. His thumb finds your lips, swiping over them for a moment before stopping against them. You part your lips in response, and he inserts his thumb into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. You let out a tiny noise in response. You don’t need to be told. You seal your lips around him and start to suck. You close your eyes in focus, feeling the taste of his skin in your mouth. In a moment, there’s a hand on your throat, pressing just lightly enough to warn you. You open your eyes and blink at him, compensating for another mistake by sucking harder. Underneath yourself, you feel his bulge awaken, twitching in response to your efforts. So snugly pressed against him, you wonder if he feels you throb too. Your body works against you. You’re enjoying this.

‘’So willing to please..’’, he says. ‘’As you should be. You have quite a favor to return.’’

You lower your head, his words reminding you why you’re here. He must’ve sensed that you forgot, even for a moment. You pick your words carefully. ‘’It’s true, Master.. you saved my life, and for that I don’t know how to thank you enough...’’, you sound pathetic to yourself. Maki’s eyes loom over you again. She is the devil on your shoulder, whispering to run, kick, scream obscenities. Anything, just not to give in to his command. But you already have.

‘’You needn’t concern yourself with that.’’, he says. The hands on your hips guide you slowly into a grinding motion against his crotch. You sigh at the contact. ‘’You’re here to serve me.’’

‘’Master...’’, your words come out in form of a whine. Your hips move slowly in sync with his hands, your body assumed in complete submission. Pleasure builds inside your core, making you almost forget you stopped mid-sentence. ‘’Whatever you need.’’, you stare into his eyes intently. You’ve truly sunk so low.

Sukuna huffs in amusement, watching you move against him desperately. He’s satisfied that you catch on quickly. But his stare is focused on where your body meets his. He’s leaned against his palm again, pondering what to do, how to test you next.

That’s when the doors open. You freeze in panic, and look back to see Uraume, bowing deeply once again. Next you start to feel shame. You’re straddled snug against the man who razed a city, killed people, innocents, maybe even your friends. And now there’s someone watching you while you’re at it. Uraume pays you no mind, or they pretend not to. They look straight through you, into their master.

‘’Master, I apologize profusely for interrupting. It’s an urgent matter.’’, Uraume says, and looks at the ground.

Sukuna’s finger taps on the armrest in frustration. His demeanor changes, pleased expression exchanged with a frown. You feel the switch in energy in the core of your being, and fear grows in your chest again. He stares at Uraume for a while, then he reverts back to you.

‘’Come back to me tonight.’’, and with that, his hands push you off his lap and you stagger back to your feet. Your body mourns the lack of contact.

‘’Yes master..’’, you mumble and bow, then make your way down the pile of bones again. Sukuna doesn’t react, at least not that you can see or feel, so you guess he doesn’t have a complaint on how you said your goodbyes to him. You walk back to Uraume, swallowing your shame. They wait for you at the doors and lead you outside.

A couple of turns later you’re back in the room you woke up in. Your bed was made in the meantime and a new set of sleeping clothes waited for you nicely folded on top of it. Your eyes linger on the door to the terrace.

‘’Can I see the garden?’’, you ask, and turn back to Uraume.

‘’Master doesn’t allow it yet.’’, they say.

‘’Yet?’’, you narrow your eyes. Uraume starts to get visibly annoyed by your questions. Their voice however remains unchanged.

‘’Good behavior earns privileges.’’

,What a privilege, to go outside.’, you think to yourself, and look back through the window.

‘’You seem to be in Master’s good graces already. I’m sure you’ll be allowed outside in no time.’’, Uraume speaks what sounds like words of comfort for the first time.

Of course you are in his good graces. Because you left all dignity at the doors of his throne room. He stripped you of it, without any effort. His energy alone forced you to your knees, his words struck directly to your core. You wonder how much more you’ll have to endure before being granted the simple mercy of feeling the sun on your skin. ‘’Thank you.’’, you say to Uraume. You appreciate their sentiment.

‘’Are you hungry?’’, they ask. You wonder if anyone in these premises knows, or cares about your name. Or are you that worthless to them.

‘’Yes.’’

Uraume nods and leaves the room to bring you some food. You sit by the terrace door and look outside.

You can’t see the sunset from where your chambers are located. All you’re left with is the little piece of sky, uncovered by the surrounding trees, and the limits that windows impose on your view. The outside of the estate looks weirdly peaceful, like it’s not a home to a monster. All sorts of animals appear in the garden, from bugs to birds. As the night falls, you hear the faint sounds of frogs, and even catch sight of a little hedgehog, trotting from one bush to another. The garden truly seems like a little piece of heaven inside what effectively is your prison. Your heart longs to see it, to spend time in it. To smell the grass and feel the earth, your mother, against your skin.

You’re called to him again when the sun has already set, and the last bits of light leave the night sky. Uraume holds the door open to you without a word. You’re forced to part your eyes from the outside, and look to them instead. Their head is low, their stare adorned with what you recognize as pity. You haven’t felt fear about the imminent encounter until you’ve seen them look at you like this. Now it’s starting to creep up on you all over again. Static. Tingling and restlessness. Maybe they know something you don’t, perhaps about what kind of mood your master is in now. You stand up and follow them out. It’s easier to just get it over with, you think again.

Uraume knocks on the door and opens just a crack. ‘’Master, as per your request.’’, they bow. Once again there is no verbal confirmation. You know he’s reacted when Uraume moves to make space for you to come in. You start to see patterns in their interactions.

His chambers are dimly lit, the interior hard to see. He sits on the edge of his bed and stares your way. You feel it again. A lump in your throat. A force of understanding that has you picking up your robes and falling to your knees. If he wasn’t in the mood before, your willingness to serve now puts a smile on his face. You don’t get to see it though. Your face is touching the ground.

‘’Leave, Uraume.’’, he says. You hear the doors close shut, and note that he sounds a bit more impatient than before.

You feel a bit easier when Uraume isn’t there. Something about another pair of eyes observing your ordeal made it all the more difficult.

‘’Come.’’, he says, and you hear the familiar tap. You look up to see his hand on the spot next to him on the bed. You struggle back to your feet and walk over to him hesitantly. Your hands sweat, and you try to wipe them off of each other. You overthink every little detail. How close to him should you sit? Is it better to sit further away and be lulled closer, or sit closer and be pushed away?

‘’Well?’’, he asks, eagerly watching you debate with yourself. ‘’Or do you prefer my lap?’’

You’re not quite sure what’s the right answer. ‘’Wherever you wish, Master…’’, you reply, reminding yourself to stare at the ground.

He sees every doubtful thought reflect on your face. He knows you’re being diplomatic, neither wanting to refuse him, nor make requests. ,,Pick.’’, he challenges you.

Your mind races as you think through the positives and negatives of either choice.

,,I’m waiting.’’, he follows up with a warning. It sounds sinister. Giving up any further mental efforts, you pick up the fabric of your clothes and climb onto his lap again, dipping your knees into the bed besides him. He hums in response, seemingly satisfied with your choice. A pair of hands quickly finds your hips again, drawing you closer, he seems to like to hold you in place. Once again you’re seated snugly against him, layers of fabric being the only thing parting you from his bulge. ‘’Look at me.’’, he says, tilting your chin up. ‘’Let’s continue where we left off.’’

You do as he says, meeting his eyes. You try to gauge his mood. For now, he seems content with you. You let yourself relax. So far, there’s nothing unenjoyable about your encounter. Other than the nature of being made into a servant, of course.

‘’Do you know why you’re here?’’, he asks, rocking you slowly against him. Your hands sit at his hips, clinging to the scrunched up fabric of his kimono. You’re not quite sure you’re allowed to touch him deliberately. You wish to, though. You yearn for a connection, after all you’ve never been in this position before.

‘’To serve you, Master.’’, you reply, blinking at him with doe eyes. Nothing about this situation should be arousing, yet you find your insides clenching at your own words. Effectively you’re trapped, with no chance of another untimely interruption. You’re going to be made to do things even if you’re unsure of yourself. Even if you don’t want to. But you’re still pushing against him, searching for more of him, on your own accord. He has a power over you.

‘’True.’’, he tucks your hair behind your ear, leaning closer into you. You can feel his breath on your face, hot, dangerous. ,,But you’re not my servant.’’, he thinks out loud. ,,Or a slave, for that matter. Let’s crown you as my pet.’’

Another throb.

,,A source of entertainment. A subject of training. My little human jester.’’

You imagine looking at yourself in the mirror, at what you’ve become within a day of being under threat. A piece of you wants to mourn, a piece of you wants to spit on your reflection. What comforts you is that, even if your friends are alive, they will never know the extent of your compliance. They will never know the words that leave your mouth as you sit upon a monster’s lap, wanting more. ‘’How can I entertain you, Master?’’, you ask.

A reserved, but wicked smile graces his face. ‘’Undress.’’

Your heart sinks. But you move, standing up from his lap and taking a step back. So he has a better view. You hesitate, but eventually undo your obi and unwrap your kimono and undergarments, discarding the clothes on the ground. The cool air touches your skin, making you shiver. Your hands sit at your sides, feeling your goosebumps. He observes you carefully from his seat, his eyes exploring your naked form. When he’s satisfied, he motions for you to come closer with his finger. You follow, drawn in by desire.

He doesn’t let you sit back yet. You stand between his legs, as his cold hands start to feel you up. Plush soft skin, reactive to his every advance. His touch is gentle, but hungry. Impatient. He grasps at your waist and behind, fondles your chest between his fingers. One of his hands teases your thighs, your stomach, before finally dipping between your folds. You whine out loud as his finger brushes against your sensitive bud, and feels up your wet entrance. Pleased with your reaction, he draws his finger back to your bud, spreading your essence to ease friction. Your knees buckle and you gasp again.

‘’So responsive.’’, he comments, as he starts to rub circles around your sensitive spot. ,,Has anyone touched you like this before?’’

‘’N-no, Master, just me..’’, you say, hiding your face in shame.

He likes your response. He likes your shame. He will make you feel so much more of it than just this. You’re all his for the taking. ‘’Lay down.’’, he commands, and withdraws his hand from between your thighs. He stands up, and just for a moment before you climb into the bed, you get to see how tall he is in comparison to you.

‘’Not that far away.’’, he says. You wiggle back so you’re closer to the edge of the bed. You lay on your back, propped up on your elbows, legs spread wide for his viewing. You try to do your best. He looms over you now, fingers finding your private parts again. He rubs you carefully with one hand, the other feels your entrance again, and one finger dips in. You sigh, head leaning back at the foreign feeling. Two fingers and the pain of the stretch already pricks at you. A whimper escapes you, but you lull yourself to be quiet. It’s only his fingers, after all. They’re thick and long, and practiced, as they explore your insides. He’s doing you a favor.

‘’You’ve been such an obedient little human. You deserve a reward.’’, he says, his words making you squeeze his fingers. You moan as sparks of pleasure rattle your body, his fingers effortlessly finding the spot inside you that makes your leg shake. You forget about your manners. He stops, and you look back to him in desperation. ‘’What do you say when I reward you?’’

‘’Thank you Master!’’, you look at him through hazy eyes. Standing above you like this, he looks like a god. In complete ownership of your smaller, sprawled out body. You feel filthy, but his fingers inside you make you see stars, make you completely forget how you got here in the first place. You’re overtaken by a perverted, primal instinct, as you near your orgasm and force your legs open wider. The squelching noises of his fingers working out your hole fill the room.

Sukuna responds to your movements with a devilish grin. ‘’’Close, little pet?’’, he asks you, almost mockingly. His fingers massage your spongy walls, the sensitive spot in the depths of your fragile body.

‘’S-so close… Ahh!’’, you mewl through the moans, squeezing your fingers in a fist.

‘’Don’t hold back.’’, he says, eyes fixated on you, his own erection starting to strain unbearably against the fabric of his clothes. ‘’I may be generous, but that doesn’t mean I’m patient.’’

His words are truly your command. His energy, his presence, it strips you of any agency you have over yourself. Your body shakes to his words and pleasure washes over you, blacking your vision out as your eyes roll back. It rocks you, your hole throbbing, squeezing hard around his fingers. He rubs you through it gently but persistently, until you’re so sensitive you’re closing your legs to make him stop. You don’t have time to be embarrassed, coming down from your orgasm. He is entertained, but his hands are on your knees in no time, spreading them back apart, reminding you you’re far from done. When you look back up at him, his stare spells a warning. You quickly react by symbolically spreading a little wider, and tilting your hips to give him access.

‘’Would you rob me of my turn, pet?’’, he asks, undoing his obi.

‘’No! Never, Master..’’, your eyes travel down his figure as he discards his clothes. Even from this angle, his sculpted body looked massive in comparison to you. You wonder if it would engulf you if he lied over you right then and there, leaving only your clinging arms and legs as evidence that there is someone underneath him at all. Adorned by tattoos and muscles, he looks monstrous, imposing. You look at him with admiration, as your gaze drops to his hips, and the essence of his manhood. The two of them that hang from his crotch, rock hard and throbbing at the sight of you. At first you are taken aback, but after a moment you realize the math is right and it’s weird this hasn’t crossed your mind earlier. He does have a pair of everything else, so it makes sense he’s double gifted down there too. The base of his cocks is crowned with a low hanging set of balls, plump and ready to be drained. Nervousness that paints your face and changes your demeanor. You’re suddenly very aware of just how small your frame is compared to him, and the size of his cocks.

He likes watching people’s reactions. He is a cruel man after all. He likes his subjects nervous, fearful. A little resistance even excites him. But your pale face and tense body almost make him feel sorry for ruining your relaxed composure. Almost. It also happens to make him throb with desire. Underneath him, your face is contorted in fear. You think he might just kill you. What a painful and degrading death it would be, to die split on his cock like at the stake.

‘’Don’t like what you see?’’, he smirks at you, teasing, his demeanor seeming to change in an instant.

‘’Master, it’s not that... it’s just that...’’, you stutter over your words. Embarrassment and horror cojoin in your excuses. ‘’I’ve never done this before. I don’t think I can…’’, your eyes meet his and you trail off, leaving your thoughts unfinished. Sukuna doesn’t consider his subjects. He is a man who takes and takes, without a second thought, or a look at the person he’s taking from. His stare does linger on your fearful eyes though. He notices that in himself, feels himself slipping up from his usual behavior. An impulse comes to him to assert dominance aggressively, but he doesn’t react. He remembers how easily you submitted to him in the first place. He doesn’t need feats of aggression to scare you into compliance. You’re very compliant anyways. It’s just that you make him feel the closest emotion he’s felt to guilt in a very long time.

‘’Scoot back, pet. Hands and knees. Just one will do for tonight.’’, he says. You doubt he tried to comfort you, but thinking of it like that makes it easier to bear.

You obey him and turn around, crawling further onto the bed on all fours. He follows you, knees dipping into the mattress. His words are of little comfort as he crawls over you like a predator over his prey. Fear rises in your chest and you feel your heart start to pound again. He settles over you, heavy hands landing on your hips and pushing your thighs further apart to accommodate him between them. Another hand lands flat on your back, the plane between your shoulder blades, so small against his massive palm. So fragile against his brute strength. He could break you if he wanted to. Yet, he barely even pushes you.

‘’Down.’’, he says, urging you to bend, allow him better access. You follow instructions, letting his hand guide your torso lower until your chest is pressed into the mattress. You feel uncomfortable, bent into this position that is completely new to you. Your slick folds are exposed for his viewing, your opening gaping with a shameless noise. He’s going to take you from behind, like an animal. You won’t even see, or feel your suitor, the man who will claim your innocence.

‘’Master..’’, your voice trembles and you turn your head to the side, searching for his gaze. He looks from your body back to you, listening. ‘’I’m scared..’’

He huffs, his expression not changing to signal he’s unhappy. Rather, he seems amused. Noticing that doesn’t help you feel any less scared. His first reaction is ,you should be.’. But he doesn’t want to send you into hysterics. He likes the peace and quiet. ‘’Relax pet.’’, he says, more of a command than a suggestion. ‘’It’ll hurt less.’’

You will yourself to relax, trying instead to focus on something else. However there’s little else to think of in a position like this, just him, his hands on your hips and back, keeping you snugly in place for him to use and enjoy. Your mind wails in anticipation.

You feel his wet tip grind against you, feeling the familiar need slowly come back to you as it rubs at your clit. His grip is unfaltering on your hips, holding you in place as he starts to enter you. You cry out loud, and your body instinctively tries to wriggle out of his grasp, escape the intrusion.

Sukuna growls, his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, and he pushes you back onto him.

‘’Where do you think you’re going?’’, he says, audibly displeased. His rock hard member protrudes deeper into you, and you shut your eyes tight and grip the sheets so hard your knuckles go white. You wanted to be brave and quiet, wanted even to babble an apology, but as he advances, stretching you open painfully, you cannot help but cry out loud. Tears drop from your eyes and you bury your face into the bed.

He grunts as you envelop him, coating him in a mixture of your blood and wetness. He pushes through your resistance, the feeling overwhelming, even for him. Your walls cling to him so tightly he has to put mental effort into not releasing right then and there. He moves slowly, caring just enough to not break you. In no time he’s fully sheathed in, his balls pressed against your clit. You’re so incredibly full, you think you may just pop. Sukuna bends over you, and you feel his hot breath on your back. You turn around to see him through a blur of tears. You’re a sobbing, mewling mess. Filled to the brim with his want for you. It brings a smile to his face.

