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octuscle · 8 months

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Blonde by FaceTime

Alec has always had a bit of a crush on his friend Van. Actually, ever since they played together in the sandbox. But even then, Alec was the little chubby one. And Van the sweet heartbreaker. Van went through the usual stages to captain of the football team of an alpha career. And now he had his MBA cum laude and was about to embark on a stellar career.

Just to be close to Van, Alec had also studied business. At the same college. Although with his grades, he could have gone to a much better college. And even though he had always wanted to study medicine to become a pediatrician. And now it was all for nothing. Van had moved to Chicago a week ago to become a product manager for an online platform. And Alec had gotten an offer to go to work for an engineering company from their hometown to their branch in the Czech Republic. Alec had paid a high price for his hidden, never-expressed love. Getting a great georgraphic distance from Van now was probably the best solution.

Even now, when Van had become almost unattainable, Alec held on to him. He had gotten a deer, Van's nickname since childhood for some reason, inked on his forearm. And he started running to get closer to his own ideal, Van's athletic body. Today was the first fun run he participated in. He had already lost a few pounds. He was proud of that. So he had a colleague take a picture of himself and sent the Van "Miss you pal" was the caption.

Almost immediately his phone rang. Facetime video call from Van.

"Hi bro, damn you look good! How's life over in old Europe? It's still the middle of the night here, I was just getting in a quick work out before work."

Van turned the view and showed a picture of himself from the mirror. Alec had to swallow and got a dry throat. He didn't know what he was doing. The devil was riding him. So an "I love you" came out of his mouth.

For a second there was silence. "Dude, you better keep your massive cock under control. I would never be able to tame your monster" Van replied laughing. Alec laughed along with him. He was relieved that Van had taken it that way. Yes, the dick comparison had been the only contest with Van in which he had regularly won.

"Hehehehe, it's tough with all the hot studs here at the start."

Indeed, the bulge in his tight running shorts was scary. Many participants in the run, as well as spectators, had already been staring at him and whispering.

"That's what I think, bro! Is your stay successful then? What is the news on the market of nutritional supplements? Can't wait for you to bring back some cool new stuff."

Arec talked a bit about the fitness trade show here in Brno. In fact, there were a few things he wanted to include in the lineup of his fitness startup. He could use a little breath of fresh air for his business. True, he was a genius when it came to marketing and app development. And in theory, he knew everything about crossfitting and bodybuilding. But he just didn't have the body to make it believable. Fortunately, Van was regularly available as a model. When he posted something on Instagram, his sales went straight up.

Van replied that he had seen videos from the show on YouTube. "Dude, you did great on stage. Arac laughed and held the phone so that you could see as much of his biceps as possible. "Bruh, it was just a spontaneous idea. Several people had approached me. Actually, I don't feel in shape for competitions at all" "Honey, I don't think you need to be fishing for compliments right now. Come on, make your tits dance for me!" Arac didn't have to be asked twice. He loved this. The moment when Van had shown him how to do it was just awesome. Today his pecs were almost bigger than his friend's. A few people around him applauded. He had almost forgotten about the conversation with Van that he was standing in the middle of the fair among all the other visitors.

"Did you read the comments on your performance. They called you 'the blond angel'. Suits me, bro." Arac stroked his hair. He loved his blond hair. He had been blond since he was a kid, unlike Van. In pictures of the two of them from kindergarten, Van had always been the one with the darker hair. Today there was hardly any difference between the two.

"Bro, did you write down what all you are supposed to bring. I mean, we both know you can't remember anything with that birdbrain stuck in that hot skull of yours."

"Bruh, i may not b as smart as u, but i can still read ur emails" Arad laughed boomingly. A few guests at the fair took pictures of him. As best he could while talking on the phone, Arad did them the favor and struck a few poses. In his head, he frantically went over what all his duties here were. Fuck, he just forgot everything. And a few tasks, if he had to be honest, he didn't understand at all. He'd graduated from college with difficulty and on an athletic scholarship. He was glad he had Van as a mentor, Van had always been the smart one of the two. "Fuck, bruh! day all speak czech or german here. N english with uh nasty accent. I'm really lost here without uh brain like you!" "Goldilocks, you should have used your head for something other than growing a Viking mane for the last few years." Van laughed. "Don't worry about it, as long as you come back safe and sound!" "Wait uh minute, deer! I've got some selfies to take right now." A couple of the local bodybuilders and a bunch of chicks had already lined up. Arad let them take their selfies with him and turned back to Van.

"Deer, I miss you! When will I see you again?" "Dumbass, I'm already in the locker room. I'll be on the training floor in a minute. Did you clean up and tidy the gym properly? It would be cool if you could at least get this job done."

Brad looked around. Yes, he had carefully worked through the piece of paper with his work instructions. Damn, there sure were a lot of things he had to do in the morning before the Gym opened. He had already secretly let Van in before he officially opened the doors right away. On the one hand, Van could work out before the others, and on the other hand, he had someone to check if he had done everything right. Brad wanted to do this job well. Van earned enough for the two of them, but he didn't always want to be just the decorative accessory. Oh what was he kidding himself. He had turned Van into a fellow who was almost as hot as Brad himself. And now he was making sure they both ate the right diet, that the apartment was tidy. And that Van got to work out before the others. He looked around him. All set, he could open the doors. The door opened and Van came out of the locker rooms grinning.

"Honey, you already know you're not allowed to work bare-chested" "Hehehe, it's not just me who would be happier with that." Van laughed and threw him the T-shirt with the club logo. Before putting it on, Brad gave Van a passionate kiss. Something he had to do now…. Right, unlock the door and let in the members who were waiting outside.He was so glad he had Van.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #muscle transformation

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ravengards-rogue · 3 months

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✧ gender neutral reader, reader has a fucked up life ksdlkflk

wyll tells you he loves you anticlimactically. he waxes poetically about his feelings for you often that there's not really so much of a need to say it to you. you are the orange of his sunset and every shade of vibrancy tucked into the corners of the world.

love is almost juvenile in comparison to the adoration he experiences.

when he does tell you he loves you - he's hoping for reciprocity. for all the other ways you show him your affection, you keep your attentions rapt and your lips sealed tight. you'll touch him softly, or bring him something to eat. you'll show him you love him, but you never say it.

it makes wyll wonder if there is some reason for it. or if its something you struggle to say.

"i love you," soft and warm like flame licked embers of a campfire going dull. your expression changes microscopically, you smile. but you still don't say anything. "do you feel the same?"

you're surprised by his asking. "of course,"

wyll isn't offended, he tries to assure through his words. "i've never heard you say it before."

you don't take time to consider it.

"im loyal to you. i'd die for you. those things are more apt than love." you say instead.

you sit next to the campfire and sharpen your daggers in silence.

"i'd much prefer if you lived for my sake." wyll offers back, his knees bumping yours. you don't budge. your expression is unchanging. you turn your head to look towards him, dagger against sheath as you admire its reflection.

"if it was for your sake, ravengard - i'd lay my life down. as your comrade or your lover. if it was my life or yours, i'd pick yours."

wyll does not know at first how to weigh sentiment. he then, briefly, remembers you at the start of your journey. concerned with yourself. only yourelf - isolated like a mutt chained to a post and left for dead. an animal that's gnawed through metal to stay alive.

because of that, violence comes to you naturality wyll should abhor. your instinct is to kill. maim and shred and rip apart until there's nothing that should threaten your life that you regard preciously. since no one else ever would

he should abhor it so deeply.

he doesn't though. there's nothing that wyll could condemn you for now - this late in your journey. should your nose shepherd you to violence, wyll won't ask you to heel. only if he think you're at risk of losing control would he take place in placating you.

only for wyll are you docile.

you had to survive for only yourself for many years. it showed in how you carried yourself. potent paranoia. in the beginning you hardly smiled and did the kind things like you were waiting for them to hurt you. you were always surprised when they did not. now you've melded so far into the pack, wyll forgets what you once were.

the words are not light, wyll thinks. no matter which way you pose them. he feels odd trying to internalize such a thing. you would die for him. a rush of euphoria following by a ticklish sensation abut how much he commandeers you, how he guides you.

he would prefer you to live for yourself. but if you'll give your life for his sake, all he can do is cherish it.

"my life is yours, wyll. should you try you try to give yourself up again, i will take your place. should the world turn its back on you, i will turn my back on it."

your voice does not tremble. there is confidence, conviction in the sentiment that traverses beyond just warmth.

is there a word stronger than undying love? wyll should look for it. you smile softly then add. "i love you too. if you must hear it so much."

wyll reaches for your hands as you put your own weapon away. he grips it firm in his hand. his heart murmurs your name when he sees your face flush in embarrassment.

"i won't take it for granted. i promise."

you chuckle and squeeze his hand tighter. "damn right you won't."

#d.rogues love letters #bg3 x reader #wyll x reader #wyll ravengard x reader

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raayllum · 3 months

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bc @kradogsrats spoke it into existence and i'll never say no to a character being forced to make a terrible / difficult choice of what regrets they're willing to live with. tw for violence + mentioned forced amputation

The seas are choppier when they set sail, this time, a barrel of 'fresh' dark magic parts go spilling overboard when the crew is talking too excitedly about their new captives—Finnegrin curses and crushes one of the stray snake rattle tails that survived, just out of principle.

(He takes one and places it into his pocket for later, but is far more reluctant to take it out; he doesn't.)

His worse than usual mood sets Elmer on edge, and so when the Moonshadow elf girl gets rowdy, he backhands her in favour of picking her up. The smack echoes, the boy growling as he forces himself to his feet, lunging with an arms literally tied behind his back, but then Elmer is gripping her, forcing her to sit back down with a reddened cheek.

(She is dazed enough not to bite and slip the sliver of wood between her teeth.)

And here is how it goes.

"What's wrong with you people?" Finnegrin demands, and incredulous, Callum notes with a hint of satisfaction. "You bunch of barnacle brains all want to lose your hands?"

"I do not understand," Elmer says, voice deep and confused. "A hand will take weeks to regrow."

"No, buddy," Soren corrects. "It'll take way longer than that."

"See?" Callum staggers to his feet, heart beating fast—but confident, proud. They can win this. They can beat him. And until they do, he won't break them. "So long as we protect each other, so long as we love each other, you can never control us."

But Finnegrin doesn't turn back the way Callum thought he would, moving closer to the others still on their knees. "Charming," the pirate remarks, circling closer like a shark. The knife is clasped in one hand. "Really tugging on my heartstrings. Think I feel a good cry coming on."

He twirls the knife almost teasingly above Rayla's head as he walks on by, and Callum's stomach clenches.

"Love is the key to strength, hm? But no two loves are the same. I would know." Finnegrin stops walking behind Ezran, gave heavy and thoughtful and smug. His little brother looks even tinier in comparison. "Let's see which one you love the least."

"No—" Callum gasps, as the blade comes close, far too close to Ezran's throat. "You said the hand—"

"It's okay, Callum," Ezran says with the world's tiniest smile, but he's trembling. Putting on a brave face.

"Oh I meant it," Finnegrin says, waving the knife back over to Rayla almost experimentally. It goes against every instinct, but Callum tries to school his expression into something neutral. If he just gives nothing away, everyone will make it out alive, unscathed.

He can't show any sign of preference. He can't show any sign of worry.

He swallows hard, trying to remain impassive—stoic, neutral—as Finnegrin walks over to Villads and Soren, and it's easier, to stay calm. It's easier, and he hates that it is, but it is. Finnegrin frowns slightly, musing, examining Soren and Villads, and then his eyes fixate on Ezran.

"Everyone has a soft spot for the young ones, hm? Doesn't the king of Katolis have a brother? Bet he won't be pleased with you—"

"No!" Rayla juts her arms out in front of Ezran again. "Take my hand—"

Ezran tries to nudge her away, the welt on her cheek a bright red, but she's always been stronger than him. "Rayla, no—I'm the one who—"

"Deadwood, hold them both down," Finnegrin orders after a moment. The wooden giant goes to comply. "If the boy won't make a choice, and these two are so eager, we'll simply fulfil both their wishes."

Deadwood uses one hand to hold both of them in place on their knees, squirming and arms extended plainly, shoulders squeezed too tight for them to jerk around. The panic and anxiety roars to life like a tidal wave, Callum drowning in it as the knife hovers over Ezran's small slim wrist, the blade glinting, waiting, being brought back, and then—

"Wait!" Callum shouts.

The knife stops. Finnegrin straightens up, lips peeling back in a smirk.

Ezran looks at him with wide, fearful eyes, but Rayla is glaring like she already knows—or like she's asking, ordering for him to pick her over his brother, but Callum couldn't let her lose a hand when they were children and he still can't now.

He bows his head and then raises it slowly, because well—"I'll make a choice," he rasps, hating himself for it.

The easy one would be Villads, because he is a stranger and Callum will never see him again after this, but he is a stranger and didn't know what he was getting himself wrapped up in, and—

All he knows is that it can't be Ezran or Rayla.