‘’How does it feel, pet?’’, he asks. He truly doesn’t care for your answer, he’s just entertained by your measly crying voice.

‘’H-hurts..hurts so much, Master!’’, you sob.

‘’Shame.’’, his head leans in closer to yours, and you can see nothing but his glowing red eyes. ,,Because it feels heavenly to me.’’

With that, he starts moving. You gasp, holding onto the sheets as he rocks your body with his thursts. Slow and deep, mercifully you think, his cock heavy inside of you, spreading you thin. His hips meet the soft flesh of your ass with a slap at every stroke. The stretch burns, but the discomfort dissipates slowly, as his fat tip stroking your sensitive walls, sending hints of pleasure through you. You feel him whole, every vein and ridge and curve of his cock.

Slowly your tears begin to dry, and your painful sobs are replaced by lustful gasps and moans. His eyes keep coming back to you from time to time, observing your reactions to his every move. Your head is turned to the side, and at first you avoid his gaze, ashamed of crying like a weakling. You know there’s nothing he despises more than that. Now that you’ve began to accept him, welcome him inside of you, you look back. Eyes blinking back at him idly, innocently, as your mouth drops open. He grunts as he fucks you, the sound low and masculine. He picks up the pace and the room echoes the sounds of your squelching wet cunt and the skin of his hips, thighs and balls meeting yours with every push. His cock rummages through your depths with abandon. Your moans follow his frequency, as you feel pleasure build in your core slowly, each of his movement coaxing you closer to another orgasm.

Your hands ache with the need to touch his body, to feel him close, feel his muscles tense and relax as he breaks you. The pleasure sparks inside you and you’re restless, craving another release so bad. Your legs tremble, toes curl, you start to push back, meeting his hips mid stroke.

‘’Enjoying yourself, pet?’’, Sukuna asks, dipping his head closer to you again, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Straight to your core. You tighten around him, nearing your release and he growls.

‘’M-m, yes Master! So big... Feels so good!’’, you stutter, reduced to a trembling mess, clinging desperately onto anything you can get a hold of, in hopes of delaying your orgasm. He hasn’t moved a finger to please you this time around and you’re already fluttering around him. ‘’M-master..please.. Wanna touch you, feel you..’’, you open and close your hand in tune with your words.

His hand digs into your hair and tugs, picking the upper half of your body up from the bed. ,,What was that, pet? A demand?’’

‘’No! No Master.. I wouldn’t.. I-I was begging!’’, you backtrack immediately, your neck straining from the force he’s pulling you with.

He relaxes the hold and you fall back into the previous position. He is satisfied with your answer, but he won’t grant your wish. ‘’You may not.’’, he says, and exhales shakily as you tighten at his words again. ‘’But you’re cute when you beg.’’, you do it again, and he knows you’re close. ‘’Such a horny little human. How quickly you’ve changed your mind.’’

‘’A-ah, Master.. Gonna, gonna cum..’’, you whine, his cock hitting your insides perfectly, his pace steady, unfaltering.

‘’I’ll allow it. Whore.’’

With his last word, you’re tipped over the edge and your orgasm drowns you. Your breath hitches, hands grip the sheets, and the whole world stops as pleasure shakes through your body like electricity. You trash against him helplessly, your body not fully under your control. His hands finally release your hips, and your quivering body slumps against the mattress, your cunt fluttering around nothing as you lose contact with your master. You’re left a moaning, sensitive mess, sticking to the sheets in your sweat and juices. Your shaking legs still, and you feel numbness envelop your body

Sukuna gives you a moment to ride out the aftershocks. Then he straddles you and leans his weight against you. His hand crawls under your body, stopping to grip your breast and continues to pick up your cheeks between his fingers, turning your face towards him. His eyes are threatening, and he doesn’t need to tell you anything. You know what he wants.

‘’T-Thank you, Master. S-so good... Thank you! ’’, you say, your hand itching to feel his face. He chuckles, takes both of your hands and traps them underneath his on either of your sides. Tonight, he is adamant on not allowing you to touch him.

Satisfied with your answer, he guides his cock back into you and continues where he left off, chasing his own end. With your legs closed like this, you feel even tighter around him. You’re trapped between his heavy body and the mattress, unable to move a muscle as he picks up the pace, withdrawing and snapping back in with each powerful thurst.

‘’Good pet. You know where you belong.’’, his grip tightens on your wrists as he nears his release, growing weary and relentless. ‘’Under me. Always.’’, he growls into your ear.

You meet his eyes and hold his gaze, enticing his pleasure with your words. ‘’Yes Master! When-whenever you need me!’’, you moan, and let your mouth hang open in an ,o’ shape.

His pace slows, strokes getting sloppy as his orgasm draws close. He breathes hard, face close to yours. You feel him waver, feel him slowly lose his composure. Feel him come apart slowly nestled in the warmth of your insides. His brows are furrowed, eyes tight shut, mouth hanging loose. One of his hands crawls under your belly, propping your ass up just a bit, for a better angle. He feels himself inside you, a bulge protruding in your lower belly as he holds you in place. This is the final push that makes the coil of pleasure inside of him snap. He comes with a guttural, animalistic groan, and comes down biting your shoulder. His cock twitches violently, kissing your womb as he empties his load inside you. He groans through every spurt, hot and sticky as he paints your inner walls. His thighs shake against yours, his whole body rocked by the powerful orgasm. One he hasn’t experienced in what could be hundreds of years.

You feel so completely full of him. As he comes down from his high, he licks up the blood off your shoulder, tongue hot over the place where his teeth punctured your soft skin. He finally lets go of your wrists and sits up, slowly withdrawing his cock. Beads of his cum follow his cock, leaking out of your empty cunt. So much of it, you feel dirty letting it drip out of you like this.

He takes a moment to observe you, laying there fucked out, marked and utterly claimed by him. You let out a helpless noise, feeling your hurting wrists. The bite on your shoulder will leave a bruise, same as the place his finger dug into your hips. Your cunt aches from the assault of his cock inside it. Weakness takes over you, and you feel like you can barely move. He doesn’t consider healing you. He wants you to be reminded of him, constantly. When you stand up on wobbly legs, when you take off your clothes to go the bathroom. When you turn in bed. When you look into the mirror. He won’t let you forget, even for a moment, where you are, and who you belong to.

He stands up from the bed, and you turn your head to search for him. ‘’Master? Have I..’’, you stutter when you meet his eyes. His gaze is attentive as he fixes his ruffled hair, slicking it back. He gives you a moment to finish your sentence, but you don’t. You just sit up in his bed, pulling your knees to your chest. Hiding from him, as if in shame. Your hand searches for covers to pull over yourself. You’d most like to disappear under them. How pathetic you are, you think. Searching for approval, for praise, from a man who took you with no regards to your wishes or feelings. Why would he compliment you? You’ve hardly been anything but a fucktoy for him, not even worthy enough for him to fuck you looking at your face. Tears begin to pool in your eyes, emotions from your first experience overwhelming you. You crave touch, affection, anything to contrast the treatment you’ve received until now. If he would let you, you would cling to him like a newborn would to it’s mother. Like your existence depends solely on him, and he is your entire world. But he is not a man who likes to be touched. Not a man who likes intimacy. You could only dream of a kiss, of tenderness of any kind.

When you look back, Sukuna is standing above you, a piece of clothing already wrapped around his waist. His hand feels your cheek, the expression on his face almost soft, but still dominating. Seeing you cry in doubt you haven’t done a good job truly somehow makes him more satisfied with you. You show a great concern for your master. He likes to be the center of people’s worlds.

‘’Weep not, my pet. Your efforts will not go unnoticed.’’, he says, voice still as stern as ever. ,,I’m happy with your servitude.’’

Your eyes lighten up as you look up to him. His stare is docile, but threatening, as you remember that after all you are supposed to keep your head low. You duck down in apology. ‘’T-Thank you, Master.’’, your voice falters, but Sukuna is still satisfied with how quickly you pick up on your mistakes. He finds you’re quite easy to work with. He turns and leaves you, for only a moment, to sit and reminisce about this whole encounter on his bed.

‘’Uraume.’’, he then says, in a relaxed, almost quiet voice. You don’t think you’ve even heard the doors open, but the white haired monk stands in the corner of the room. Have they been there the whole time? You spiral in shame as they nod and approach you, their hands finding yours. They pull lightly, urging you off the bed. You didn’t think about where you’ll spend the night, but it makes sense it won’t be here. Sukuna wouldn’t let you touch him, see him, he wouldn’t kiss you, much less let you share his bed while he sleeps. You feel used, dehumanized. It hurts, but you stand up. Uraume picks up your clothes from the floor and wraps them around you lazily, doing enough just to cover you up until you’re back in your room.

‘’Rest up, pet. I’ll keep you quite busy during our times together.’’, Sukuna tells you, and gives you one last look, before he disappears in the shadows of his chambers. You bow to him and follow Uraume out.

What follows is a walk of shame. There is no one in the hallway, and Uraume walks in front of you, but you feel the weight of a thousand eyes. You watch each wobbly step with care, so as not to make further cause for embarrassment. Uraume lets you in your room. It is lit by a single candle. You stare at it’s faltering flame as Uraume disappears, leaving you alone for a moment. So this is what your life will look like from now on.

Uraume returns with a warm, wet towel. ,,Clean yourself up. You have a fresh set of clothes on the bed.’’ Their stare, empty as ever, finds your eyes and lingers for one last moment. ‘’Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.’’

You stare at the towel in your hand, not returning their gaze. They eventually move, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone in the room. You do what you can to clean yourself, wrap yourself in sleeping clothes and lay on the bed. Squeezing your knees to your chest, you long for comfort, for warmth. For any reminiscence of humanity that you’re yet to find in this mansion.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna smut

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autisticaradiamegido · 8 months

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day 255

okay i'll still finish this one too i prommy but i just had time for one today and i picked this one because it's just a liiiiittle more compelling to me for aradia to be the rose bride figure

disorganized rambling and mild utena spoilers under the cut

so there are these visual parallels that won't leave my brain, between the thousands of swords bearing down on anthy at the end of rgu/the thousands of aradiabots being wiped out by jack right before they enter the kids' universe, AND ALSO anthy in her coffin/aradia in the crypt at the core of derse's moon.

aradia does want to protect (or like, Avenge) the people she cares about. i mean that's kind of the whole impetus for her being killed initially. and she gets put in that crypt for it and then she dies a million times, across a million different doomed timelines. of course all her friends ALSO die in those timelines, but yknow. she could've just hung around until she quietly ceased to exist. INSTEAD though, she goes back in time and suffers a predestined violent death at jack's hands in order to make it all mean something, and to protect her friends in the alpha timeline from becoming doomed themselves.

and it all leaves her as the kind of person who is prepared to just watch with mild curiosity as reality literally disintegrates around her (which.... like anthy, is, to a certain extent, a façade. i mean i don't think aradia's curiosity about the end of reality is fake, but also she SAYS she's not going to participate in the Lord English fight and just let whatever happens happen, but then he kicks Tavros and she immediately jumps on his back and chokes him out so like. do we REALLY think she is 100% free of emotions about all of it?)

anyway aradia megido has suffered more than jesus.

there's also the whole. like. having this dude who really does not indicate that he sees her as a person At All try to trick/force her into a romantic relationship with him?? and her status on alternia at the absolute bottom of the hemospectrum. the little crisis we see her have about just being used as a tool by the whims of fate and the alpha timeline. anthycore af

and then there's jade! jade is incredibly incredibly brave and she wants to do right by her friends. she is EXTREMELY fucking powerful and she is not willing to take bullshit from anyone. she could absolutely open that fuckin coffin.

and she also has a lot of fairytale imagery that i think goes very much hand in hand with utena's whole prince deal. she has her whole sleeping beauty, princess trapped in a tower on a deserted island theme going, and she just... never really leans into it. other characters around her seem to expect her to lean into it sometimes! and utena is constantly bombarded by other characters telling her it would JUST be easier if she was a princess and let herself be saved by a prince. but ultimately jade and utena are just out here living their lives without all that because it doesn't actually resonate with them.

ALL THAT SAID i wanna reiterate this isn't like a full-on AU it's just like. some character comparisons that i think are Neat. I don't have like, a whole thing thought out beyond this drawing or anything lol

#day 255 #year 4 #aradia megido #jade harley #homestuck #arajade #revolutionary girl utena #like i said tho i will finish up the aradia-as-utena one too #i have different but imo less compelling thoughts about that one

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loveundrwrld · 6 months

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came back yandere - undead yandere x reader

(content warnings: death, mentioned cannibalism, some minor gaslighting stuff from the yandere)

if someone had asked you if you could bring anyone back from the dead, there’s only one answer that you would pick. your dearest, closest childhood friend leon, who you lost when you two were just starting off college together.

you were completely broken by the tragedy and decided to move away from your hometown to transfer to a new school. you wanted to start all over, to put the loss out of your mind.

when you come back to visit your hometown after graduating. . . you feel as if you are losing your mind. it feels like you are seeing him everywhere. even though you know it’s impossible.

eventually, one day, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you follow him. you want to see for yourself if you’re going mad, or if the friend you keep seeing out of the corner of your eyes is really there. despite knowing it’s hopeless, you desperately want any chance of seeing him again.

you actually end up bumping into him as he stops unexpectedly- he noticed you following him, and, to your surprise, he’s real. not an illusion that your desperate, grief-riddled mind came up with, but a real, solid man. one that looks exactly like the friend that you have lost.

unbeknownst to you, to him, you're just a passing curiosity, an odd person who's been watching him from time to time while he was walking to the graveyard to sneak in a little snack.

you politely apologize and excuse yourself, but he smiles, unbothered, and lets you explain yourself.

he knows while you tell him about leon, about how much you care for this friend of yours, that he cannot possibly match the person you are describing in anything except appearance. he remembers nothing at all about his life, but he's never cared about anything except himself before in the short life he knows. there is no way that could be him.

but, he sees the desperation in your eyes, and the love that you have for this person who shares his face. and suddenly he's hit with a kind of hunger he's never remembered having before.

he’s suddenly overwhelmed with a vicious, overpowering desperation that matches your own. to have your love, the love that this leon had lost.

he knows now that he will take that love from you. no matter what he has to do.

“i'm leon,” he lies. “i’m so sorry you’ve missed me.”

over time you spend more time together, wanting to be closer to the friend you once knew. and he goes above and beyond, being the most sweet, considerate friend you’ve ever had. even kinder to you than he ever was before.

he doesn’t spend any time at all with his friends and family, but that’s ok because he’s making up lost time with you, right? it’s not strange at all that he would want to spend all of his time around you, knowing how depressed you were after he died. and sure, he won’t talk about his death or his mysterious reappearance at all, but that’s just because he doesn’t want to disturb you with any depressing details. it’s not that he’s keeping secrets.

if you notice that he’s acting any differently . . . he immediately changes what he does, going back to how you say he used to act. if you express any confusion on his preferences changing . . . well, there’s always a reason for that, with him. what, he used to hate watching horror movies? well, he was just going along with what you wanted to do, he was just being polite.

he’s your best friend, just like you wanted . . . he’ll be anyone you want him to be.

#yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #zombie x reader #male yandere #undead yandere #leon north

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f1tyreslightmyfyre · 5 months

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Immortal Artistry - Ch. 5

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 5 Warnings: Explicit sexual content; language; stalker behavior; abduction; vampire blood violence and thrall; WWII references to Hitler and Nazi regime; non-graphic violence, murder and death

2023

You draft back to consciousness. A soft pillow rests beneath your head. A warm blanket surrounds you. A heavenly mattress cushions you. Blinking your eyes open, you swear that you float on a cloud, except….

The bedroom’s unfamiliar surroundings fill you with immediate dread. Exhaustion gnaws at every muscle, but your fight-or-flight response still engages. Especially as the alarming memories of the coffee shop return in full force - remembering George and his… teeth. Remembering Max just suddenly being there and then… now, you’re here…

If only you knew where here is. The furniture speaks to opulent luxury and exquisite taste, even down to the plush carpet that greets your feet as you sit up. A wave of dizziness makes your head swim as you get your bearings, and your gaze lands on a glass of orange juice sitting on the bedside table.

Orange juice… and not water?

Curiosity compels you to lean forward, hovering your nose over the glass’ contents. The sweet aroma of juicy citrus perfumes the air, and your confusion only grows. Why of all liquids is orange juice resting on the bedside table?

Your ears catch up with the rest of your senses, and you turn towards the cracked bedroom door. The soft, elegant notes of a piano float from somewhere beyond, just barely audible in the silence of the bedroom. Standing up, you draw an uneasy breath as your body feels weak. You have no idea what time it is or when you last ate, but it doesn't appear that you’re locked in, so maybe you can escape.

The door swings wide on a silent hinge, and the hallway beyond matches the same elegant taste as the bedroom. A grand staircase extends from the end of the hallway, and you follow it down on plush carpet as the piano music grows steadily louder.

When your feet touch the marble landing, your stomach drops as you recognize everything about the interior of the opulent, classy main floor. It takes you instantly back to your dream - or fuck, the not dream - the last time that you saw Charles. To when… fuck, was that seriously just last night?

You gasp for breath as the room starts to spin, raising a hand to your head to brace yourself.

The piano music dies as an all-too familiar silky voice calls out. “Careful, cara mia. You should still be resting.”

Drawing a deep breath through your nose and exhaling out your mouth, you force your eyes open only to see… him.

Charles sits on the gleaming white piano bench, turned towards you with a soft, concerned smile. A white dress shirt highlights the lean build of his torso and rolled sleeves showcase the elegant planes of his forearms. Dark suit trousers hug his legs above bare feet, and coupled with the devil-may-care style of his hair… it’s -

No man should be allowed to look so criminally handsome.

You give a bewildered shake of your head. “I don’t… I’m too tired to rest.” Again, you scrub a hand across your forehead and down your face, feeling the ache in your temples increase.

“Did you drink the orange juice?”

You hang your head with a gentle shake. “No - what kind of idiot do you take me for? Drinking an unknown drink when I don’t even know where I am?”

A shadow moves off to your left, and your eyes dart up to suddenly see Charles standing alongside you. How had you not even heard him move? Or heard the scrape of the piano bench against the floor?

“You’ve been through a lot - too much, I suppose. But that just speaks to your strength.” Charles continues softly as a cool, solid hand falls to your shoulder. “That doesn’t mean you should overdo it, though.” He guides you forward, and you can’t summon the strength to resist.

With a sigh, you drop to sit on a cushy couch that has no right to be so inviting. Blinking heavy eyelids up at him, goodness… Charles is stunning. Golden light catches in the waves of his hair and shines in the emeralds of his eyes. He radiates breezy confidence, an oasis of calm in the muddled desert that has become your life.

He gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Will you be alright if I leave you here? I really do think orange juice would help.”

“As long as…” you sigh as you swallow nervously. “Only if you promise it’s not poisoned.”

“I promise it’s not poisoned.” With another gentle squeeze of your shoulder, his touch disappears as he moves away from you. “I don’t have any reason to wish you dead. If I did, you would still be in that coffee shop with George.”

The memories replay in the back of your mind as anxiety clenches your stomach. “Then, why am I here?”

Your question lingers unanswered as Charles disappears for – not even the space of a breath. Your brow furrows at the sudden appearance of a glass of orange juice in his hand, and… okay, maybe your brain is just really too tired to even see straight.

The glass is cold against your fingertips and the pulpy liquid is admittedly refreshing. The sugary liquid hits your empty stomach and a burst of energy warms your stomach.

Charles wears a patient and satisfied expression as you take another hearty drink. “See?” He prompts. “Not poisoned.”

Embarrassed heat rises in your cheeks. “Sorry. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but-”

“I haven’t given you any reason to trust me, and if I were you, I probably wouldn’t, either.” He cuts you off as he joins you on the couch and levels you with a serious stare. “But it’s time to fix that.”

A chill races along your skin, rippling down your spine. Something about him reminds you of George, of that predatory glow in his eyes. Your fingers tighten around the glass as unwanted memory flashes in your mind.

“Were you this frightened for Charles, hmm?” George cooed. “I can’t imagine how he resisted you…”

Your other hand rises to your throat as if to protect it. “… What was George going to do to my neck?”

“Bite you, of course.” Charles answers without pause, his tone light despite the gravity of his words. “I hadn’t wanted to tell you outright what we are. At face value, the truth is quite dismissible – laughable, even. But, well… George saved me the trouble, I suppose.”

You turn to him with wide eyes. “He was going to bite me? With those unnaturally pointed teeth of his? Like, what… like a vamp– ”

The word dies in your throat as Charles’ smile widens to reveal fangs – honest-to-God fangs - of his own. Razor sharp canines that dwarf the surrounding teeth and glint in the golden light like a knife’s edge.

Your mind slams into overdrive as the impossible truth stares you in the face. “That…” you trail off as you struggle to make sense of it. “That��s why you needed the late night meeting… that’s why I’ve only ever seen you at night. And Max, too. And -” You shake your head as you recall every time that you have seen George - in the hours after sunset, in the time before sunrise. “And the… what did you call it? Hypnosis?” You turn back to Charles, thankful to see his fangs hidden away. “That’s your thrall, isn’t it?”

Charles’ gaze sharpens with a shrewd edge. “That’s just one name for it. Bram Stoker didn’t get everything right, but he certainly knew enough.”

You gulp heavily at the implication. “Does that mean I’m under your spell? Or rather, Max’s spell…? That I’m… forced to do his bidding whenever he wants?”

“The effects of our hypnotic hold over mortals is temporary unless there’s a blood exchange. And since he hasn’t bitten you, you two don’t share that connection unless he’s present.”

“So, if George had…” A shuddering breath leaves you as your stomach rots. “If he had bitten me, then I’d now be trapped under his spell?”

“Whether he would have hypnotized you tonight or not, I cannot say - but whenever he chose to, it would be much easier for him to do so. And me - or Max, for that matter - would be unable to help you.”

“Because I would be his?”

Charles nods his head. “Because you would be his.”

Something about that thought… isn’t completely revolting. George, the man - err, vampire - is certainly handsome and quite charming. But it still doesn’t make sense. You take another sip of the orange juice, reaching forward to set the glass down on the coffee table. “But I guess I don’t understand why he would want to make me his. He…”

“But Charles gave it to you.” George pressed. “You have it, don’t you? Xavier didn’t have it.”

Anxiety knots your stomach as you turn back to Charles, glimpsing the glittering light dancing in his green eyes. “George asked me if you gave me something. Something that Xavier didn’t have.” Your gaze narrows pointedly. “He was talking about my boss, right? Were you supposed to give him something that night, but you met with me instead?”

Charles’ gaze hardens. “Xavi already knew what I had to give him, and I knew that my meeting wasn’t with him.”

“Then, are you able to tell George that I don’t have it? Whatever it is… then he can leave me alone, and you two can sort it out.”

Charles’ soft chuckle cracks a smile on his face. “I’m afraid the game is far too old for that. We each have our chess pieces and we play them as opportunity allows.” His eyes narrow in open assessment, heat growing on your skin as he looks you up and down. “He was trying to make you into his own personal chess piece, but fortunately, Max has been keeping a close eye on you.”

“Is that meant to be reassuring?” You scoff. “You say that George wants to turn me into his chess piece - well, how do I know that you and Max aren’t trying to do the same?”

“Who says we aren’t?”

Your blood runs cold as shivers ripple down your spine. You stare back, wide-eyed and stunned as your mouth goes dry. “So, you’re… you’re going to… bite me?”

“It’s the offer on the table.” Charles says with a business-like calm. “If George is convinced of some fact and wants you on his side - with or without your permission - then, Max thought we would offer you the choice.”

You gulp, glancing around the expansive room. “And is he here? Max…?”

A private smile curls the corner of Charles’ mouth. “He’s never too far away.”

Nothing about that is anymore comforting, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “Okay… so, according to you - I have two options: join George’s team or join your team?”

“If you must simplify it so plainly, then yes.”

“Then, why don’t you explain it to me?”

Charles arches a defiant brow. “Do you really think that would make you safer?”

“Do you think it would place me in any more danger?” You shake your head sharply with another scoff. “I don’t have the first fucking clue about any of this and already I’ve met three vampires - possibly more - and one of them has attacked me, while another one has hypnotized me, and now, you’re… you’re…”

You don’t know what exactly. Your thoughts are too jumbled and Charles isn’t speaking clearly enough for you to piece the big picture together.

“I really thought you were smarter than that.” George urged. “Smart enough to see through him… to see that what he’s doing is just wrong.”

With another deep breath, you swallow your rising anxiety. “How do I know your team is the right one to join, hmm?” You arch a challenging brow. “How do I know that you’re not the villain in this game of chess?”

The look in Charles’ eyes suddenly ages him decades older than his youthful countenance. “Heroes and villains are constructs of the mortal world, cara mia. Fanciful concepts to paint the world in white and black, and right and wrong.” He pauses as a wickedly tempting smile lights his face. “But immortality offers a world of grey and endless opportunity to make your way.”

“That doesn’t exactly help your case, you know.”

“I know, and I’m not trying to build a case.” He nods towards you. “Whether or not you like it, or whether or not you know why, you’re caught in the middle. And if you want control of the choice, then you will make it tonight.”

Frustration tightens the line of your jaw. “Then why don’t you just tell me what I’m caught in the middle of, and then I can make an informed decision.”

“I fear telling you outright would only raise suspicion. Especially if you are, as of yet… unclaimed.”

You arch a brow as your stomach drops to your feet. “Unclaimed…? You said nothing about claiming me.”

“It’s, err - maybe not the best choice of word.” A sheepish look flashes across his face. “But after a blood exchange, our hypnotic hold intensifies and…evolves. It forms a sort-of mental connection between us and our chosen thrall, but the thrall is not completely independent of free-will. It’s…” He trails off with a sigh and another sheepish grin. “It’s not easy to explain, actually.”

You stare at him, still unable to believe it. “How… how long have you been alive?”

“I’ve been undead since 1940.”

“1940…? Shit, that’s… World War II.”

Slowly, he nods. “Yes, it was.”

“Did you fight?”

His gaze finds yours, mesmerizing and keen. “Quite personal questions, don’t you think?”

You shrug gently. “You said it was time to change the fact that I don’t trust you. If George was going to just… take me in that coffee shop tonight, then maybe you… you can just give it to me, instead? If that makes sense…?”

Something sparks in Charles’ eyes, and really… it’s fucking unfair how edible he looks. His tongue darts out to wet his top lip and you’re helpless not to follow the motion. “I did fight,” he starts softly. “Monaco - still my home, even then - remained neutral throughout the war, but 800 men were mobilized in support of French forces when war broke out in 1939.” He pauses as his eyes gloss over with distant memory. “By May 1940, the Nazis were sweeping the continent and our forces had nowhere to go except for Dunkirk.”

Your breath catches. “Dunkirk…? The Dunkirk evacuation?” It sounds too unreal to possibly be real. “You were there?”

“I never made it that far.” Charles says with a short shake of his head. “My sire found me in the woods as we marched towards the coast. I suppose you could say he saved me the trouble of worrying about a boat ride when he transformed me.”

“Is that what you call it?” You wave a hand as if the motion somehow captures everything about Charles’ words. “When you turn into a… vampire? A transformation?”

“That, too, has many names - but that is what I prefer to call it.”

Again, your hand rises to your neck in a protective gesture and your thumb sweeps over your pulse. “Were you given the choice? By your - what did you call him - sire?”

The corner of Charles’ mouth tightens. “No, I wasn’t. And no - I won’t explain his reasoning.”

“I wasn’t going to ask. That just seems…” You’re not sure exactly what to say. It seems wrong that Charles wasn’t given a choice on whether to become immortal or not. But, then again, how do you actually answer a question like that? Either way, it’s far too personal to ever be any of your business.

Silence stretches between you, and thankfully, he doesn’t press you. Why would he? The man - the vampire - literally has forever to wait. You, on the other hand… fuck, you still have to go to work tomorrow. You still don’t have a boss, you still don’t have a clue what Charles was supposed to give Xavier that George wants, and… you don’t even have a clue how late it is.

You turn back towards Charles. “If you bite me - if I let you - what do I get out of it?” Even as the words leave your tongue, they still sound impossibly ridiculous. Vampires just aren’t real… yet you can’t deny all the proof before your eyes.

“A fair question.” Charles acknowledges. “I suppose you could call it protection… or, at least, subliminal awareness of each other. A connection that could alert me to your distress or future danger. A connection that could lead me to where you are, in case you’re captured.”

The orange juice roils in your gut. “None of that sounds reassuring.”

“No?” He echoes even as the corner of his mouth lifts. “Nothing reassuring about having me as your own personal guardian angel?”

“Not if that also turns me into a piece on your chessboard.”

“Then, it doesn’t have to be me.” His smile widens with a teasing, suggestive slant. “As I recall, you were indeed quite taken with Max.”

Your cheeks heat with an embarrassed flush, especially since you’re not able to conjure any concrete memory of being ‘quite taken’ with Max. Just what exactly had you done? Or what had you said? “I don’t… that’s not…” You struggle for words, hoping it’s not obvious to him. “You… or him - that’s not the -”

“Or it could be both of us.”

Unwanted thoughts flood your brain. Dear Lord, what would it be to have the two of them together? Images of a cliche dark room, four-poster bed and blood-red sheets dance in your mind. Tangles of lean hips and strong arms, thick brunette curls and lush sandy locks surround you as you’re caught in the push and pull between them. Rivulets of blood decorate your skin, weeping from matching puncture wounds as they own your body, inside and out.

A different heat stirs in your blood - a demanding heat that gathers between your legs, unstoppable even in the face of life-threatening danger and utter confusion.

Charles purrs low in his throat. “Exquisite, cara mia.”

Mortified heat burns your cheeks. “No, no - I don’t-”

“Your lying words cannot mask the scent of your blood.” He pauses to draw a deliberate, deep inhale. “And yours heats with such… delectable promise.”

“It’s nothing, it’s - “ You cut yourself off as another thought dawns. “Do you not wish that I was more scared? I thought… well, George made it sound like fear… was the most delicious?”

A low, throaty chuckle rumbles in Charles’ chest. “I suppose it depends on one’s preference. If you liken fear to dark chocolate and desire to a lush fruit - they both can make for an exquisite treat while being quite different.”

“And your preference?” Your words come far breathier than you would like as your heart gallops.

Charles’ eyes darken as his smile widens. “If I wanted you scared,” he says carefully as he slowly raises a hand, brushing a knuckle down the outside of your arm in a gentle caress. “We would be having a much different conversation.”

His touch speaks to the traitorous arousal curling at the base of your spine, and god… why is this so hard? You force a swallow down your dry throat. “So, you w-would rather…”

“I would rather have you melting in my lap, whimpering with desire, and soaking through my trousers,” his voice doesn’t falter as he holds you with a gaze that leaves no room for doubt. “If you choose me, that is.”

“A-and Max…?” You manage to say around your heavy breathing. “H-he wouldn’t mind if you… if we-”

“Max is indeed very special to me - more so than any mortal. But he and I are not…” Charles trails off as a predatory gleam sharpens his enticing smirk. “Exclusive.”

Fuck, that does absolutely nothing to help. Your body continues to run away from the protests of your mind, not helped by the teasing caress of his nimble fingers. A shiver ripples across your skin as you fight for clarity. “You’re not playing fair.”

Another delicious chuckle sounds in Charles’ throat. “No, I’m not, am I? One is never too old - or undead - to not press their advantage.” His hand turns against your arm and his fingertips brush the exposed skin of your forearm. A shuddering sigh passes your lips as his chilly touch races more shivers through you. Your thighs clench together with aching need, unable to understand the strong reaction of your body.

Your breath catches in your throat as the sofa dips under his shifting weight. The heady weight of his thigh brushes yours, and an intoxicating scent reaches your nose… fucking fuck, why does he have to smell so good? You want to chase the spicy, woodsy scent across his skin, to breathe it deep in your lungs. Your eyes drop closed as it invades your senses, further fogging your brain.

Charles’ fingers dance around your wrist, stroking the thin, tender skin covering the major blood vessels beneath. “You still have a choice, cara mia.” His voice washes over you like rich syrup. “You just need to tell me what you want.”

Whatever resistance your mind can summon drowns under the urgent rush of blood pounding in your ears, and… at least, this is on your terms. Mostly. With a trembling breath, you slowly nod. “Y-yes… alright.”

He growls low in approval. “I’m honored, cara mia.” He gives your wrist a gentle squeeze before threading his fingers over the back of your hand and interlacing them together.

You squeeze his hand, finding more reassurance in his touch than you ever expected despite the chilly temperature of his skin. Again, he shifts closer to you, and your heart races as he looms over you - so controlled, so dark, so fucking gorgeous.

“Breathe for me,” he whispers in a velvet pur. “Just breathe.”

You draw a deep breath, trying to steady the pounding of your heart. Can he hear it? Does he know how it threatens to beat out of your chest?

The cool press of his nose against your cheek makes you gasp and involuntarily arch into his touch. Every part of your body responds to his close presence and cries out for more, so much more.

“That’s it,” he coos, nuzzling down the line of your jaw as you helplessly tilt your head. “You are such a treasure.”

A whimper passes your lips as you drown under his voice. His lips dance along the column of your throat and you squeeze his hand, rewarded when he tightens his grip in response.

His teeth slice through your skin like butter. The sharp, invasive pain lances through you and a gasping cry lodges in your throat. His lips seal around the wounds, and pleasure slams through you as he draws your blood. Your body twitches against the couch in desperate need, moaning with abandon as mindless euphoria overtakes you. You cling tight to his hand, lost to everything that floods your body as he takes another long, slow drink. Your other hand finds the silky locks of his hair, holding him close, grasping for contact - for leverage to get your body closer to his.

The piercing sting of his teeth withdraws and a needy whimper pitches high in your throat. A bereft sense of loss spreads through you, and you cling tighter to him, trying to chase that delicious high. His tongue finds your skin, dragging over the twin punctures with solid, steady strokes that do nothing to quell the inferno raging inside you.

You don’t recognize the sound of your own ragged breathing as he continues to lick and nuzzle at your skin. You also don’t recognize the light-headed dizziness that dances in your head, nor how you seem to be floating six feet above the couch. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like.