When he looks up, Soren is already looking up at him, tears in his eyes and a deadened smile on his lips. Because Soren knows.

Soren has always known.

"Soren," Callum says at last. His eyes slide shut like the swinging of a death knell, opening back up in time as Soren raises a trembling hand to identify himself.

To his credit, the crownguard only screams a little as Finnegrin saws his hand off, and then binds the bloody stump poorly with a handkerchief. Rayla keeps Ezran held to her front to shield him from it.

Callum makes himself watch.

It's his first of many apologies.

#katolis boys #tdp #the dragon prince #arc 2 #5x08 #canon divergence #tw blood #snake boi callum #tw amputation #[the guy who didn't like musicals voice] bc 'you're either in the smoke club or you're out'#tdp callum #tdp soren #ficlet #my fic #fic #a thousand times which isn't half enough

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bonbunnydreams · 4 months

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Fashionably late as always, but sharing this piece with Neuvillette I wrote after finishing the final Fontaine Archon quest. I can never fully commit to whether I should share certain pieces or not but we're just gonna give it a go and see what happens. Pretty minor/vague spoilers for the final archon quest, should be fine to read if you're not fully caught up ;w; G/N Reader, SFW, minor angst but mostly just comfort ;w;

The downpour that began abruptly just a few hours earlier was enough to draw your worries to the surface, though it pales in comparison to when Neuvillette finally comes home that evening. His eyes, once so strong and resolute, have the look of a wounded animal. Drenched from the rain, he steps towards you silently, embracing you tight as his chest heaves and you finally hear him sob.

By reflex your arms come to hug around his back, stretching as far as they possibly can despite your difference in height. You have always known about his emotions, how he finds himself unable to control them. But rarely has he brought himself to cry openly in front of you, that show of vulnerability always too much for him to bear despite the countless times you had broken down in front of him.

You feel your own tears stinging around your eyes as his chest heaves against you, trying to soothe him by rubbing the small of his back.

"Neuvi, w-what's wrong? Did something happen today? Please, talk to me so I can help you…" You ask softly, your voice strained by the sadness at seeing him in this state. He grips you tighter to him in response, claws tearing through his gloves to press lightly against your back. His tail also emerges, curling itself tightly against your waist as if he's deathly afraid of ever letting you go.

The dragon is rising to the surface, something he only ever lets occur in private with you. You look up to see his scales appearing across his face, shimmering blue blended with his pale human skin. He draws another haggard breath before he speaks, as if he's been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for too long.

"It's not- it's not something for you to worry about… Just, just stay with me, please… I don't… I don't want to lose you too." He says softly, almost pleading with her to stay in his arms like this. Hearing him beg you to stay with him twists your heart, making you embrace him tighter as you hear him sob against your shoulder.

"I-I will, I promise. I'll always stay with you, Neuvillette… I swear." You murmur softly, feeling him grip you that much tighter as your words reach his ears. "Would… would you like me to hold you tonight?"

A faint chuckle breaks the sound of his sobs, pulling his head from her shoulder to look at you tenderly. The sadness still present in his lavender eyes, but now there is that familiar sense of love for you too. "Yes, please… You are… too kind to me, my sweet. You are always so kind to this old dragon." He murmurs, one of his hands reaching to run his fingers gently through your hair.

A soft giggle rumbles in your throat as your hands settle along his shoulders, your own tears beginning to dry as you see the light return to his eyes. "I'm only kind to you because it's what you deserve. Everyone does, no matter what they are. But let me get you out of these stuffy robes… and a warm bath might be nice too."

He only chuckles softly in response. "Of course, dearest. Anything you suggest will be perfect, as long as I spend it with you."

#neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #gi x reader

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captain-mj · 1 year

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I beg of you- on my hands and knees- to please write more Warrior! Ghost and Spoil! Soap-

I crave it-

Totally chill if you don't wanna tho! Take your time, do what you wanna do!

Love your writing and TikToks regardless!

Hell yeah! I've been getting a ton of requests and I'm super excited for this part!

Also, I did put this on ao3 under the same name. If any of you guys are on there!

Soap was slow to get out of the bathtub. Very slow. He waited until the water had went from tepid to bone chilling when he slunk out of it.

It gave him plenty of time to think about his… predicament.

The thing was, he wasn’t scared Ghost was going to kill him. Despite grabbing his weapon, he didn’t look like someone who was about to stab a man.

He looked at him with a disturbing hunger. Soap had stared into him, seeing something half starved stare back. And then Ghost had left him.

Soap carefully reached his hand out of the door to grab the clothing. He couldn’t see Ghost but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

The clothes were far too big, falling around him almost comically. Ghost’s shirt hit his mid thigh and Soap had to lace the pants up tight to keep them from falling down his hips. He chanced a look in the mirror, a little surprised.

Soap had dalliances before. Mostly with women but men too. He looked like them. Some pretty lass or lad who had stolen his shirt. Was that on purpose?

No. Ghost was just tall and big and Soap was… a little more average sized. The comparison was just in his head.

He finished getting dressed and that’s when he made a decision. Clearly Ghost wasn’t as nice as he was trying to play himself to be. His reputation had preceded him by quite a bit. Playing coy now wasn’t going to get Soap to trust him.

So Soap was going to test him. He unlaced the top part of the shirt slightly, letting it show off a bit more of his chest. He fixed his hair so it fell a little more artfully and a little less staticy mess.

Maybe he could convince Ghost to get him some things to fix his hair better. Seducing him might make him a little more apt to give him stuff. Though, Ghost hadn’t exactly been treating him badly.

Soap thought of the hunger in those eyes again and shuddered.

Sick bastard.

He left the bathroom and went looking for him. Ghost was on His bed, laid out, still fully clothed. He had taken his boots off but still had his socks off. If Soap didn’t know any better, he’d think he was asleep. His arms carefully crossed across his chest.

The floor under Soap creaked and he looked up, staring at Soap.

“I knew those clothes would be too big for you.” His eyes stayed on his face the entire time.

“Why did you give them to me?” Soap puffed his chest out a little, hands going behind his back.

“I don’t want to deal with your corpse when you die from the cold.”

“Ah…” Soap flushed down and he saw it. Saw Ghost’s eyes follow the color down.

“Come here.” Ghost mumbled and Soap followed. Here it was. Proof that Ghost whatever his last name is was an monst-

Ghost had gotten leather cuffs with fur inlining. He shoved Soap to his side of the bed and rolled over, facing away from him again.