And you haven’t even orgasmed. Or, at least, you don’t think so.

Charles gives your hand a gentle squeeze as it relaxes in his grip. “Thank you, cara mia.” He nuzzles your jaw with a satisfied hum. “I don’t think you’ll regret your decision.”

“Wha…” The word dies on your tongue, slurred as you struggle to think through the sensations overloading your body.

Charles shushes you gently, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to your cheek. “You should rest. I understand the first time is… quite intense.” Another press of his lips follows as your eyelids grow heavy and darkness cuts the corners of your mind. “That’s it, cara mia. Rest now, and I’ll see to it that you get home.”

1944

The sounds of the cavern deafen him. Max still isn’t used to his heightened hearing and each drip of water, each scrape of pebbles against stone, each whistle of wind grates on his nerves. He doesn’t consider patience to be one of his strengths, but at least, he doesn’t need a torch in this godforsaken underground labyrinth.

“There’s nothing here, Charles.” He says without preamble as they take in the dark stone surroundings. “The soldier lied to us.”

“Can you blame him?” Charles counters, unbothered by Max’s irritation. His smile still glints in the damp darkness and his eyes glow with the thrill of exploration. Max can’t explain why Charles’ breathtaking beauty continues to stun him, but he finds himself falling all over again. Charles blinks down to the ground, scuffing at a small puddle as he continues. “I’m glad there is nothing stored here, though. This humid environment would be terrible for the artwork.”

Max snorts before he can stop himself. “It’s remarkable how much you care - actually care - about the artwork.”

“It’s clear the Nazis only see it as a means to an end, or a bargaining chip.” Charles says, his voice echoing off the stone cave. “Just because we haven't heard of them ransoming treasures doesn’t mean that it’s not happening.”

“Why ransom when they can just sell?” Max scoffs. “Or take it for free and turn a profit? Nothing has stopped them yet.”

“Nor will it.” Charles agrees as he looks back over at Max in the darkness. “Not until they consume everything worth consuming.”

Dripping water echoes off the stone walls and cold humidity eats at their skin, but when Charles holds him with such a tender gaze, Max finds it hard to care about anything else. His feet crunch against loose stone and earth as he steps close to Charles and wraps his chilled fingers in a gentle handhold. “Is it a bad joke to say that your fingers feel as cold as death?”

The corner of Charles’ mouth ticks up. “That is most definitely a bad joke, but we are undead men together so that shouldn’t bother you.”

“I never said it did.” Max gives Charles’ hand a squeeze as he hums low in his throat. “In fact, quite the opposite. It’s hard to steal time away with you, you know.”

An endearingly modest smile takes over Charles’ face. “There is a war going on, you know? Even for immortals, opportunity waits for no one.”

Max nearly rolls his eyes. “You sound like Seb.”

“Perhaps you should learn to listen better to him.” Charles’ voice drops to a silky, deliberately teasing register. “We both owe him a lot.”

“I don’t owe him shit.” Max says, raising his other hand to Charles’ chin and pressing against the delicate skin to raise the other man’s head. “When I lay there dying - when I begged for help - you were the only one. Not any of those soldiers, not Seb - you.”

“I’m still sorry that I couldn’t give you the choice.”

“Stop apologizing for that. I asked for help and you helped - simple as that.”

Fond appreciation warms Charles’ mesmerizing eyes before he leans it and effortlessly slots his mouth to Max’s. The kiss transcends words, stirring the passion and possession that overtakes them both during stolen moments together. Arousal heats Max’s frigid veins as Charles’ tongue pries at the seam of his lips and their embrace deepens. A low growl pitches in Max’s throat as they devour each other.

Opportunity may wait for no one, but surely Max can take time to press Charles against the uneven stone, to hear his ragged moans echo in the cavern, to let their bodies chase pleasure together in the dark underground.

An answering growl stirs in Charles’ chest and Max abandons Charles’ chin to skim his fingers down the pale column of his neck. He rolls his hips forward, pressing them tight to Charles with shameless abandon. “Let me have you,” Max breathes into Charles’ mouth. “Let me fuck you raw.”

“Oh, fuck,” Charles gasps as his hips match Max’s with an answering thrust. “That would feel so good right now.”

“Better than good.” Max murmurs, nipping along Charles’ lips. “I’ll make you-”

“There’s something happening on the road.” Seb’s voice echoes in the stone chamber, slicing through the lustful fog. “Get out here. Now.”

Frustration stabs Max in the chest, but once he separates from Charles, he can understand that this isn’t necessarily the most appropriate moment. But, dammit, they’ve been searching the cavernous underworld beneath the multitude of mountain ranges in the Northern Limestone Alps for weeks now. Each major retreat of Nazi squadrons narrows the search. Each desperate attempt by men on the losing side to thwart the forward advance of the victors yields more clues.

They’re so close to the Nazi central storage location, Max can almost taste it.

In the moment, though, he only has the fading memory of Charles’ kiss lingering on his tongue as they navigate their way out of the cave. If the diehard Nazi troops in the region are stirring up a scene at this late hour, then it must truly be something noteworthy.

The glow of moonlight blinds him for an instant as his eyes adjust and he surveys the scene on the road. A truck trundles along the rutted path without headlights, but the glow of one lone torch hangs out the passenger window. Usually, the Nazi troops don’t try to hide their presence - with a string of labor camps near Ebensee and confirmed rumors of Nazi stockpiles near Totes Gebirge - they all but own the surrounding Salzkammergut Mountains. However, the men in this truck clearly don’t wish to be seen - even by their own kind.

Charles crouches low, squinting into the distance. “Now where could they possibly be going at this hour?”

Seb tilts his head as he stares at the truck. “Somewhere they don’t want anyone to see.”

“Then, they shouldn’t use a truck.” Max says with a shake of his head. “They’d be less conspicuous on foot.”

“This road is so rural,” Seb counters. “There’s no one that they would expect to find here.”

Charles’ smirk gleams in the moonlight. “Except us.”

Max matches his smirk. “Unlucky bastards.”

They move in the night, swift as shadows and just as silent. Of all his heightened vampiric senses, the supernatural strength and agility that infused his muscles has to be Max’s favorite. While the sharpened vision and enhanced hearing are useful, when it comes to trailing their Nazi quarry… well, Max takes every advantage that he can get.

It’s only when they close the distance, easily close enough to strike, that Seb comes to a deliberate stop. A stab of confused disappointment lances through Max as he stops in tandem silence with Charles, both glancing towards the older vampire. He doesn’t use words, but none of them need to.

The soldiers tell their own story as they cluster around the shrouded, rocky outcropping at the base of the mountains. Seb calls this range Totes Gebirge - Dead Mountains - and Max has to agree it’s aptly fitting. The jagged, rocky surroundings support almost no vegetation and honestly, it’s going to be a suitable grave for these soon-to-be dead men.

Between the atrocities he witnessed at home and the inhumane horrors of the Nazi camps, Max has no qualms about dispatching anyone who wears the swastika. And the longer he watches the group of six men stand around the rocks, the more his frustration grows.

Seb turns towards him, silently raising a hand - a sign to stay calm, to hold position. Max may never have been a soldier given the Netherlands’ neutrality, but his time in the Resistance taught him plenty. He grits his teeth, running his thumb over the round, knobbed end of the spike dagger in his pocket. Despite the prowess of his physical strength and sharp teeth, he’s never broken the habit of relying on his dagger for the dirty work often required in spycraft.

Like Seb, he turns his attention back to the soldiers, watching as three of them turn and disappear into the shadows of the mountain… into a cave, he realizes. The situation turns more curious as voices raise in clear disagreement, in clear alarm and anger. When the men return, two of them labor under a heavy load. Their backs stoop low as they manhandle a long, curved tube, a tube… outfitted with aerial fins.

Charles’ near silent gasp reaches his ears as realization hits him, too. It’s an aircraft bomb. Is this some secret Nazi weapon stockpile? Or are these men thieves in the night? It seems hard to believe such a small detachment would be out so late for an official supply run. Especially in a truck with no headlights.

Seb’s fangs flash in the night, and the reasons for the soldiers’ presence hardly matters. He leads the stealthy charge forward, and Max follows with an eager willingness to spring into action. His spike dagger whispers in the darkness as the sharp end finds soft flesh and the solid knobbed end meets delicate skulls.

As the last body falls and silence reigns supreme, it’s honestly annoying how loud humans are without even trying. Slipping the spike dagger back in his pocket, Max nudges one of the dead soldiers out of the way and crouches down to study the missile. Up close, the weapon’s precisely crafted shape betrays its true, lethal purpose. He shakes his head, knocking a knuckle against the metal casing with a dull metallic thud. “An airplane bomb,” he says, glancing up into the cave’s crudely-formed, dark opening. “How many more do you suppose they have in there?”

Despite the rocky ground and loose pebbles, Charles moves on near-silent footsteps. “Only one way to find out. Though, why would they store such arms here and not in a depot… there’s not an airfield within kilometers of here. Nor a factory.”

“Animals on the run grow desperate,” Seb says as he studies the mouth of the cave opening. “And they seldom use logic. With the Allied advance bearing down on them, I don’t doubt that they’re hiding what they can wherever they can, even if there’s no rationale to it.”

Max pushes to his feet. “If this is really where they’re storing missiles, then it hardly seems efficient to have such a small crew carry them out one by one.”

“And in the dead of the night,” Charles continues. “In a vehicle where they refused to use the headlights… perhaps they were planning a secret bombing run?”

Seb snorts as he ducks to enter the opening and his voice echoes off stone. “That sounds too fantastical for the Nazis. Soldiers stealing bombs and planes in an act of sedition.”

Affront wrinkles Charles’ brow as Max walks to the opening and crouches down to follow Seb inside. “Well, what else would you call it?” Charles continues as he crouches down next to Max’s side. “Taking just one missile won’t change the course of war, non - but dropping just one bomb? The right bomb, on the right target could disrupt, demoralize, deorganize...”

Seb chuckles softly as the dark stone interior closes around them and the air grows stale. “By that logic, we should take that bomb and drop it on Hitler ourselves, yes?”

“Then, why don’t we?” Max hears himself answer as faint light glistens in mineral crystals as they descend the subterranean tunnel. “That’s what I’ve said since the beginning - there’s nothing stopping us from just getting close and hitting him and his men in the dead of night. Let’s end this now.”

“It’s never that simple.” Seb counters with a scolding shake of his head. “Exposing our kind to the world like that… for the humans, ignorance is bliss. And we are the guardians of the truth’s ugliness.”

The air grows heavy with briny salt as they move deeper into the mountain, boots crunching against the hard rock. Charles hums low in his throat. “The price of immortality, non?”

Truthfully, Max has little patience when Charles and Seb wax poetically about the state of mortals and immortals. Despite whatever philosophical ideas they entertain about truth and beauty and everything between - it changes nothing about the here and now. It bends none of the rules that Max supposedly has to follow. It alters nothing about the state of his undead existence or the fate of mortals who wage their horrendous war and steadily march towards self-destruction.

The ground slopes away, suddenly steeper under his feet, and distracts his focus. They brace against the rocky, jagged walls, slowing their steps as they approach a wall… a wall where the tunnel ends? Or perhaps it continues through the narrow, carved opening.

Max eyes the opening in the wall ahead cautiously. “I don’t like that this is beginning to feel like a trap.”

“A trap makes no sense,” Seb rationalizes, crouching down to study the dramatically shorter tunnel opening. “Why would the Nazis trap themselves, hmm?”

“Why wouldn’t they plant booby traps to keep others out, hmm?” Max counters sharply. “Perhaps that’s what that bomb was, yeah? Protecting something else that they didn’t want others to discover?”

Charles’ eyes brighten with intrigue. “And why not? The salt in the air creates a much more stable environment for storage. Perhaps this is a hidden weapons depot or a… a treasure storage.”

“Only one way to find out.” Seb braces a hand against the shorter tunnel opening and moves forward, knees bent and back hunched as he disappears into the darkness.

Max wets his top lip impatiently. “How long does it look, Seb?”

A beat of silence passes with only a faint whistle of wind for company. His brow furrows with immediate concern. “Seb?” He calls out again, staring down at the tunnel opening as if willing the older vampire to emerge.

Charles’ voice mimics his concern. “Seb? Is everything all right?” He kneels down, squinting into the opening and tilting his head with sudden curiosity. “Seb just… what is it?”

Max crouches down, needing to see for himself - and discovering that the new tunnel was more just a narrow opening in the rock. Seb blocks the other side, clearly stunned and frozen by whatever sight lays on the other side.

“Scheiße,” Seb breathes, his voice low. “This is… I just… I can’t believe what I’m looking at.”

Both Charles and Max scramble for the tunnel entrance at the same time, and Charles squeezes in ahead of him. He pushes gently at Seb’s back, and the blonde vampire moves to let Charles come through with Max right behind him. Perched on a gently sloping ledge, an expansive salt cavern extends in front of them - something clearly mined by humans, something still occupied by humans.

Or at least, human treasure.

Crates upon crates, boxes upon boxes, stacks upon stacks, and piles upon piles of cultural riches lay before them. Artwork, books, statues, illustrations, tapestries - all hidden away from the world and ripe for discovery. Max doesn’t register his jaw dropping as he scans the sea of priceless treasures in front of him.

Is this it? Is this what they’ve been searching for?

Charles lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh. “Mamma mia… there’s so much here! I don’t.. I don’t even know where to begin!” He runs a hand through his hair, wetting his top lip with eager excitement.

Seb shakes his head. “Perhaps you were right, Max,” he muses, glancing over with a fond smile. “Perhaps they were going to booby trap that entrance. Or perhaps they were just going to detonate anyway and forever bury this hoard of cultural wealth.”

“I have to get down there.” Charles says, turning his gaze towards the ledge and testing his footing on the descent. “We can’t just let this all go to waste.”

“We won’t.” Max agrees, following Charles into action and securing a handhold to work down the ledge. “If only the Nazis know this is here, we have the advantage. We can do as we please.”

Seb’s smile curls in the darkness as he follows them down to the collection of artwork that will forever change their undead existence. “And we certainly will.”

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scaredshadowsswap · 7 months

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SCP Personnel and Snooping

In the SCP Foundation, there are loads of secrets, and it’s natural to be curious. However, not every senior researcher will let you view information above your clearance. Here’s what I think you could get away with.

Clef

Clef is tough. You can hypothetically get away with anything, but he won’t make it too easy. If you ask him personally, he’ll give you a different answer every time, and any version of his stories could be true. If you try to use his clearance to view something, he might laugh and help you, or he might report you. His motives are…generally unclear, so while you could hypothetically figure something out, think about how he could possibly react. You’ll probably eventually realize that he is a very clever manipulator, and will say whatever he can to try and prevent you from searching for information not meant for you. By the time you realize, it’ll probably have worked. He’s not gonna react the way you think he will, but consider how me might react anyway. Don’t think for a moment that he believes that you’ve “punished yourself enough by learning this” or any of that garbage. If you screw up, he’ll come up with some creative punishment on top of the paralyzing fear or whatever natural consequence came of it. If he thinks you’re prying for something that extends beyond the realm of “being curious”, he might shoot you right then and there. For example, looking for SCP-001 is just basic curiosity, and he’ll stop that soon enough. Looking into MTF dockets and reading every piece of information on them is suspicious, and you will die. You have no reason to be there. Also, if the Foundation ever figures out, he’s not gonna get in trouble for your actions. He’d most likely lie if it paints him in a better light. He’ll sit back and laugh as you get demoted.

Kondraki

Kondraki is known for water cooler gossip, so he gets how enticing information like that can be. He probably won’t care at all and won’t try to stop you, unless you put him at risk of getting in trouble. Things like using his clearance or looking through his desk will get you in trouble for sure. Other than that, go wild. He’s definitely found out stuff he wasn’t supposed to, so he’s not gonna get upset if you do the same. However, he’s not gonna help you run from the consequences of your actions, either. Whatever the consequences are, you get to deal with them by yourself. Kondraki takes a very “hands-off” approach to this, which gives him deniability. He didn’t see you do anything, he won’t say anything. One of his earlier assistants died after looking at a cognitohazard. When he was interviewed, Kondraki simply stated: “Dr. ████ fucked around. Dr. ████ found out.”

Gears

Gears will absolutely not help you learn anything you’re not supposed to. The Assistant Director of Site-19 did not get there by being lenient with restrictions. That being said, I’m not sure Gears would catch on that easily to what you’re doing. He’s generally emotionless, which doesn’t mean he can’t read others’ emotions, but it means he could miss tiny details that make you look suspicious. With Clef and Kondraki, there’s no way you could hide the fact that you’re looking into Foundation secrets. With Gears, he would probably miss it, whether that be due to his ability to comprehend emotions or sleep deprivation. Just don’t get caught, and you’ll be okay.

Glass

Glass is reporting you and then firing you immediately. I’m not actually sure if he has the power to fire anyone, but he will make sure it happens. The reason is simply because the information he works with is heavily confidential, and although it can be accessed in some situations, Glass’s morals stand strong. Unless he gets a direct order demanding anything else, he keeps strict confidentiality on what his patients tell him. You accessing any of his files is a huge breach of trust for his patients, and even if the specific file wasn’t confidential, there is no way Glass’ll trust you enough to work with you anymore. If you’re trying to figure out something about an SCP…why? You don’t work with them. If it’s an SCP, Glass’ll probably just talk to you. Maybe he’ll file an incident report, but at least he won’t think that you’re breaking the trust of others.