Soap blinked, looking down at himself. No, he looked good. Had he misjudged the situation? Or was Ghost just very good at self control?

Only one way to find out.

Keep pressing.

In the morning, Soap watched Ghost cook instead of looking around. He had done plenty of that yesterday. Nothing in the house held any particular interest. There were no escape routes besides the door. The windows were either too narrow for him to fit through or led straight into someone’s garden. Not to mention almost all of them were covered in thick fabric or pelts, basically anything that would prevent someone from looking in.

Ghost was interesting though. He cooked quickly, efficiently and, in what was a shock to Soap considering where Ghost was from, did season his food. Maybe not as well as Soap would’ve, but it explained why the stew was so good.

A plate was shoved at him.

“Are you seriously still not going to eat with me? You saw me as naked as the day I was born yesterday. Can’t even lift up your mask?”

“I didn’t look.” Ghost stared him down.

“What?” That caught Soap off guard. “Are ya suddenly a gentleman? You threw me over your shoulder like a rowdy toddler the other day but you wouldn’t take a look?”

“I didn’t look.” Ghost said a little more firm. He looked away from Soap, like he was ashamed, but Soap had a feeling he was telling the truth.

“Do you want to? I have some stunning tattoos.” Soap was taunting him again, testing him. Ghost just needed to push a little. It’s all Soap wanted.

“No.” Ghost turned away from him and fixed himself a plate, leaving Soap to stare at his back. He walked off with it, disappearing somewhere in the house. Soap didn’t go looking for him.

The food was, again, pretty good. Fancy a warrior knowing how to cook so well.

Soap waited until Ghost was polishing his blades to take one, gently throwing it back and forth between his hands. “They’re pretty. Make them yourself?”

“No. Have a friend that does it.” Ghost watched him carefully, hand following the blade as it arched through the air. “Be careful. Don’t want you cutting yourself.”

Soap hummed. “You should know I’m good with my hands by now.” Ghost’s hands clenched hard and he glanced away.

“Don’t need them rusting.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. They must be expensive.”

“A fair penny, but quality is worth it.”

“Aye, just like whores.” Ghost flinched. The action caught Soap so off guard he took a half a step back.

“Aye. Just like whores.” Ghost echoed his statement, looking at him heavily. “Considering you were free, what does that make you?”

Soap flushed all over. “Ah fuck off you bawbag.”

“Speak English, MacTavish.” With Soap still standing up and Ghost sitting down, he had to look up. Unlike when Soap was on that couch, Ghost could actually make out his features. But Soap could see his eyes. This close, with most of the kohl rubbed off, Soap could make out his eyelashes. Pretty, blond and full.

“You a bonnie under that mask?” Soap asked softly, feeling the sudden tension as he leaned forward. “That why you cover up?”

Ghost looked trapped for once and it sent a thrill through Soap. “Ah. Worried I’ll jump your bones?” He leaned a little closer.

The hit wasn’t hard. It clearly wasn’t meant to hurt him, just get some distance. Landed right in his gut though and took his breath away.

Ghost stood up and it wasn’t that hunger Soap had been searching for. It was rage. Harsh and unsettling and directed right at him.

Stupid. Stupid fucking idea.

Soap started to back away desperately. Hoping for a way out he knew wouldn’t be there. He hit the wall and froze as Ghost advanced on him.

When Ghost’s fist came up, he tensed and his eyes shut quickly. The blow never came. After a moment of quiet, he opened his eyes to see Ghost’s not even an inch away from.

“Don’t ever fucking talk to me like that again. Don’t fucking call me pretty or a bonnie or whatever dumb shit your brain comes up with. Understood?”

Soap nodded slowly, finding it hard to breath.

“Listen to me, closely. Because I’m not going to repeat myself. You’re here because I wanted to piss off my general. That’s it. I don’t want sex from you. I don’t want your compliments. I don’t want you to appeal to my better nature because I don’t have one. If you need something, tell me and I’ll try to get it for you. But we’re not fucking friends.”

Soap stared into those eyes. He thought he had seen them once. A sword had went through his side and there he had met death.

Today, he must’ve met him again.

“Yes, sir.” Soap got out. “I’m sorry.”

Ghost pushed away and Soap realized the blow he had been expecting had landed by his head. The wall had a slight dent from it. He tried not to think about that.

“You cut yourself.” Ghost commented after a moment. Soap looked down to see that yes, he did indeed do that. He also tried not to think about the fact that he had a weapon and it did not cross his mind once to use it.

Ghost grabbed alcohol from his cabinet and bandages.

“I can do it myself.” Soap tried weakly but Ghost just ignored him. He took off his gloves to bandage him. Soap decided to focus on those instead of his own. Ghost could handle his cuts.

They were callused. Little scars all over them, probably from similar things to what Soap had just done. The guy handles knives for a living and you have to start somewhere.

No rings. But right at the edge of his shirtsleeve, Soap thought he caught a flash of a bracelet.

“Done.”

“Thank you.”

Ghost grunted in response and put the alcohol away. Soap took note of that.

“What’s your name?”

“Ghost.”

“No. Like.. your actual name. Doesn’t have to be the full one, but I’m curious.”

Ghost was quiet a while. So long that Soap assumed he was being ignored. He watched him put everything up and then clean the bloody blade.

“Simon. Haven’t been called it in a long time, but it’s Simon.”

“Simon. Good name. Suits you.”

#Johnny Soap Mactavish #Simon Ghost Riley #Soap Cod #Ghost COD #Soapghost #Ghostsoap #Soap x Ghost #Ghost x Soap #Macriley #Call of Duty #Call Of Duty Modern Warfare 2 #spoils of war

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4asura · 25 days

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⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔

—★ about. after succeeding in battle, asura returns to you in search of comfort.

fluff. praise. brief corruption mention. his anxiety and fear.

Always treating him with full respect and adoration, the demon king still had time to get used to your acts of kindness, due to his insufferable madness. Gasping as you feel his presence fill the room, you turn around to greet him with that same warm smile that made his stomach clench.

"You're alive…" you breathed, relieved to see him alive and safe.

His heart ached from the expression, his own head filled with doubts and uncertainty.

Were you just being polite? Did you really want him here?

The uncertainty terrified Asura, with fear of rejection lurking in the shadows.

Despite his doubts, the demon wrapped his lanky arms around you and buried his face in your neck, gripping you tightly as if he would lose your touch. He didn't want this closeness to end, and so he held on tight.

You return the embrace, losing yourself in Asura's towering frame of 8 feet. "Oh, my love", you whisper, "I am so proud of you." When you pull away, he remains as close as possible to feel safe from the outside world, and to shield himself from his own troubling thoughts. Your smile only grows when you notice this.

Your words of praise and affection filled him with warmth, as if he were soaking in your love. Though he did not understand it, you were his, and he had proven worthy of being by your side. The demon finally allowed the pent-up stress of battle to pour out of him as he clung to the only person he could trust. His body trembled vigorously in the embrace, a physical manifestation of the turbulence in his heart.

"Let me look at you", you murmur with fingers that begin to caress his back gently. His third eye twitches, always hating being perceived by others. Especially by someone who loved him so dearly. He was a monster by comparison and he fears he would taint you with his own corruption if looked at too close.

His face twisted in resistance, his features beginning to contort from his growing anxiety. He shirked from your gaze, hiding from the overwhelming emotion swirling within him. He felt as if his anxiety was spiraling out of control, every passing moment a struggle to keep it all in. His hands clenched into fists of anger, shame, and remorse. It was only a matter of time before you realized what he truly was, and so it was inevitable that you wouldn't stay.

Your hands, soft and comforting as you reach for his face. You held onto cheek gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. Then, you grab the wraps around his neck and pull them up to cover his eyes. He didn't resist, instead letting out grateful grunts as a sign of relief.

He preferred it this way so no one could see his twisted face. You smiled as he formed a roguish grin, letting out quiet, unhinged chuckles. "There you go…" you laugh softly.

Asura groaned loudly when you continued to caress his face, feeling so much shame and fear. He had no choice but to trust you. However, when the wraps were pulled over his eyes, all his fear melted into nervous, yet grateful laughter.

Your actions made Asura feel secure and safe, his fears fading from his sight. You had a way about you, a gentleness that melted his heart. He watched you intently with new understanding, his distrust slowly disappearing within your gaze.

#4asura #soul eater #soul eater x reader #soul eater fluff #asura soul eater #asura #asura x reader #asura fluff #anime x reader #︶꒷꒦︶ー writing #anime fluff #kishin asura

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anxiouspineapple99 · 6 months

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Dreamy Desires (Incubus!Echo x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Echo needs a good meal and your dreams are are like a five star restaurant to him.

Rating: Explicit (minors begone!)

Word Count: 4,493

Warnings: Soft Dom Echo, dream sex/magic, role playing as vampires, biting,wax/pain play, praising, body worship, oral (F receiving) , being interrupted, mentions of masturbation. Disclaimer! This is not a real life depiction of wax play, I'm taking liberties because this is fiction and dealing with dream magic. Please do your research, don't just grab a random ass candles and pour them on yourself or your partner, stay safe.

Echo was drifting in the world between worlds, the space between the waking world and sleep. The true domain of his kind.

Or, if you wanted to be truly dramatic, one could call it the hunting ground for incubi and succubi.

He personally didn’t like that comparison, it wasn’t as if he was chasing a deer down with a rifle in order to get his next meal. Hell, Echo wasn’t even here to browse the dreamscapes of unsuspecting humans, looking for any horned out victim who would let him in for a nice roll in the proverbial hay. Instead, he was concentrating on finding a very specific human. The fact that he was hungry and would get a nice meal out of the visit was only part of the reason he was here.

The space that rested between sleep and the waking world was tricky to navigate, even for an incubus of his skill, especially when trying to block out the dreams of the thousands who called this section of Coruscant home. The terrain of this plane was just as mercurial as dreams themselves, elusive and disorienting to those who weren’t careful. It was worth it, though. To see you, it was more than worth it.

When he felt that familiar flood of comfort and familiarity, Echo let out a breath and opened his eyes, coming face to face with the barrier of your dreamscape.

It appeared to him like a bubble or glass orb, filled with smokey colors that reminded him of you. Echo put his hands on it and instantly felt the flood of your current emotional state. He let out a moan as the lust filled his senses. Good, his barely subtle flirting throughout the work day had gotten you riled up. So wound tight in fact, that even in your dreams you were still thinking about him, which was all the invitation his kind needed to enter your dreams.

Focusing his magic on the place where his hands met the barrier, Echo closed his eyes again and pushed. It gave way easily, your subconscious opening up to him with wide arms. When the incubus opened them again, he found himself standing in a haze coated, jigsawed version of your apartment. As usual, he found your dream form curled up in the bed at one side of the room, sleeping with the covers pulled halfway down your body, hands by your head in a vulnerable and delicate display that already had heat rushing below his belt.

If he wanted to, he could wake you with a snap of his fingers and take you right there, just like this. But Echo had plans for you, ones he had been thinking up all night, ever since he saw your choice in reading material that day.

He was going to weave your dreamscape into a perfect little playground.

The moment he saw you reading that delightfully trashy paranormal romance while on your break, he knew he had to give you a nice little fantasy tonight. If your distracted body language hadn’t told him exactly what kind of scene you were reading, the lustful hue of your aura had. No incubus was a full on mind reader, but they could sense when thoughts turned dirty and yours had been absolutely filth-ridden. Not to mention the bravery it took to read something like that in public, Echo admired it greatly.

So, knowing that his plan would be worth the wait, Echo put his self control to good use and tore his gaze away from your stunning body wrapped in the sheets. He turned to the room at large, already imagining what he could conjure up. You would sleep peacefully while he worked, giving you a full immersion into the fantasy when he woke the part of you that inhabited this dream world.

He caught his hazy reflection in your full length mirror and he made for quite the startling vision. Leathery wings at his back, thin tail lazily brushing the air, the small horns peaking over his brow. Usually, Echo did not hide his form, you always seemed very enthralled with his demonic appearance while he took you over and over again. Tonight, though, tonight he would take on the look of another dangerous creature.

Echo raised his hands and, with a snap of his fingers, began to mold the dream world into his vision.

Before you were aware of anything, before you opened your eyes or even realized you had been sleeping, you first noted how decadent the fabric beneath you felt. Something crackled nearby, something that made you feel warm, all while rain pattered further in the distance.

All this came to you before you opened your eyes and, when you finally did, your sleep-coated vision was obscured by a luscious red duvet. You found yourself smiling, arms pulling the cover away from your face and hugging it comfortingly to your chest as your sight started to clear little by little.

They now took in the extravagant bed, the gothic furniture, the…

Wait…

You shot up straight in the bed that wasn’t yours, head whipping around to take in the room that also, most definitely, wasn’t yours either. It was like something straight out of a holonovel, from the hand carved headboard made from the richest wood, to the thick draping curtains over the arching windows, to the chandeliers and candelabras holding countless dripping candles. And, as you noticed before, rain pattered outside the stone, castle-like walls, while a fireplace crackled on the opposite side of the room from your large four poster bed.