Shaw

Shaw will outright tell you stuff you don’t have clearance for. Considering they have clearance to pretty much everything, you just need to ask. However, you’ll probably have to explain why you wanted to know, and that can get embarrassing sometimes. If they’re putting you with Shaw, they’re expecting you to keep them in check a little, so you probably wouldn’t be the snooping type to begin with. Shaw doesn’t really report to anyone, so go wild I guess. It’s up to them if you get in trouble, and I don’t think Shaw would do anything unless you were acting super suspicious.

Strelnikov

It’s hard to find out any information as a researcher. As a Task Force member? They don’t even tell you vital info about the things you’re trying to contain. Strelnikov won’t report you for looking at stuff not meant for your eyes, but don’t think for a moment that he’s okay with it. He believes firmly in loyalty, and that loyalty means blind trust sometimes. If you’re looking at files above your clearance and he catches you, he’ll assume you don’t trust him or the other agents on your team. How can he trust you if you don’t trust him? Your next missions will be dangerous because he doesn’t trust you.

Rights

Rights is gonna be disappointed. She’ll be calm about it, but she’ll probably put restrictions onto your electronics and stuff. She may or may not fill out a report depending on what you looked at, but she’ll tell her friends about what you did, so you’ll have to deal with random people knowing what SCP you were researching. If you looked at the MTF dockets for information on an agent you had a crush on? You’d never live it down. Shaw would loudly proclaim your love in the cafeteria, and then everyone would know. Regardless, she gets where you’re coming from, but you need to understand that the rules are in place for a reason, so do not expect any help from her when you’re trying to break them.

#scp headcanons #scp #scp fandom #scp foundation #dr alto clef #dr clef #alto clef #agent strelnikov #dr gears #gears scp #dr kondraki #benjamin kondraki #dr rights #simon glass #dr glass #dr shaw

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snowmist-hashira · 8 months

Text

[Chapter title: Glimpses Beyond]

Yuichiro Tokitou x Reader

Wattpad:(One shots) Tokito Twins x Reader Archive:Kimetsu No Yaiba: Tokitou Twins x Reader Details: ♠ Information ♠ Master list: ♠ Yuichirou Tokitou ♠

Artist: 餅川モちこ [1hundred_mm]

Links; Twitter & Pixiv

I would be pretty curious to touch Yui's hair to be honest, I imagine it would feel similar to Muichiro's, but who knows? If he lets you touch it, that means you're special to him. I have to admit, I'm a bit of a simp for him right now... Tags: @aeolia18 / @demonslayeranimex / @thornrosekaori / @xaeoism / @cascadingleaves / @mistymxxn (Scheduled)

Y/n couldn't help but admire the hue of the twin's hair as it transitioned from black to mint. It was an extraordinary combination that perfectly complemented their features.

The twins' facial features and appearances were strikingly similar, making it easy to mistake one for the other at first glance. However, as Y/n spent more time with them, she noticed subtle differences in their expressions and mannerisms. Muichiro had a slightly softer gaze, while Yuichiro eyes carried a more intense and focused look.

Despite Yuichiro's usual cold and stoic demeanor towards most people, he treated Y/n just a little bit differently.

One particular detail that Y/n found endearing was Yuichiro's choice to wear a ponytail. It was a practical solution to differentiate himself from his brother and prevent any mix-ups. The ponytail gave him a distinctive edge, accentuating his individuality while showcasing his stoic and confident side.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Y/n decided to act on a whim and see what Yuichiro's hair would look like let down, similar to his younger twin's. Without much contemplation, she approached him from behind and gently slid the hair tie downwards, removing his ponytail, she didn't expect his immediate reaction.

He tensed up, freezing for a moment, surprised by the sudden gesture. The sensation of his hair cascading down his back caught him off guard, unsure how to react to Y/n's unexpected gesture. His heart raced, not because he was upset, but rather because he was taken aback by the sudden change.

"Sorry," Y/n said softly, "I didn't mean to startle you. I was just curious to see your hair down, like Muichiro's."

Yuichiro softly chuckled, his cheeks lightly flushed, almost unnoticeable, he ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it out a bit. "It's alright," he replied, his voice warm and gentle. "I don't mind, really. It's just... I usually keep it up to make it easier for people to differentiate between Muichiro and me."

Y/n nodded at his response, she pulled a chair and went behind it, offering, "I'll fix your hair, it won't take long."

Yuichiro slightly widened his eyes, feeling a mix of surprise and embarrassment at her persistence. He protested softly, "It's really not necessary, I can handle it myself."

Seeing Yuichiro's surprise and hesitation, Y/n couldn't help but chuckle softly at his protests. "Come on, don't be shy," she encouraged with a warm smile, "It's just a small gesture. Plus, I was the one who took the ponytail out in the first place, so let me fix it back for you."

He hesitated for a moment before sitting down, allowing her to fix his hair. Y/n then carefully ran her fingers through Yuichiro's mint-hued locks, she noticed how soft and silky they felt. Her actions were tender and attentive, as she carefully arranged his mint-hued locks back into a neat ponytail, ensuring that it was comfortable and secure.

Despite his efforts to maintain a calm facade, Yuichiro's cheeks still carried a faint blush, betraying the subtle fluster he felt at the closeness of the moment. He was grateful for Y/n's kindness and the care she put into fixing his hair, finding it surprisingly endearing how she took the initiative to do something so simple yet meaningful.

He appreciated Y/n's helpfulness and the warmth of her touch, finding it comforting and soothing. The moment felt oddly intimate, yet he didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable by acknowledging his feelings. He knew Y/n had a friendly and caring nature, and he didn't want to read too much into the situation.

"You really have a beautiful hair, Yuichiro," Y/n remarked softly as she adjusted the strands, trying to make it look neat and presentable.

Yuichiro's blush deepened at Y/n's compliment. Her words touched his heart, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and happiness. It wasn't often that he received such direct praise, after all.

"Thank you, Y/n," he replied, his voice soft and genuine, he almost sounded like his younger twin, with his gentle tone. "I... I appreciate that."

After making sure his hair was fixed to the best of her ability, Y/n stepped back and admired her work. "There, that's better," she said with a satisfied smile, "You look great either way, with or without the ponytail."

Yuichiro glanced at the mirror nearby, and he couldn't help but blush seeing the reflection staring back at him. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"You're welcome," Y/n replied, her own smile widening at his bashful response. "I'm glad you like it. Your hair is really beautiful, just like yourself."

Yuichiro's blush deepened at her compliment, but he couldn't hide the spark of happiness in his eyes. It meant a lot to him that Y/n saw the beauty in both his appearance and his personality.

He had always been a bit self-conscious about his entire self, but her kind words helped him see himself in a new light. He was aware of the perception others had of him– that of a stoic or a cold person. It was a façade he had adopted to protect himself from getting hurt, to maintain distance, and to shield his vulnerability.

However, Y/n saw past that exterior and appreciated him for who he truly was. Her understanding and kindness allowed him to let his guard down and be his authentic self, and he cherished that more than anything.

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cas-kingdom · 2 years

Note

“That’s as big as my balls!” (I don’t mind the fandom, any of them will be amazing🙂)

“That’s as big as my balls!” had not been the exclamation Anthony Bridgerton expected to hear as he walked into the family living room. Still, his admonishment of “honestly, Benedict, you kiss our mother with that mouth” died on his tongue when he glanced up and clocked the sight in front of him.

“Sorry, Anthony,” Benedict said unapologetically, keeping his eyes on the ground, “but if you could see the size of this—this creature, you would spurt some similar obscenities!”

“He isn’t wrong,” Colin helpfully supplied from his place stood on the couch.

A very audible gasp sounded from you next as you zipped behind Benedict and latched onto him. “Ben, it twitched,” you hissed. Benedict gulped and Colin shuffled to the edge of the couch. Anthony’s frown deepened so much his brows became one. Meanwhile, Eloise, who had been silently reading at the opposite end of the room, rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

“The three of you are children,” she stated.

Anthony’s confusion briefly gave way for curiosity, compelling him to move forward despite not knowing what he may be faced with. From the looks of it, he figured it could be anything.

“What on Earth are you—” He stopped suddenly, brows shooting upwards and feet taking him a step back. “Good God,” he breathed out, a look of pure fear barraging his face.

Eloise rolled her eyes once more, her book now forgotten beside her. How anyone expected one to read peacefully in a house quite lacking in peace went beyond her.

“I stand corrected,” she said, meaning the number of children she had previously counted now stood a number higher. “Truly, you’d think none of you had seen a spider before. Y/N, we used to dig up all kinds of insects outside when—”

“When we were little more than four years old!” you shot back. “I’d say I’m quite well-versed in insects and their ghastliness now. Are spiders even insects?”

Four pairs of eyes gaped uneasily at the arachnid perched innocently on the floor between them. None of you dared to blink, as though losing sight of it for a millisecond would bring about your downfall. Colin was still as far from it as the sofa would allow, ready to jump and run if the need arose. You clung to Benedict’s shirt with white knuckles, Benedict just about managing to uphold his brotherly duty to shield his younger sister in the face of danger as compared to running behind her instead. And Anthony, a part of this now whether he liked it or not, stood as stiff and still as a rock.

“Are we quite sure it is a spider?” Colin asked.

Benedict swallowed. “I’d rather compare it to the devil’s spawn.”

“It looks big enough to have its own seat at the table,” Anthony mused more to himself.

You made a face. “Do you think it might be poisonous?”

At her siblings’ hushed conversation, Eloise jumped to her feet. “For goodness’ sake! Move out the way, brother. I’ll squash it with my book. But you must buy me another copy because I refuse to have spider guts on—”

“No, no, Eloise.” Anthony stopped her before she could act on the book held high above her head. “You’ll dirty the carpet and Mother will have some choice words to say about that. No…we need to remove it from the house and into the garden.”

There was a moment of silence in which each of you considered the eldest’s words. You glanced up one by one and looked between each other. Then Benedict snorted, not at all in amusement.

“Well, you won’t find me volunteering for that any time soon,” he said. You nodded vigorously, making sure Anthony could see that Benedict’s words were yours, too.

Colin chuckled a little nervously when Anthony turned his discreetly pleading gaze on him. “Be my guest, brother,” he said with a flourish of his hand.

Despite Eloise’s indifferent attitude, she performed a double-take when she realised Anthony had looked to her. Immediately, she tossed her hands up and stepped back. “Don’t look at me. I said I’d smash it with my book, not touch it.”

There were many responsibilities held by Anthony as head of the family, and he carried out each one with as much pride and attention as his father had afforded him. But this was where such achievements ended.

Standing straight, Anthony subconsciously bit down on his bottom lip and rolled his sleeves up. “Right, then,” he said, his voice strained. “If I just—” The thing suddenly moved, its long legs skittering across the ground towards Anthony, who yelped in a most undignified manner and leapt backwards into an unsuspecting Eloise. You shrieked, despite it moving further away from you, and leapt onto Benedict’s back, prompting him to inelegantly clamber up the couch beside Colin.

Anthony cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should return to the book idea,” he suggested. He had grasped Eloise’s shoulders somewhere along his frenzy, his panicked mind ignoring the vibrations as she laughed into her fist.

The spider stopped for a blissful three seconds before promptly turning and scurrying back the way it had come. Benedict and Colin’s eyes widened way too comically, and you tightened your arms around Benedict’s neck. “It’s getting closer!” you squealed.

“Why must it be so fast?” Colin’s voice was hurried as he climbed up to the top of the couch.

Benedict could feel his hands starting to sweat. “Spawn of the devil, spawn of the devil! Y/N, you’re choking me.”

“No, go that way!” Anthony yelled out as the spider turned again. He rushed past Eloise to climb atop the coffee table and Eloise sighed airily, walking back to her chair.

“Do let me know when you’d like my help!” she called back.

The ordeal lasted for a minute more. A minute of the spider darting around the room, Anthony attempting to look composed stood on a table, Benedict choking between your arms, Colin balancing precariously at the top of the couch, and Eloise doing her very best to concentrate and discover who Robinson Crusoe and Man Friday had freed from captivity on the island.

After the second minute began, the clamour of frantic voices died once the familiar call of “Children?” broke through each sibling’s haze. Your eyes snapped towards the doorway, where your mother stood, appearing just as confused as Anthony had not five minutes ago.

Benedict grinned in utter relief. “Mother! Thank the lord!”

“Mother, help,” you beseeched, somehow now attached to Colin, who uttered a simple, self-explanatory, quite high-pitched for a young gentleman: “quick!”

Violet blinked. Gregory and Hyacinth peeked into the room from behind her, curiosity mingling with slight concern on their faces as, for once, they decided not to beg to be brought into the action. Instinctively, Violet turned to Anthony, taken-aback for a mere moment when she noticed his position.

Anthony pressed his lips together in a tight line and laced his hands in front of him. “Mother,” he began, dipping his head with a forced smile, “I assure you, there is a reason for this. A reason...” He shifted back as the spider edged towards him. “Perfectly demanding of respect and...nobility.”

Violet quirked an eyebrow.

You gasped. “Anthony, it’s going your way! Get it, get it, get it!”

All respect and nobility vanished at the bewildered stare Anthony switched on you. “Me?”

As the shouts began again, Eloise got up with her book and walked towards her mother. “There’s a spider,” she stated simply, as though that would explain everything. Unsurprisingly, it did. “I’m going to read outside.”

“Alright, dear,” Violet said. With a small shake of her head and an almost amused smile pulling at her lips, she picked up an empty glass and a piece of paper from Benedict’s pile of art equipment. Without a hint of hesitation, she walked to the middle of the room, searched for a moment, and bent down.

“Mother!” Colin shouted, instinctively stretching an arm towards her. “Don’t! It might...” He faltered when she stood up, the spider captured under the glass and above the paper. “Bite you.”

Violet tutted as the room fell still. She moved confidently towards the open window, leaned slightly out, and let the spider go.

“There,” she said with a smile, “all resolved, my loves.”

The world seemed to pause. Slowly, you slid down to sit slumped on the couch, Colin and Benedict close behind. The three of you sat silently as Anthony stepped off the table and shook his body free of residual tension and shame. He rolled his sleeves down, tugged at his collar, and sat with a newspaper, effectively hiding his face with the pages. Benedict heaved himself up and returned to his canvas, the unfinished painted faces of you and Colin staring at him as he bit his lip and hovered his paintbrush above them. Violet settled in her armchair with her cup of tea while Hyacinth and Gregory quietly readied to continue their schoolwork.

“Beautiful day, is it not?” Violet asked brightly.

Anthony peeked over the top of his paper. Benedict caught his gaze just as you and Colin turned slowly towards each other. Surprisingly, it was Anthony who broke first, the patriarch of the family suddenly spluttering laughter. Benedict snorted so hard his hand jerked and he drew a black line over Colin’s nose, prompting both you and Colin to fall over each other in a fit of hilarity.

Violet glanced between her four giggling children as she sipped her tea with a fondness she held close to her heart. The concern on the faces of her two youngest, however, only grew tenfold.

And, from the open window, Eloise’s agitated voice flew in with the autumn breeze. “I’m trying to read! Shut up, or I’ll toss the spider back in!”

Bridgerton Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five

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ruinakete · 4 months

Note

"You're--!" Here. In one piece. Alive. A professor? Griss can't decide how to complete the sentence as he pushes through the throng of dismissed students spilling out of the classroom, bumping shoulders with a few of them but not even looking back. His eyes instead fix on a familiar figure - the goddess appointed by his dying words - certain that if he were to look away, she'd disappear without a trace.

But when he reaches her, jostled and breathless, the look in her eyes tells him, beyond a doubt, that she's as real as he is. If they were both dead, at least they wound up in the same place.

"You took your sweet time." He doesn't care about the answers to questions, how she got her, or why. Disbelief seems like a waste of breath now, so what he offers her instead is a smile. A rare one: genuine, and soft, like the look he'd given her when they were saying their goodbyes.

"Paperwork must've gotten lost or something." It cracks a little wider with the joke, but doesn't disrupt the clarity in his eyes as he looks up at her. "You're a sight here, that's for sure."

IT HAS ONLY BEEN A DAY SINCE HER ACCEPTANCE, and yet, the church inclines itself to work the mage dragon to her very bones. when she dismisses the class, it is with a faux smile pinned to the curve of her lips and a half - hooded gaze of relief. oh how tiring humans were when faced with knowledge━━━beady eyes bright with curiosity; unearned, unprovoked. there was a willingness to participate and learn and indulge that, at the very least, filled zephia's still heart with the slightest twinge of hope. the monastery was a lost cause the moment she drew her first breath before its gates━━━its students' inclination to devour information first and ask later simply proved their weakness. it was almost a shame that━━━

she hears him before she sees him. or, rather, her ears pick up the ruckus that his presence always brings before her eyes can reach him.

students look back as the man forces his way through the mass of bodies, ever so selfish in his conquest of simply existing. and zephia could not be more sure of this if not for the mere reverence in his gaze; its sole fixation on her and only her.

for but a moment, she remembers how revitalizing it is to be worshipped so eagerly.