None of this was your tiny, one room apartment in the cramped city of Coruscant.

“What in the actual…” you found yourself muttering, pulling the covers away- only to find that you weren’t wearing your regular night clothes either. Instead you were draped on a flowing attire fit for the lead in a gothic romance.

That’s when it hit you.

It was all reminiscent of the vampire novel you had been reading lately, all of it playing on the perfect image you envisioned when the heroine found herself seduced by the vampire lord.

Unfortunately, you had no time to turn this realization over in your head, because that’s when the double doors near the fireplace burst open.

In strolled a man, tall, with arms that you knew could hold you tight, dressed in a flowing linen shirt that was open enough to reveal the delicious lines of his muscles. His legs were wrapped in tight black breeches that did not hide their appealing thickness as they carried him to the foot of the bed. He braced himself against the wooden posts, arms spread and letting you take him in.

“There you are, darling.” The smirk he gave you with those words was absolutely sinful.

Heat prickled across your skin instantly. “Echo,” you breathed his name and instantly had to bite your lip over how shaky it sounded.

Of course it was him. Echo loved playing with you, loved throwing you right into the heart of whatever fantasy he had crafted that night. Leaving you no room to steady yourself before he pounced and had your head spinning for other reasons.

Knowing smirk still lifting his lips, Echo removed his hands from the bedposts, and put them on the bed. Without taking his dark gaze off of yours, he started crawling towards you.

Kriff, the heat between your legs was already aching from the sight of him, and he must have known because now he was practically purring as he hummed.

“Hm, I can hear your heart beating faster.”

Breath catching in your throat, you scooted back until your thinly clothed back hit the opulent headboard. He did not back down, since he knew catching you was all part of the seductive game. When Echo’s eyes finally left yours only to roam over your barely covered chest, the instinct to cover yourself was too great. Embarrassed, you gripped the blanket and started to lift it over your body.

Echo’s purr turned into something harsher. “Don’t you dare.”

You gasped when he seized the covers and threw them off of you, effortlessly ripping them from your grip in a billowing display.

By the time the duvet landed forgotten on the stone floor he was already on you.

Cool hands gripped your exposed thighs as he settled back on his knees and used said grip to drag you closer to him. Your back slid over the pillows and down the bed, your loose nightshirt being pulled up your body as he moved you just the way he wanted you.

“That’s better,” Echo said as he settled your thighs on either side of his hips. “You know I don’t want you to cover up, mesh’la.” His smile was perhaps a bit softer when he leaned forward, caging you with his arms as he rested them beside your head. “Why do you think I dressed you in nothing but my shirt?” Echo moved his right hand, placing his finger where the lace-up opening of the shirt exposed your skin. “I love the way it hangs off of you, my dear,” the finger trailed upward, towards your throat, “leaving your neck ripe for the taking.”

That’s when he truly pounced. He dived in, fangs flashing, his hand moving to cup the side of your neck holding it in place while he bit down.

You cried out from the barest flash of pain, a moment before the blinding pleasure took over. It burned pleasantly through your body, shivering down it like a hot drink on a cold night. Echo opened his mouth, enough to lap his tongue over the mark he made and moaned at the taste. With another gasp of pleasure, your hand moved to cup the back of his head, fingers digging into his dark hair, a silent plea for him to keep going.

He did not disappoint, you felt the sharp edges of his teeth scrape against your skin again, causing you to roll your hips against his without thinking. Echo moaned again, his tongue licking up something wet on your neck before he bit down again, this time slower and deeper.

Again there was a brief flicker of pain, before it was burned away by that drug-like sensation seeping through your body. It was just like in your book, just as you imagined it, only better because it was your Echo and not some random dracula rip-off with no personality.

Once your lover got his fill he pulled back just a little, hovering over you and making a show of licking his lips with a pleased, satisfied sound.

“Did you like that, cyare?” he leaned in again, this time brushing his nose against your cheek, “Do you like a little pain to mix with the pleasure?”

It was then that you realized you hadn’t said a single word to him since he came striding in like the king of the castle and your voice was still failing you. Unfortunately, when all you did was nod, he once again made a disapproving sound.

“None of that. When that perfect mouth of yours isn’t busy, I want to hear you. Clearly.” He was firm in his words, but his touch was feather light as he brushed his thumb over your lip. “Say it, mesh’la.”

“Yes- yes I liked it,” you managed, voice a little scratchy and low, but clear. “Didn’t know if I would, but I did.”

He hummed in approval before nuzzling your neck, “Good, I’m glad.” That’s when Echo leaned back fully, resting on his knees and becoming the perfect view above you as his smirk returned. “Would you like to keep going?” he asked, eyes half lidded and deep voice low, sensual. His hand reached out to the bedside table, to the various gothic candlesticks atop it, or rather, the taper candles they held. “There’s other things we can try,” his finger hovered dangerously over the flame of a candle, “things that straddle that line between pain and pleasure.” His finger circled the flickering flame in a motion that reminded you of the way he loved to play with your breasts.

Swallowing, you forced your eyes away from the hypnotic display and looked up at him. “What did you have in mind?”

Echo looked a little pleased as he plucked the candle from its holder. Without taking his eyes off of you, he held out his arm, wrist up, and hovered the tilted taper over his exposed skin.

“Have you ever heard of wax play?”

At first, all you did was nod, but remembered his rules quickly. “Yes, a little.”

Just as you answered, the flame had melted enough fresh wax, which came drizzling down in thin droplets onto Echo’s wrist. He didn’t even flinch, just kept his eyes steady on you while you were captivated by the display.

“Would you like me to do this to you?” he said, voice that deep, low pur again. “Want me to cover all that sensitive skin of yours?”

“Yes,” it came out like a whine, which pleased Echo the most.

With the wax now dry, coating his wrist in an artful pattern, he took that hand and gripped the open breast of your shirt. Before you could so much as blink, he tore the blouse open, exposing your chest completely as well as earning a gasp from you.

“There we go,” he said as he ran a finger between your breasts, leaving your skin to shiver and tingle in its wake. Then, he slipped his hand to cup your left breast, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll start simple,” he assured, his voice turning to that comforting timber that hand you melting more than the candle he was holding, “light, barely any pain at all, but tell me if it’s still too much.”

Again, you nodded, “I will.”

“Good girl.”

He watched you carefully as he tilted it, letting the flame wrap wholly around the tip. You licked your lips as you watched the candle melt, waiting for the beads forming to let gravity take them. Then, Echo pitched the taper even further forward, sending them onto the skin just above your breast.