"g... griss?" her voice leaves her without thought, hardly audible and too breathless; it's too late for her to trap the name between her teeth. ironic, it becomes, when both hounds are finally standing before one another, their breathing thin and eyes wide with respective shock. the silence is not long, for it never is when griss is near. and that, the realization that yes, he is alive and breathing and unharmed, steels zephia's body.

her shoulders lower and away goes the surprise; thus, painted lips straighten into a thin smile. a monotonous expression that almost immediately threatens to soften at the tenderness griss reveals to her. it is anything but right━━━fierceness should be his default, always, always━━━and yet, zephia can only utter a small laugh in response.

"trust my words; if i had known you were here, i would have awakened sooner." because he deserved it. what else could she give in light of his sacrifice? his trust? instead of entertaining the thought, zephia sighs━━━unmoved by the man's joke, but relieved all the same. "is my presence here that much of a surprise? think now, it was inevitable. this monastery is a fraud of safety, after all; allowing two hounds into their ranks."

she does not comment on her position as a professor. neither does she comment on what his position might be. ( something bloody, surely. something to entertain his urges. )

but the admiration in griss' gaze quickly becomes unsettling; it has been too long, too soon. zephia hides away her smile, turning away to set down the ink - stained papers she has been holding without pause. "have you been in fódlan long? to me, it was just the other day that i, or rather, we..." died, she almost finishes, but the words never comes out. she continues, "anyway, i trust that you have been vigilant in my absence, darling?"

#twistedisciple #☽ ━━━━━━ ❝ the cruelty of a mother's greed ・【 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 】 .#☽ ━━━━━━ ❝ to appease the handmade goddess ・【 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 】 .#this got long but WAAAHH THEM!!! :pleading: :pleading:#“the goddess appointed by his dying words” alright Ree I'm gonna get you I'm

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 1 year

Text

Beyond the Lights AU Pt, 5

Content Warning: sexual assault, suicide attempt

Not everyone at the label is content to let the performance be Lena's judge and jury. And unfortunately, when producer Morgan Edge knocks on your door, even at 2am, one doesn't turn him away.

Kara marks the car that passes her on her way to Lena's as odd-- she has yet to see a single soul on this road in all the time she's been visiting. But the anticipation of her destination outweighs any curiosity she might have. She knocks on Lena's front door upon arrival, only to draw her gun when the door swings open, clearly unlatched.

"Lena!"

"Kara..." The faint call pulls her to the downstairs bathroom, where she finds Lena tearstained and disheveled. Bands of red already form around her wrists and neck, proof of someone laying an iron grip upon her. Her lip is split and her cheek is cut-- though Lena tries to tug her nightshirt down, the movement only pulls Kara's focus down, where she sees blood dripping to the tile.

"No, please--" Lena chokes when Kara reaches for her radio to call an ambulance. "Please-- don't."

"Lena..."

"No one-- no one can--" She can't get the words out around the sobs building in her chest. The tears are already pouring, but her eyes are wide with building shock.

Kara softens. "Who else can I call?"

At that, the first sob bursts from Lena. It's Kara she leans into as she dissolves into tears, Kara who holds her as she heaves. It answers Kara's question as clearly as anything Lena could have said.

She doesn't have anyone else.

---

When her crying jag fizzles out, Lena is left numb and empty. Kara sees it, but this time she doesn't know how to snap her out of it. She hesitates.

"Are you sure you don't want to be examined?" Kara asks carefully. Lena nods wordlessly, gaze distant. Helpless to know what comes next, Kara defaults to Lena's comfort. "A bath then?"

After another wordless nod, and Kara leads Lena upstairs to a clean bathroom, where she sets the bath to running. When she moves to help Lena undress, however, Lena flinches.

"Sorry," Kara says immediately.

"Please leave," Lena utters softly. "I... don't want you to see."

Kara's throat locks. "O-Okay. I'll go down and make some tea?"

Thankfully, Lena nods.

Kara shuts the door behind her, granting Lena privacy as she retreats downstairs to the kitchen. She waits as the water boils, pulling out two bags of Lena's favorite tea, and lets the eventual whistle run long so that Lena could hear that it's ready. When Lena doesn't join her immediately, Kara gives her more time. But when five minutes stretch into ten, worry gnaws at her chest.

Returning upstairs, Kara knocks on the bathroom door. "Lena? No rush, but the tea is ready. You need anything?"

No answer.

"Lena?"

Kara listens against the door, and dread pools in her stomach when the other side remains deathly quiet. "Lena?"

She opens the door, ready to apologize as soon as Lena sees her, but it dies on her lips when she finds Lena slumped in a tub of pink water.

"NO!" Kara darts to the side of the tub, hooking her arms under Lena's and hauling her bodily from the water. "Lena, please, no--"

Stripping the shirt from her back, Kara tears it into strips, wrapping the pieces around Lena's wrists to staunch the flow of blood. She fumbles for her cellphone, putting it on speaker to dial 911 as she returns her hands to applying pressure.

"Come on, Lena," she begs, tears flowing down her cheeks. Lena's eyelids flutter, the only sign of life besides the slow pulse of blood beneath Kara's hands.

"Please, stay with me."

---

Kara waits in the hospital waiting room when Lena's rushed into the emergency room. She waits even after Lillian sweeps in, demanding to know what happened in one breath before blaming Kara with the next. But Kara doesn't leave. When Lena is finally allowed visitors, Kara is shocked and horrified that Lillian chooses to make phone calls ("damage control") rather than sit with her daughter. But her distraction at least allows Kara to slip in and sit at Lena's bedside.

She tries not to look at the bandages at Lena's wrists, or notice how pale her features are-- how paper thin her skin seems to be. Her entire body seems frail, especially when Kara takes Lena's hand in her own. Without their usual tension Lena's fingers feel knobby and brittle, like one wrong move could break her entirely.

Lena happens to open her eyes when Kara is there, and their eyes meet before Lena even has a chance to register where she is. When she does, however, guilt immediately darkens her features when her gaze returns to Kara.

"I'm sor--"

"I'm glad you're okay," Kara whispers, pressing Lena's hand to her cheek. Tears build in her chest, but she refuses to release them. "You scared me."

"Kara, I--"

"I love you, Lena," she pushes on, knowing she'll lose the strength to speak if she waits a moment longer, "but I can't be what you need."

She kisses Lena's palm before releasing it, and pretends not to see when Lena reflexively reaches back out to her. "Wait--"

"Good bye, Lena."

Kara leaves, unable to give even one last look behind her, lest her resolve shatter. She can only hope that Lena believes what she said.

I love you, Lena.

#supercorp #beyond the lights au #wasn't sure about this ending #but for the sake of brevity im keeping it #do i think kara would leave lena in this circumstance in this way?#no #but i dont have the patience to draw it out to something more realistic #so here. the breakup #but not the end!

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average-giant-kissing-enjoyer · 9 months

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G/t July in August #31: Free Day

Russell awoke in a pillar of light, laying on his back on something soft. I’m dead, he thought. I have died, and this is the afterlife. He stretched his limbs and got to his feet.

If this wasn’t the afterlife, it looked a hell of a lot like it. Russell walked along a field of clouds, following the sound of angelic music coming from the distance. As he drew closer, he saw a gate, white as pearl, rising up from the cloud.

At the foot of the gate stood a strange figure. It wasn’t human, not at all. Yet it looked something like an animal, though not immediately recognizable. It was as big as an elephant, at least, standing on all fours - but it definitely wasn’t one. No trunk. And the tail was much too long. The only animal Russell could think of was a cat, but he’d never seen a cat that large before. Not even a lion or tiger grew that big.

“Hello, traveler,” said a deep voice. Russell started and glanced around, looking for the source, until he realized it came from the animal. He was close enough to really see it for himself. It was a cat, and a housecat-looking thing at that. A big orange cat, a lot like the one he had back when… but wait, how had it grown so big? Russell panicked at the thought that maybe the cat wasn’t big at all, but he had shrunk to the size of a mouse. Maybe this wasn’t the good place.

“I said hello,” the voice repeated. “Over here. Yes, it’s me.” The cat squinted at Russell with a look of judgment. “Were you expecting something different?”

Russell scratched at his head. “Are you… Jesus? Or Buddha? I don’t know what’s going on.”

The cat sighed and flicked its big orange tail. “They told me you’d be confused. All newcomers are confused at first when they see one of us. I came out here to greet you, Russell.”

“You know my name?” Russell wondered, but then remembered where he was. “Of course you do. You’re God or something.”

He could swear the cat rolled his eyes. “You don’t recognize me? Look closer.”

Ever since he noticed the cat, Russell had a strange thought digging at the back of his brain, but it was so crazy he refused to acknowledge it. Well, he was acknowledging it now. “Ginger?”

“That is the name you remember me by,” said the cat. “Here I am known as Elyria, the Golden One. That is the name I’ve always had, though you never bothered to learn it.” At that, Elyria growled ever so slightly.

“Hang on a second,” Russell protested. “How could I have known that? Ginger was - you were - my cat. I had you for ten years until you… wait, I thought you must have wandered off and died. Did you - were you carried up to heaven?”

Elyria’s ears pressed back. “Don’t be ridiculous. I did die - it was not a pleasant experience. But this is where all animals go to wait for their humans. You were a good person. You always fed me on time and pet me when I wanted attention and you never chased me around with the vacuum cleaner.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” said Russell. “So, like, are you big or am I small?”

“Does it matter?” the cat replied casually. “We’re together again. What are you waiting for? Are you ready to enter into paradise?”

Russell peered around the great cat in front of him. Whatever was beyond the gates was out of his vision, but it sounded great. People were laughing and singing. Dogs were barking. “Do I just… walk in?”

“Well, I have to let you,” said Elyria.

“Let me?”

“Oh, I forgot to say that part. That’s the rule in heaven. Humans aren’t allowed in unless they were nice to their pets, or other small animals. Things like that.” Elyria bent down so his face was right in Russell’s. He sniffed at his former owner’s face in curiosity. “Good thing you were a nice person.”

Russell swallowed. “What happens… what about the people who aren’t nice.”

“Well, they aren’t let in,” said the cat, and he left it at that for Russell to use his imagination. “You humans thought you ruled everything on earth because you were bigger and stronger and smarter than the rest of us. But that’s not how things are up here. Being bigger and stronger and smarter just means you have to be softer and nicer and gentler.”

“But you’re bigger now.”

Elyria licked at Russell’s cheek. It was coarse, but Russell appreciated the kind gesture. “This is how things were always supposed to be, wouldn’t you agree? Now let’s go inside. Do you want to ride on my back?”

Russell’s face went red. “Oh wow - yes. I mean I’ve always wanted to do that kind of thing, but you know, cats and dogs were always too small.”

“Say no more,” said Elyria, lying down. “Climb aboard, Russell. There will be lots more rides after this, and cuddles, and all sorts of games you’re going to love.”

“You were always my favorite cat,” said Russell.

“Oh, I know.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #agke microfic #sfw gt #g/t july #giant cat #finally i finished

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dragonnwriter · 1 year

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Inviolable Bindings

AemondxAegonxFemOC

All Chapters Here!

Summary:

Viserra was named after her great aunt; a spirited and determined girl. Her own grandmother, Saera Targaryen was also a fierce and difficult woman, having been exiled and lived a life abhorred by her Targaryen family back in the Seven Kingdoms. This is the story of an impetuous girl searching for her place in the world and finding belonging and heartbreak along the way. The blood of the dragon runs hot in her veins and for the first time in her life, she finds others who share the same fire. Thrown in to the chaos of an unstable Kingdom during the fight for the crown, Viserra also realizes she has caused contention between the very family she sought belong to.

Slow burn.

Chapter 1:

King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne bore six sons and seven daughters by 80 AC. Not one of their children would live without tragedy and this seemed especially true for the princesses’ that survived infancy. The fifth daughter born to them was Princess Saera Targaryen, a fierce and difficult young woman. Who after a long bout of rebellion, used her intelligence and wit to escape sentencing with the Faith in Oldtown. Eventually, she escaped to Volantis and lived out a life abhorred by her Targaryen family back in the Seven Kingdoms.

Saera bore three sons of noble birth in Volantis, though none of them seemed to have made much of a name for themselves. Her youngest son, Vaelon, was said to greatly resemble his grandsire and had once tried to lay claim to the throne when the Jaehaerys’ naming of an heir was uncertain.

Encouraged by his mother, Vaelon carried his Volantene wealth to Westeros to try and persuade the lords to support his claim. However, with no deep-rooted connections to the Seven Kingdoms beyond his Targaryen blood, his request was ultimately rejected, and the title was awarded to his cousin, Viserys. With only minor disappointment, he utilized his wealth to barter for a dragon egg, hoping that if it hatched, it would grant him more influence and prosperity back in Volantis.

Over the years, the egg never made an indication that it would hatch for him, even when kept warm and always near the fire. It was when his daughter was born more than a decade later, that his hopes for it would hatch finally began to gain some merit.

Princess Saera’s granddaughter was born with fire in her veins, her Targaryen blood evident from the time she took her very first breath and let out a roaring cry. She survived her mother, who eventually succumbed to the complications from a long and difficult labor, and surprised the birth attendants who assumed the child would be stillborn.

Proving to already be formidable and strong willed, she was named after her grandmother’s sister, Princess Viserra Targaryen. The tales described this daughter of King Jaehaerys as another spirited and determined young woman, though she unfortunately had met her demise due to her reckless and rebellious behavior.

Saera had suggested that they place the dragon egg in her cradle almost immediately after Viserra was born. While the body heat of a babe was nowhere near as warm as embers, she believed that temperature was not the factor that could influence its success in hatching.

On the day that Viserra’s mother died, just four days after her birth, the egg coincidently began to crack. A small, black and red dragon hatched almost as if there had been some kind of magical exchange between life and death. From that day forward, the little girl and her dragon were inseparable and once she could talk, she called her dragon Rhyn.

Growing up, little Viserra was well aware of her family’s history, and prided herself on being well read across many topics. She was taught both high and low Valyrian alike, to be able to communicate with the low born and slaves that remained outside of the Black Walls.

Having only lived in the riches of Volantis, she had an insatiable curiosity for her family’s legacy and an ever persistent desire to meet those who also shared her Targaryen blood. Her grandmother had only encouraged this inquisitiveness, despite her father’s wariness, repeatedly reminding him that if he tried to hold her back, she would only find her own way to what she wanted. As she learned and read more about Westeros, her desire to leave the Free Cities only grew.

When Viserra was six years of age, she had been brought to a fighting pit for the first time. Instantly enamored with it all, she had begged her father to learn how to wield a sword and at one point had refused her studies until he had agreed to find someone to teach her.

Vaelon sent word for a man he had met many years before, an old friend and talented Braavosi swords master named Davos. While initially he did not think much would come from the request, he was impressed with her the first time she wielded a blade, it seemed as if it were an extension of her arm. For years, he stayed in Volantis and became Viserra’s dedicated instructor and mentor in weaponry. Even with her youthful ignorance, she seemed to already know the potential for her own greatness. Davos saw this as well and pushed her further in her sword skills and studies.

“I believe you will do great things one day, Viserra. Your Targaryen blood gives you a fire that many others can only dream of.” Her father would tell her, only to have her roll her eyes at him.

By the time she reached the age of eight and ten, she had traveled all across the Free Cities with Davos, fighting in small arenas to refine her skills and learning all about the different customs of each land. She had even participated in several fighting pits in Meereen, making a name for herself in the large city. As a woman, they had called her many things, all unbecoming of a noble woman, she showed no mercy on those who disrespected or underestimated her.

Pentos had been the last place the pair was to stop before traveling home to Volantis. There, Viserra learned that her cousins, Prince Daemon and wife Lady Laena had stayed for years before childbirth took the dragonrider’s life. Finally residing in a place where her blood had also stayed greatened the longing she felt to meet the family who seemed to not only share her looks, but her boldness and fire.

The few weeks spent in Pentos were not focused on training or sparring. The merchant lords took great pride in hosting a dragonrider and there had been much feasting and partaking in Pentoshi wines and delicacies. Truth be told, she didn’t have any more patience for another poor attempt at courting by one of the young Magisters.

Viserra found herself pleasantly surprised when her father had showed up in the last few days before she was to depart back home. Pentos had been known to be their last stop but his urgency to see her gave suspicion that this was more than just a coincidence. Vaelon had seemed anxious when he saw her and she could sense that there was something troubling his mind.

Meaningful conversation had been put off until dinner that night. At first he divulged rumors that the Seven Kingdoms was quietly dividing in the decision of the King’s heir. There were whispers that some would not support a woman as Queen, but instead called for his firstborn son to be crowned.

News and rumors from the Seven Kingdoms were constantly circulating within the Free Cities. This information surely would have reached her even in her distant location, so she listened attentively, pondering why her father had undertaken the journey to reach Pentos and deliver this message to her sooner.

“Viserra,” her father sighed, suddenly placing his hand on top of hers at the table, “I know that you have always desired to ride across the narrow sea and see the history and lands of our family.”

She nodded, watching his face closely, realizing there was indeed more to this conversation.