There was a sting, that brief register of a sensation that had your nerves prickling, but much like the bite, it was quickly soothed by the cooling of the wax, leaving the skin underneath to tingle delightfully.

You threw your head back, gripping the sheets under you with a slight moan. Echo took that as encouragement and this time he moved his aim lower, so the wax circled your areola.

The stimulation caused your hips to buck, which also shifted your chest enough to bring your nipple right in the path of the still trickling wax. A little shock went through you at that, the overly sensitive skin crying out at the strange feeling. That time you whimpered and Echo, your sweet, attentive Echo, pulled the candle back and leaned down to press his lips around the skin in question.

He was humming praises and assurances as he kissed your breast all over, “You’re doing so well, mesh’la,” “Shh, I’ve got you,” “My good girl, I’m here,” and that only made you whimper again, delighting in the way he soothed you.

With a slight tilt of his head, he was able to look up at you, while still pressing almost lazy kisses on your chest. The hand that had been cupping your breast shifted so he could rub his finger on the very tip of your nipple, which was now encased in dried wax.

“Was that too much?” he asked.

“No,” you whispered and removed one hand from your death grip in the sheets to stroke his hair, “please, keep going.”

His answering smile was approving, “I can’t say no when you ask so sweetly.”

With a grace you couldn’t quite fathom, Echo leaned back again and this time he moved lower on the bed so your hips and thighs were in better view.

“Now,” he purred, half lidded eyes catching yours, “you’ve been such a good girl for me tonight, will you do as I tell you?”

Your reply came out as a breath, “Anything.”

Echo pressed the knuckles of his hand to the inside of your leg, starting just above the knee, “I want you to keep your perfect body still this time. Can you do that for me?”

It was a hard promise to make, especially with his hand leaving goosebumps in its wake as it trailed up your inner leg. Despite the fact that it was already hard to keep still, you nodded, “Yes, Echo, I can do that.”

“I hope so, I’d hate to keep your reward from you.”

All you could do to hold your composure was bite your lip and return to holding the sheets like a lifeline.

When his hand reached the top of your thigh, your core ached a little, remembering his skilled touch and desperately wanting to feel it again. Instead, Echo just trailed his knuckles back down your leg, leaving your neglected pussy to clench around nothing.

Then, faster than you expected, he was moving the candle back above you, this time over your inner thigh and sending hot beads of wax dripping. It was all you could do not to throw your head back and cry out in ecstasy. The sensation was more intense this time, the hot droplets rained down on your soft skin and left that biting sting in its wake. It lasted longer too, tingling atop your skin instead of cooling almost instantly.

Echo also kept going, seeming to make a pattern on your thigh, mesmerized by the way some collected on your skin in little pearls and others ran down your body like rain drops. The real torture wasn’t the hot wax, it was keeping your leg from jerking under the tender sensation as he played with you.

You hoped making sounds didn’t count as moving because you couldn’t hold back the desperate whine you let out.

Just as quickly as he brought it on, he pulled the candle back, only to lean down and blow light breaths on the wax still dripping down your leg. The pleasure of hot and cold mingled, leaving you with no choice but to screw your eyes shut as the overstimulation took you.

Echo was reveling in how hard it was for you to control your body while he enjoyed you.

The cold streams of cold air rolled over your skin soothingly, not only to cool the wax into hard pearls, but also to ease away any lingering sting. Just like a moment ago you let out another sound that was almost pitiful, but more of a sigh at the relief he was giving you.

“Did you enjoy that too?” he asked as he moved on from soothing breaths to tender strokes of his fingers.

Again, you did nothing to hide the desperation in your tone. “Yes! Yes, I loved it, Echo…” you trailed off, finally able to open your eyes and look down at him.

He was gazing up at you, always so watchful of your reactions. You saw that look in his eyes as he settled down more securely between your legs. He turned his face back to your inner thigh and brushed his nose against your still tingling skin.

“Hmm, well,” his tongue darted out, tracing the spaces of skin between the hardened beads of wax, “if you enjoy it this much, then I want to drip candle wax all over you.” Then he blew on the wet trail he left behind, “All over your body,” a soft kiss, “your gorgeous,” another nip of those fangs, “perfect body.”

“Echo!” you cried out, fists so tight in the sheets they were starting to hurt, “Please, can i move now? Can I touch you- please?”

He nuzzled the little red spot left in the wake of his bite as he whispered, “You were so good for me, keeping still and letting me work over your body.” He pressed his lips to the spot, a gentle kiss. “And now you’re asking so sweetly. Yes, you can move, I think you’ve earned it.”

Immediately, your hands shoot out to hold onto him, one gripping the back of his shirt, the other tangling in his hair. You also didn’t hold back in lifting your hips either, as well as writhing under his continued nips and kisses.

“In fact,” he went on, moving his lips upward now, “I think you’ve earned that reward I mentioned.” Echo pressed his mouth in the crook where your thigh met your hip, the pinch between his brows showing just how hungry he was for you. A hunger he sated when he finished his journey and buried his face between your legs.

Maker! You were so glad you could move now, because the moment his tongue dove between your folds, your hips bucked and your legs wrapped around him. He licked slowly, humming like a man savoring a treat as he moved up. When he reached your clit he moved the firm tip of his tongue in loving circles around it, earning another desperate noise from you.

Echo slipped his hands under your thighs and pushed upward, hiking them over his broad shoulders. “I want your thighs around me,” he moaned before flatting his tongue and dragging it over your clit, “want you to lock me in while I eat you up,” he sealed his lips around it and suckled, “or maybe I should switch us, have you sit on my face just the way I like-”

Suddenly, the gothic castle around you flickered, like a light bulb about to go out. Echo froze in his ministrations, eyes traveling overhead as a faint, foreign sound started to creep in.

“Kark,” the curse was low, quiet as the sound became clearer, but when his eyes snapped back to you his tone was louder and firm. “Darling, you want to stay here with me, don’t you?”

“I-” you lost your train of thought as the room flickered again and the sound- a beeping, sharpened in pitch.

Wait, where were you?

Your eyes looked around for the beeping that seemed to sound all around you now. As it grew louder, Echo’s touch seemed to fade, despite the fact that he tried to hold you tighter.

When your eyes met his again, he looked like he might have sighed before giving you an understanding smile.

“Next time, cyar’ika.”

And with that, your eyes snapped open in the real, waking world.