“The Seven Kingdoms are unstable and King Viserys’ health has been declining rather rapidly. His impending demise is bound to thrust the realm into chaos. Maintaining peace and stability will necessitate both power and dragons in the aftermath. Although there are countless rumors, some less credible than others, I believe it might be the opportune time for you to resume your journey across the Narrow Sea.”

She contemplated in silence for a moment, feeling as though her father had already orchestrated some sort of plan without her input. Decisions seemed to have been made, leaving her with little say in the matter. She attempted to conceal her irritation but found it challenging. “What of it Father? Would you have me fly to their doorstep and present myself on the basis of rumors? That sounds as foolish as admitting treason to the face of a king and expecting not to be thrown in the dungeons.”

There was a palpable tension between them and Viserra pursed her lips together while patiently waiting for her father to get to his point.

“My dear, I have received a letter directly from the Hand of the King. He has heard his own rumors regarding your travels throughout Essos. I confirmed his suspicions, verifying that you were indeed Saera Targaryen's granddaughter. They are willing to overlook the actions of my mother in turn for the support of another dragon rider.” He stared at her, looking for an answer but found that she did not give much away with her expression.

“I will go.” Viserra nodded, pulling her hand from his. “When?”

Vaelon displayed a relieved smile and nodded, grateful that she didn't reprimand him for handling these communications without her prior knowledge. "They have asked you to depart as expeditiously as possible upon accepting this proposition.."

Furrowing her brows, let out a sigh, slightly irritated at being part of someone else's agenda and now being rushed on top of it.

“You will fly on dragonback for the venture. If you leave at dawn, you will make it by dusk keeping a steady and strong pace. Rhyn will be tired by the time you get there, but it might be best for him when setting eyes on another dragon for the first time. Pack your things tonight and tomorrow morning you shall depart.”

Viserra nodded her head and got up from the table, quickly turning on her heels and heading back to her rooms. It was all so sudden and it felt as if her head was slightly spinning while trying to take in all of the new information. Once reaching her rooms, the servants opened the doors and let her inside.

“Please draw a bath,” she requested, motioning towards the large built in tile tub that sat in front of the windows.

Viserra turned her focus to packing while waiting for the tub to be filled. It only took her a few minutes to collect the attire and items she wished to bring. As a guest of the King, she assumed she would have dresses and other clothing made there, so she aimed to make her packing light. Trying to remember how different the styles would be in King’s Landing, she realized the weather might also be a bit different. Heat and humidity were heavy in her home lands but she was unsure how different the coastal climate was over there.

The bath drawn was piping hot, something she always cared for no matter the weather outside. One thing she had thought for sure, was hoping it wasn’t too cold of a city where both herself and dragon would be chilled. Though she was reassured that the other dragons had lived there without issue for the last century.

Thinking back to her childhood studies, she tried placing the locations of things around King’s Landing, but it seemed rather unreal and the images in her head were blurry. Closing her eyes, she sank down into the water and stayed there for a peaceful moment.

After emerging from the water, a servant approached to begin helping her wash her hair. Viserra mentally reminded herself to bring her own oils in case she didn't like the scent of the ones in King's Landing. Giving herself another moment undisturbed, she let last of the heat fade from the water before getting out and drying off.

Before retreating to her bed, Viserra stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. The small scars and new bruises placed all over her body from the most recent fights did not bother her but she softly ran her fingers over the large scar across her abdomen. The ugly mark reached from below her left breast to the top of her right hip and was raised, pink, and still tender. It was the closest she had come to death.

A little over a year ago, she had learned a valuable lesson to never let her guard down. But that night, it was a reminder that she would have to be diligent and smart in her doings once she arrived in King’s Landing. Though she would look similar to the others who shared her blood, she would still be a foreigner when it came down to it. Women were much less respected in Westeros and she knew that her lack of femininity at times might not be welcomed.

In truth, it would help keep propositions for marriage and other undesirable things off of the table. She thought that if her behavior alone did not push any suitors away, these marks would be sure to disgust any of the men who laid eyes on her body.

It did not bother her though, as she never intended to take a husband anyway. With marriage came the topic of producing heirs. She vowed she would die fighting atop her dragon, not in the battlefield of the birthing bed. Shaking the thoughts from her head, she felt content in being summoned to King’s Landing with the sole purpose that her skills and training would finally be utilized.

Despite the uneasiness she had felt about her morning adventure, she initially slept soundly without too much tossing and turning. Her dreams were full of skewed memories from the fighting pits and drinking all of the varieties of wine that each city had to offer. She dreamt of the flight she was to take in the morning, having never flown an entire day atop her dragon. But the innocence of her dreams came to an end when they took a turn into something that stirred an unusual fire within herself.

The final images in dreams were of two men, one standing in front of the famed throne that was built of hundreds of swords and one sitting upon it. She could not make out their faces, but noted they both had silver hair. The one sitting on the throne wore a crown and at the same time, they both seemed to turn in her direction. With caution and curiosity, Viserra tried walking towards them, reaching out and trying to call whomever she was seeing. Her heart started pounding but she realized there was no noise coming from her mouth. With a burst of frustration, she tried to power forward, only to suddenly open her eyes and realize she was sitting up on her bed, safely in her room.

It had been just a dream.

Viserra sat in bed quietly, wondering why this vivid dream seemed so real and why the whole scenario seemed to make her heart jump from her chest. She reasoned with herself that she had always felt called to the lands of the Seven Kingdoms and it probably was her pent up excitement that brought forth the dreams.

Looking out of the window, there was just the slightest evidence that the sun would start to rise soon. Her body felt rested and the anticipation of today was starting to build in her veins. If she wanted to make good timing, she needed to get going.

Prioritizing comfort for the long ride, she donned her riding leathers and a cloak of light fabric. She dressed quickly and braided her long silver hair back into a single, tight braid. She then picked up the sword and dagger sitting by the wardrobe and secured them to her hip.

Slowly she ran through the items she needed in her mind, hoping not to forget anything she would need later. Once satisfied that all had been packed last night, she exited her room and went to the front corridor. The packs that had her clothing items and food were placed by the front doors, her father sitting quietly next to them. Vaelon looked at her and took a slow breath in, handing her a map of her destination.

“The flight is simple Viserra, follow the sun to the east and you will meet land mid day,” he paused then continued in a softer voice, “The only advice I have is to trust no one and do not mind the peoples’ opinion of you.”

With a slight tilt to her head, she questioned him, “Because I am so unbecoming of what their definition of a woman should be?” With that she let out a small chuckle and shook her head. “I know what the standards are for Westrosi women. When have I ever cared about what others have thought of me? A quick pull of my sword will shut the mouths of those who wish to speak ill of my presence.” She looked at her father to give her a reaction, but continued on when he did not. “It will not take long for others to see who I am and to mind what they say around me. I will not change who I am simply because I am the guest of the King. In fact, I believe that it would undermine my value there if I were to cower and conform to their ideals.”

He smiled at his daughter and gave her a short hug before letting her leave out the doors. It took a few minutes' time to walk down to the open area where she could call on her dragon to find her. Like clockwork, the beast screeched and flew in from above within a few moments.

“Rhyn, are you ready for this journey?” She asked, placing her head and hands on Rhyn’s neck, stroking the dragon and making him chirp in response. “We are going to find some other dragons as well, I hope you are ready to finally meet some of your kind. I know I am.”

The dragon rubbed his head against Viserra’s body as if to understand this would be a life changing adventure for them both. The packs were easy to tie onto his saddle once Viserra climbed atop his large body. She readied her leather straps, tying her legs to the saddle, and commanded her dragon to take off. They both took to the sky in a large sweep of air and headed over Pentos’ walls and to the Narrow Sea.

While the hours seemed to pass by quicker than she thought, there was a certain time blindness from only seeing water on each horizon. The winds were blowing in their favor, letting Rhyn glide a considerable amount of the way and conserving his energy. Viserra watched as the sun slowly settled directly overhead, making her sweat underneath her leathers and wishing that maybe she had layered better for the journey.

The sun started to fall east, causing the brightness to be a bit much for both her and the dragon. They weaved in and out of the clouds, hoping to get a respite from the glaring rays. After coming into clear skies once again, she spotted land in the distance, likely the peninsula bordering Blackwater Bay. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing now that she could follow the land inwards and not worry about her dragon being exhausted over the open water. The thought had first crossed her mind that they could stop for a while, but instead she decided to push on in case they did not make it before sundown. She was unsure of how a city housing a King would feel of an unknown dragon flying in after dark. The last thing she would want to do is put them in danger before establishing any allies there in the city.

The sun continued to be annoyingly in her eyes for the last couple hours of the flight. Though the clouds had offered some relief, she still felt like she might be blinded after the whole ordeal. Viserra squinted, thinking that maybe she saw the small outline of a castle and buildings on the next side of land.

Soon enough, they flew in further and her eyes locked in on the Red Keep. At first glance, she was not very impressed. This was where the Seven Kingdoms housed their king? She had expected something not only huge, but extravagant. Maybe she had been expecting a castle that rivaled Dragonstone in its details, which had been described as great beauty in her texts. The city seemed very large in itself, but it also looked crammed and the streets narrow.

She circled her dragon around the big castle set on the hill, trying to find a place to land. There seemed to be only one place that would be big enough for her dragon to safely touch down, and that was right at the front gates. She realized in that moment they would be making a scene with their arrival and smirked to herself at the prospect.

“Here we go, Rhyn. There’s no turning back now,” she smiled.

The dragon started to growl and huff as if to express his uneasiness in landing there. Both of them saw that they had gained the attention of the guards and that a few people surrounding the gates were starting to quickly scatter. Viserra pulled on Rhyn’s reins to land and they hit the ground with a loud thud, dust flying around them while the guards began rushing towards them.

The sudden stink of the city filled her nostrils and she scowled at the change in the air. This was not what she was expecting at all. Viserra stayed atop her dragon while the dust settled, watching as the archers pulled their bows and the grounded guards began to surround them. Rhyn moved around with irritation, sweeping at the guards with his tail.

“I am Viserra Targaryen, I have been summoned by the King and the Hand,” she shouted, looking at the two guards that stood directly in front of them, “I would be happy to barge my way in if needed, but I am hoping that will not be necessary.”

Suddenly, the gates opened and out rushed a tall man with rough brown hair and a neatly cut beard. He was dressed to the standards of royalty, and projected the image that he wasn’t phased by her arriving on her dragon.

“Ah, Lady Viserra!” He exclaimed. His hands held behind his back as he stared directly into her eyes, “It is an honor to have you here in King’s Landing. Welcome to the Red Keep.” He motioned to the guards to stand down, and she watched as they quickly listened.

Viserra did not respond to him, but untied her packs and began to climb down the side of her dragon. Once dismounted, she looked to Rhyn and commanded in Valyrian, “Jikagon, nyke kessa brōzagon ao lo nyke jorrāelagon ao. Ūndegon mirros naejot ipradagon se rest isse se blēnon.” Go, I shall call you if I need you. Find something to eat and rest in the hills. She then looked back to the man standing before her. “And you are?” She questioned, holding her ground with her hand sitting on the hilt of her sword.

“Otto Hightower. I am the Hand of the King.” He announced with confidence and clarity. “I was the one in correspondence with your father, the one who sent for you. There have been many whispers of you and your dragon over the last few years and it is an honor to have you here with us.”

They kept eye contact, Viserra having an off-putting feeling about the man before her. Something told her that her father may have been directly referring to him when he told her not to trust anyone.

Otto Hightower noted her hesitancy. “We have a large building that has a massive underground pit for our dragons here in King’s Landing. At your convenience, I would be happy to show you where that is and the dragon keepers would help tend to your dragon.”

A pit? She thought to herself, They keep their dragons underground? The thought was absurd to her, that such large and wild beasts would be kept contained. “That will not be necessary. I have no intention of restraining my dragon as he has never before felt the constraints of chains.”

Otto nodded slowly and turned to walk back into the Keep. Two servants came up beside her, bowing, then taking the packs from her hands. She eyed them before continuing in after the Hand, throwing her hood up and over her head to hide her silver hair. She didn’t want the servants inside starting more whispers before she had surveyed the scene and environment herself. Keeping her hand on her weapon and taking in the courtyard scenery, Viserra slowly started to feel more at ease. The distance to their destination seemed lengthy and there were many steps along the way.

“You must be hungry after your long flight, did you make it in two days or fly the entirety of today?” Otto asked, slowing down to close their distance.

“I left this morning,” she answered shortly.

“I believe you caused quite the commotion around the Keep, as an unfamiliar dragon circling the castle is quite a sight. Would you like to be taken to the guest chambers to wash up before heading to eat?” She could tell that he was implying that she probably smelled of dragon and that the leather tunic and pants were not appropriate attire for a lady to be wearing to supper.

“No, I shall be fine in my riding clothes. There will be time for a bath later,” she stated with confidence, pulling the hood securely around her face. There was no way this man would get her to conform to their social norms within the first few moments of her arrival. She would arrive armed to meet the King and his family, like any other that had been summoned for similar reasons.

Otto sighed and looked at her up and down. “Very well,” he breathed with obvious disdain for her presentation.

They continued walking for another few minutes before arriving at the doors of what appeared to be a meeting room or smaller dining room. Viserra took a deep breath in and slowly let the air out and suddenly she was feeling a little bit anxious.

The Hand asked the guards to open the large, heavy wooden doors and motioned for her to enter in front of him. With her hood still hiding her hair, she walked into the room and felt suddenly overwhelmed at the amount of people she saw before her.

Notes:

Hi all! I am a few years rusty on writing fanfics, so bear with me as I find my groove again. My preference is to be writing rather than reading and I have finally found the drive to start typing away. I am hoping that this is not too similar to other writings, but I see the number of HotD fics growing daily so I do apologize if it is! I will be taking pieces from both the books and the show, so please don’t come at me for things being too inaccurate.

For those who are solely the show watchers, Saera Targaryen was one of the real daughters of Jaehaerys and Alysanne (King Viserys's grandparents). She did indeed flee to Lys, then Volantis after quite a big scandal in the Keep. She bore three children, all who came to court when Jaehaerys was trying to figure out who would be his heir. The ASOIAF wiki has a good detail on both her and her sister Viserra for those that care. :)

On that note, enjoy! There will be eventual smut in the chapters ahead…don’t you worry. I just enjoy the slow burn in the meantime. Hang in there with me.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aegon ii #aegon ii x oc #house of the dragon #fanfiction #eventual smut #toxic relationship #aemond x aegon ii x oc #dragons #house of dragons

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wolfhunter89 · 1 year

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Waiting for you

(Dante x Reader,fluff.This is actually one of my First FF for the DMC fandom,so I hope you like it.Shout out to @black-soul-sil for helping me with the grammar,Hope you enjoy!)

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You and Dante knew each other since the first opening of the Devil May Cry,when you were nothing but neighbors.You found the new shopkeeper quite interesting,since he was knew to slay demons,and your curiosity got the best of you.You couldn’t help it.He sure looked like someone who was worth being friends with, after all,with that all-knowing smile always on his lips and that eyes that promised nothing but chaos.And so you decided to approach him.And since the you’ve been friends. You could count on each other. Every time you had a problem to solve, one of the two would swoop in to help. You had each other's back since the first moment you met and that was it.

Dante started leaving a lot more, but it was for work, so you let him go every time with the promise that you would meet each other again in front of his place. It was always like that, in front of the Devil May Cry, and it was always unannounced. He would just appear at some point during the day, waiting for you with his usual smirk while you were walking to go to work.

"Going somewhere, Sunshine?"

He would ask, acting as if he hadn't disappeared for months. But he'd always welcome you back with a warm smile on his face, and you did too, happy to see him alive and well. After, you two would always go to his favourite pizza place before going home to watch some old film. Always at your apartment because you were the only one that had a working TV. You never spoke about the missions or what happened to him. You'd just relax together.That was until, one day, he disappeared for a longer time than usual. At first you paid no mind to it. It could've been another long mission... but after seven months passed, that's when you started to worry. You askes everyone in town if someone had seen him or if they had heard something, but nothing came up.

And so you waited.

You hadn't noticed how much of an impact Dante had in your life until you realized how you would always set the table for two and how you would almost ask for two strawberry milkshakes at every restaurant, so that he could drink his when he got home to you. You didn't have someone to talk to over the phone. No one to crack bad jokes or whine about work with. You missed him. A lot more than you thought you would. You missed his blue eyes, his smile and his laughter. You missed curling up in his lap to keep yourself warm whenever it got cold...But finally, after nine months, you see him again on a cold December night. It has gotten colder than usual and the forecast predicted snowfall during the night. You are walking home as per usual and you found yourself near the Devil May Cry. That's when you see the red coat that you knew so well.

And with it, the person that always wore it, waiting and looking at you.

"Well hello stranger."

You can't help it, you immediately bolt, running towards him. He immediayely opens his arms to hug you but instead he feels the impact of your closed fist against his stomach. Impact that almost brings him to his knees, but he manages to only let a groan escape from his lips.

"Hey! What the hell was that for??"

He immediately looks back at you, confused beyond belief. He tought he would return home to a hug and your usual little rituals, but instead he sees your eyes filling with tears as you looked at him angrily.

"Nine months."

"What?"

"You didn't write me for nine months and now you just show up smiling?? I was so worried for you! Don't you know how much I missed you?? How many times I thought you might've died??"

You can't stop the tears from flowing down your face as you look at the silver-haired man in front of you, still angry but also relieved. Many emotions are swirling inside you and you can't decide which one to focus on. And that's when you feel his arms wrapping tightly around your figure.

"I'm sorry."

Those two simple words feels heavy with regret coming out of his mouth. While his hands starts wiping the tears off your face, his expression changes, becoming more serious.

"I didn't think you would have missed me this much. You have your friends and your job. You should be thinking about them, not me."

You remain silent for a moment, before placing your hands over his.

"I'll always care about you. You're my friend, I'll never stop caring about you. I love you more than anyone else and I can't live without seeing your stupid face around."

"I love you too, sunshine."

And an immediate silence falls between the two of you. Dante's ears become red as he looks directly at you. He can't say a word, completely taken by surprise by his own words. So much that it takes a moment for him to realize that you said the same thing. He's never admitted his feelings to anyone, so why you? Why did you make him feel like he could trust someone again after years of being unable to do so?

You can feel your heart beating faster and your face warming up as the seconds pass. You almost can't believe that you really said it. You started noticing your feelings for him during the long months you spent worrying over his whereabouts. No one has ever made you feel like he does. His smile is the cutest thing you've ever seen and his eyes are similar to the ocean. You could just get lost in them when he looks at you. Even right now. He's someone that makes your heart race with every single gesture that he does for you, from remembering your birthday and organizing a whole surprise party for you, paying out of his own pocket, to buying you the flowers that you happened to talk about months prior.

"What did you say?"

"... I said that I love you, Dante."

"... Cool."

A smirk appears on his lips as he looks down at you. His heart is basically bursting out of his chest.

"I love you too."

He finally repeats before you could reply. How could he not love you? You were always there for him, making his days bright and dissipating the boredom that clouded them. He could finally spend time with someone that enjoyed his company and that could make him come out of his house. You are smart, caring and you aren't afraid of speaking your mind, never worried about the consequences. You are a breath of fresh air and he doesn't want to lose this feeling. Not now, not ever. He always pushed his feelings down, as you did, because he thought that not even in a million years you could be interested in him like that.

But now he knows that you feel the same, and he can't help but be overfilled with joy.

He slowly reaches for your face, cupping your cheek with a smile.

"So... do you mind if I kiss you now?"

You immediately become beet red, before nodding slightly to give him your consent. And so he does. He tilts your head a little, before pressing his lips against yours. You can feel his beard scratching your skin, but it doesn't bother you at all. You only care about him now, and so you don't even notice the snow that starts to fall around you. Dante smiles against your lips before pulling away. You both need to catch your breath, still close to each other as you share a smile.

"Say, why don't we go inside huh? It's warmer in there."

"I think that's a good idea"

You smile and grab his hand before heading inside with him, joking around as always.

It all feels familiar and yet something has changed entirely.

But you wouldn't have it any other way.

#dante x reader #devil may cry #dante son of sparda #dante devil may cry #dmc dante #devilmaycry #devil may cry fanfiction

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shacchou · 3 months

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(To Priest Seto from Mokuba )

He couldn’t believe his eyes. One moment he was in his brothers office, longing for his return, and the next he was overwhelmed by the light of the three cards Seto had left him. Now he finds himself, along with his suitcase full of valuables and the dragon cards he kept in his suit pocket, here in a town laced with sand and stone. And oh did he stick out like a sore thumb, not that he expected anything less after he realizes where he was.

Somehow, he had managed to follow his brother to the Afterlife of Atem. He isn’t sure how it could have happened, but he is for sure his brother’s Blue Eyes had something to do with it, as if guiding him here. They were still glowing inside of his suit jacket, after all. Maybe they wanted the two brothers to reunite just as much as Mokuba wanted to, considering for the VP it’s been a few months since his brother’s departure.

He then notices the crowds that had been surrounding him start to move away as someone approached, someone who appeared to be coming from the giant palace in the distance. And after locking eyes with the taller man, Mokuba drops the briefcase to the ground.

“Seto? Seto!!!”

His heart overwhelms with joy and roller, and without warning, moves forward in an attempt to give the other a hug. He’s so happy to see his brother again he hasn’t noticed neither the different skin tone the other had nor his outfit. This was going to be … awkward.

“I … I thought you might have died! Please, don’t do something so reckless like this again, big brother! I don’t want to lose you again!”

It was the evidence of a rising commotion that had persuaded the High Priest into approaching the crowd that had gathered beyond the august frontage and high walls of the palace; a mixture of curiosity and fright permeating the air amongst the citizens, who appeared to grow more restless with each passing moment. The priest's presence was an unmistakable one given the absolute confidence and self-possession with which he carried himself, coupled with the regalia he wore on his person that betrayed his high status, as well as the entourage of guards that accompanied him. As such, before he even considered giving voice to an order, the crowd parted on its own, making way for him and allowing him to see the unlikely source of the disturbance.

A boy ?

Before a proper thought could form in the priest's mind, the sound of his own name echoed around him, spoken unreservedly and bereft of the compulsory adornments of his title. It wasn't the utter informality and its concomitant disrespect that succeeded at eliciting a reaction from him akin to shock, but rather, the fact that it was his name that came from the younger one's mouth.

This boy knew his name ? How come ? Not only was he clothed with garments that gave him away as a foreigner, but his features were entirely unfamiliar to the priest. He could only examine the other's appearance for a short moment though, because, in yet another unexpected twist, the boy lunged forward, his action immediately extracting a collective and resounding gasp from the crowd that witnessed the exchange. Though his eyes visibly widened, Seto remained in place. His lack of movement or attempt at avoiding whatever it was that the other intended to do was explained when his guards stepped forward, blocking the boy's way while drawing their spears in a silent threat.

Lose him ? Big brother ? What exactly was this boy talking about ? Clearly he was either confused or simply unwell and speaking incoherencies. Whatever the case may be, he wasn't about to entertaining this much longer; certainly not when they had an entire audience of inquisitive eyes upon them.

A gesture of his hand delivered a command that was instantly understood by the guards, who all lowered their weapons but remained on high alert. Cold blue eyes focused again on the foreign boy, no sign of recognition touching his features as his acute memory assured him that he did not know this person. Consequently, instead of addressing the young one's nonsensical blathering, a question —akin to an order— escaped his lips in a tone that was nothing short of commanding.

❛ What is your purpose here, child ? ❜

#universestreasures #❛ ♔// ic; [ 神官 ]#// here we go!#also kaiba would have a fit if he ever learns that someone dared to draw a weapon against his brother lol

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starsdies · 2 years

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How about an Obikin prompt where Obi-Wan has been on a mission too long and Anakin misses him a lot he just stops acting "normally" because he feels lost without Obi-Wan and everyone starts noticing (even the council) and they seem forced to bring Obi-Wan back earlier than expected????

(Sorry, I know this is very long 😅 but I needed somewhere to dump all my Obikin ideas that I have stored collecting dust in my brain)

hello anon! first, thank you so much for this prompt. i have so many thoughts on anakin and separation anxiety - which is kind of how i interpreted this. the drabble got alot longer than i anticipated, and i'm far too lazy to edit it, but i hope you enjoy this little drabble with some character analysis! now, here is 2k of obikin!

Obi-wan was not sure why, in the middle of an incredibly important diplomatic mission, he was called back under the strict orders of Mace Windu.

There was an air about the contact with his old friend that left him unsettled, especially when Mace’s voice was all but dripping with annoyance he has only ever attributed to his relationship with Anakin. He’d left as quickly as possible, leaving his senator counterpart, Bail Organa, to continue with his inquiry within the Banking Clan.

The whole ordeal left him feeling somewhat restless since he was not able to see a mission to completion, though the familiar ease of Coruscant was still infinitely better than listening to political exchange. Immediately, his presence was requested by the council for a break-down of the mission and…

“We must bring up something concerning to you,” Mace said after his brief explanation, his demeanor one of curiosity and discomfort. Obi-wan despised standing in the middle of this circle, feeling almost apprehensive now that the Force surrounding him felt so disturbed. “Your former Padawan… has behaved in a way with your absence that many of us have begun to suspect may be because of your unsevered bond.”

A ripple of shock sound waves through Obi-wan. “What has Anakin—what's happened, Master Windu?”

“Separation anxiety, your former Padawan has,” Yoda supplies gravely. “Feel it, did you not?”

Obi-wan’s mission extended well over the expected date he told Anakin, and of course he was nearly always attuned to his presence no matter how much he suppressed it. How could he not be, when he shone so bright the suns in their galaxy felt dim in comparison? Anakin was the power of two, like Tatooine’s binary suns, but Obi-wan has also grown used to building shields high enough to not let his former Padawan’s emotions affect his own duty. It was necessary. It was…

“More reason to sever your old bond,” Mace says, though Obi-wan is well aware of their disapproval to keep he and Anakin’s training bond intact. It leads to attachment, he’s been told, though countless times he only nodded in understanding. How could he admit that he is well beyond it now, their bond his only reprieve from the endless bloodshed, the loss, the pain? When Obi-wan Kenobi was not Master, or High Jedi General—he was Anakin’s best friend. Their bond was a bacta tank soothing open, festering wounds.

“I understand the severity of the situation, Masters,” he says slowly, sighing. He knows that if he did not comply, they would know how deep his own attachment has rooted. Still, he will try. “I fear severing the training bond will only worsen this separation anxiety you speak of. Time… time is what Anakin needs first.”

Mace’s eyes squint. “He should have applied for severance when he was Knighted, yet the mention of it seems to unsettle you.”

Of course it does, he huffs to himself. Duty in war was lonely, and loneliness was a path that even greater men have walked and succumbed to. Obi-wan had a brief walk down that path when Qui-gon died, never so close to darkness than those agonizing months. He didn’t want to be there again, but most importantly, he couldn’t push Anakin there. Not after his last visit to Tatooine. “I admit the idea leads me to worry it will bring more harm than good. At least in this war, where Anakin and I’s bond has proved beneficial in battle.”

Silence falls, Obi-wan keeping his shields tightly enforced. And then, when he thinks it can’t possibly go on longer, Yoda hums.

“A matter to look more into, we will, at a later time.”

Obi-wan bows towards Yoda, his gimmick stick tapping against the floor with finality. Mace frowns, unsatisfied, but seems to accept the decision to put back the discussion, saying, “See to young Skywalker, then.”

💫

Their shared quarters were never quite clean, but stepping into them now is reminiscent of a battlefield. Obi-wan stares in horror at the mess of old robes and casual wear tossed across the couches and tables, droid parts in the kitchen even after countless chiding lectures of Anakin, please do not use the kitchenette as your storage unit, Force’s sake—

He sighs, dreading what the rest of the apartment will look like. Obi-wan shoves a pair of sparring shoes away, feeling Anakin’s presence nearby.

Of course, he finds him tucked into the spacious closet that was remodeled into Anakin’s personal tinkering room, his apprentice slumped over the table with his head in his arms, fast asleep. He didn’t ask what the Council deemed as inappropriate behaviour from Anakin, but he sees now why he was called back. The mess, the disorder signature radiating from Anakin, his schedule in disarray. When he reaches forward with the Force, allowing his shields to slide away, the bond shimmers with discontent, worry, a longing sadness that shakes Obi-wan to the core.

The reemergence of his signature, however, serves as a personal alarm, too, as Anakin stirs.

He rests a comforting hand on Anakin’s back, and it causes Anakin to jerk back, a hand falling to his saber. War has hardened them both.

“Anakin, it’s—it’s me,” he says, unsure of what will meet him. A pair of eyes slide over him, surging with life.

“Master!” A pair of arms envelop him in a flurry of movements, Obi-wan’s breath knocked from his throat. “Sith’s hell, I almost stormed the Council when your signature dropped. I thought you’d… I thought you were in trouble and no one would tell me anything.” A pause, a taste of anger. “I almost went after you. I was this close, and you can thank Ahsoka for that.”

Oh. Oh, Force.

“I’m here. The mission was just extended much longer than I anticipated.” The arms around him squeeze once and slide away, a hint of bashfulness when Anakin realizes what he’s done. “You know how political talks go,” he finishes with a smile.

Anakin’s face, although undeniably warm with his return, is twisted with exhaustion. Dark circles beneath his eyes, lips dry, the smile not reaching his eyes. Obi-wan wonders how he could have missed this. How, despite their bond expanding across the entirety of the galaxy, he did not feel what his absence was doing. He’s heard of separation anxiety in bonds, but most of them were easily adjusted after Knighthood. Jedi Knights kept away from their Masters to build their independence, fulfilling the needs of the Council and Republic in farther missions.

The two of them, however, were so whisked up in war that they were never offered that. A gift, truly, but not one without drawbacks.

“Anakin,” he says carefully, hesitant. “The mission was not complete. I was ordered to immediately return.” A pause, Anakin’s brows pinching with worry.

“For what? Is everything okay?”

“I was ordered to return… because of you, dear one.”

At this, Anakin’s open body language withers and hardens. He stands up straighter, jaw in place and eyes calculating. “Explain, Master, please.”

Ah, yes. Obi-wan nods, tucking his hands into the folds of his robes so that Anakin cannot see the jittered movement there. Afterwards, he will need to meditate. His emotions will do him no good stuck inside him, especially with this new information. “The Council–”

“Oh, wonderful, my biggest fans,” the words fall in a half-growl, Anakin rolling his eyes. “Let's hear what they think of me this time.”

“The Council thinks we should sever our training bond.”

“What?” The surge of anger that follows is a tidal wave, Obi-wan’s signature tainted with the bitter and violent aftershocks. As much as Anakin was as warm as binary suns, his heat could also be blistering. “That’s completely–a nonissue. Who cares? Our bond is the reason we are alive on that battlefield most of the time, Obi-wan, tell me you told them as such.”

“I did,” a nod, a sigh, Force, Obi-wan was tired. “I felt this coming, truthfully. After our bond was left intact and discovered, it was only a matter of time. These sort of things leave the Council wary… and I admit if it were anyone else and I were on the Council decision, it would worry me too.” His words seem to wound Anakin, but before he can voice his own thoughts, Obi-wan continues. “These things lead to attachment, Anakin. The bond has served its purpose in allowing me to help guide you. That being said, I will continue to ease their worry as long as possible.”

Anakin stares at him for a moment, features cloudy. His former Padawan steps forward, an arm around Obi-wan’s forearm. “It’s been too long, Master,” he bites his lip, a nervous habit that must attribute to the sore, chapped lips he sees now. Just how terribly did his absence affect Anakin? “I can’t - I don’t want to sever our bond.”

“I do not wish to either, dear one.”

“We’ve - we’ve learned how to exist with it just fine. It will alter everything. All our decisions on the battlefield, our ability to communicate. It’s not fair.”

“Anakin, it’s less the bond and more the way you have reacted when it’s not there.”

His eyes slide across the mess of electronics, droid parts both crushed and intact, more of a mess than usual. Anakin only worked this diligently on his projects when he was bothered, when his moving meditations could not quell his brooding emotions. Ever since he was a boy, Obi-wan would watch him sulk to his closet and remain there for hours, the signature radiating from the room one dark and cloudy, but ebbing slowly away with his droid part companions. Tentatively, a hand reaches to press against Anakin’s cheek, his body much thinner than before Obi-wan left Coruscant.

“My shields were too high, weren’t they?”

His beautiful boy, he thinks, as Anakin leans into the palm. He noses into Obi-wan’s palm, almost a nuzzle, before grasping his wrist with his mechno-fingers. Obi-wan’s breath short circuits when the prosthetic brings his fingers to Anakin’s lips, not kissing but pressing, feeling. Breathing him in as if he’s not real.

“It’s like being disconnected to the Force,” he explains quietly, hot breath against Obi-wan’s fingertips. “You’re always there. Even when it feels too much, you’re there, solid, a–a rock, of sorts. And then you weren't and it didn’t feel good. Didn’t feel right. I couldn’t spar with Ahsoka. I couldn't eat. I walked out on Council meetings. I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

A thumb presses down on Anakin’s bottom lip, chest fluttering when his mouth just drops open and– “Children and animals,” he clears his throat, breaking the moment and pulling his hand away. Chills creep over where Anakin’s mouth was, where his tongue almost touched. “often experience separation anxiety when someone they are close with is gone. It seems the most plausible explanation.”

“Separation anxiety,” Anakin repeats, rolling it around on his tongue.

“Yes. You aren’t the first person to experience such feelings for their Master.”

“I’m not like the other cases,” Anakin says adamantly, Obi-wan’s meant to comfort only seeming to agitate his former Padawan. He figured it would soothe his worries to know it was a feeling many understood, but Anakin only frowns. “Padawan…”

“I’m not your Padawan anymore,” Anakin sighs, defeated. “I’m sorry. For ruining your mission and causing issue. I just— I’m not used to this yet. We’ve always been a team.”

“And we always will, dear one, I swear it.”

Anakin’s eyes meet his, not quite believing him. “It won’t be the same if we’re severed, Obi-wan.”

“I will make them hear my case. I swear that too,” and this time Obi-wan smiles, jerking his head towards the kitchenette. “Now lets clean your mess and we’ll have a meal. You and I, alright?”

“I’d like that, Master.”

#obikin #obikin drabble #obikin fic #aniobi #ask #my writing #writing prompt #vaderwan

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