You blinked to get your bleary eyes clear, while that karking alarm clock rang incessantly on your bedside table. With a slap, you turned it off, groaning at how stiff your body felt. With a long, tooka-like stretch, you realized you had kicked the covers off in your sleep again, body too hot and sweaty to be comfortable in the night.

At least there was a good reason for the heat and sweat. You almost shivered at the memory. It was the most intense dream yet, which you hadn’t thought possible, considering all your dreams lately have been more real and vivid than you ever thought possible.

For nearly a week now, certain someones have been a constant, debaucherous theme in your dreams. Lavishing you in lustful attention and unlocking desires you had never known you wanted.

You had no idea what made them start, but you never wanted them to end.

Then that stupid alarm clock had ruined it! Your core ached, wet and sore from neglect and begging for attention just like you begged for Echo. The alarm was set for a reason, you had places to be…but…

More roughly than you meant to, you pulled your bedside drawer open and rummaged for the little silk pouch that hid your favorite toy. If you hurried, you could finish yourself and still have time to get ready for the day.

Thankfully, that perfect vision of Echo had given you perfect material to think about while you took your pleasure into your own hands.

In an, unfortunately different flat, Echo woke up as well, eyes snapping open with a frustrated sigh.

An alarm clock? The absolute bane of every incubi’s existence? You had never set one before and, if Echo wasn’t still filled by the feel, look, and taste of you, he might have wondered what had you up early today.

Instead, Echo scrubbed his hands over his face with a growl. He had just gotten started, had promised himself he’d make you come on his tongue over and over again before taking your tired and worn body for himself hours later.

At the thought of the lost chance, his stomach made a dissatisfied noise too, causing him to rub it in an attempt to soothe.

Instead of the decadent, full course meal he had planned to get, the sustenance he had gotten from your pleasure in experimenting was a savory snack at best. And as much as he delighted in the way you had enjoyed the exploration of a new kink, Echo had really been looking forward to making a meal out of that fun little roleplay.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he mumbled to himself when his stomach growled again at the disappointed thoughts.

He stretched then, his body uncurling from the stiff posture it always took when he used his abilities over the world of dreams. His claws reached out to rake at air, while his tail untangled itself from the sheets and swiped at nothing in particular.

Well, at least the night hadn’t been a total waste, Echo had loved setting up that little scene for you.

He hoped he had made the most of it. That he read your fantasy correctly and brought it to life in a way you enjoyed just as much as he did. And he had enjoyed himself. Immensely. You were made for a lavish castle, for a luscious bed, and soft firelight. The way you had looked with that classical shirt draped on your gorgeous body. How excited you got when he played his vampiric role. Or best of all, you so sweetly begging him to show you something new. He loved exploring your desires with you.

Echo’s hips jerked and it was only then that he realized he had absentmindedly wrapped his tail around his hard shaft under the blanket. With a noise from deep in his chest, he gave his cock a firm pump and basked in the wave of pleasure that rippled through his body.

At that, the hunger in his stomach settled just a little. Well, self-pleasure wasn’t a sustainable source of food for his kind…but, with the right material to focus on, it could do in a pinch.

And you had given him plenty of fantasy fuel to picture while he worked himself into a sweaty climax.

#submission #pineapple's 2023 halloween party

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causeitsagame · 11 months

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Fic: Chaperone

Another promptfic, but a much lighter one this time. (How could it not be?) The prompt: "....hello. it's me. So Fuyuhiko hates the smell and taste of alcohol, probably rarely drinks? Little asshole mafia man taking care of a drunk friend (of your choice)? Or maybe flipside, accidentally getting drunk himself? Island party night? Idk sounds lighter than my last prompt lol -xoxo hajihiko" I read that, flashed back to how he behaved during episode 2 of DR3, and went "sure, I can work with that."

Content warning: lots and lots of alcohol and associated behaviors. Also, Teruteru.

Additional warning for Teruteru fans(?): this is a story that treats him as a general content warning.

-----

"No thanks, I'll pass."

Teruteru's shoulders sagged at the refusal of his offered drink. "But it's a custom blend! I even made my own palm wine!"

Fuyuhiko gestured to the simple juice he'd chosen, rather than the 'party punch' that the rest of the room had in hand. "I'm good with this." He saw the protest coming. "I don't like feeling my head get all fuzzy."

"You're missing out on a truly triumphant creation," Teruteru sighed, but did walk on to refill a grateful Nekomaru's glass.

Shrugging, Fuyuhiko walked to the doors along one wall of the breezy event hall. The deck beyond was blissfully quiet in comparison to the raucous interior. He'd joined this event like he never would have, before, but he could feel the itch of over-socialization pulling tight around the base of his skull.

They'd all lucked out more than they had any right to, he thought as he watched the waves roll peacefully in. At the start of the party, those waves had been perfect azure under a cloudless sky. By now, the ocean had begun a slow descent into magenta and wine, and birds were letting out their last soft calls for the evening. These islands might technically serve as a sort of prison, but much of the world would pay top dollar for this kind of "punishment."

The sight was relaxing enough that he stayed out longer than he probably should. Fuyuhiko was anti-social when necessary or by accident, now, as opposed to having it be his default state of existence. It wasn't that he meant to ignore everyone else, but it was pleasant out here, staring out over a darkening ocean. And pretty. (He wouldn't have used that word before, either.)

Eventually, feeling his capacity for socialization having recharged, Fuyuhiko turned to walk back inside.

They were acting like a bunch of goddamn drunk morons.

"The hell?" Fuyuhiko asked, blinking as he made a slow survey across the room. He hadn't been out there that long, really. Not long enough to be seeing this.

Not everyone was wasted off their ass. For one, Peko had needed his encouragement to have even one drink, with the reminder that she no longer had 'official duties.' She sat in an armchair and focused too hard on where her hands rested on her knees, but still largely seemed to have control of herself.

Someone like Ibuki, though? She was hollering louder than even she typically did, and was—

"Fuck!" Fuyuhiko yelped, and darted across the room to pull the hem of Ibuki's shirt back down when she began to lift it over her head. Pouting, she reached for his and would have done the same, if only her hands could figure out how to close properly around its material.

Pushing away from Ibuki as his face flared crimson, Fuyuhiko spun around and looked for a reasonable face. Well, 'reasonable' wasn't the right word, but 'compliant' would have to be good enough. "Don't let her undress," he ordered Mikan.

Maybe Mikan wasn't the right pick, after all. She was fanning herself with one of the old hotel brochures and had unbuttoned her shirt as far down as was possibly decent. Hell. All of them had suffered through many dark flashbacks, but until now, they'd managed to avoid recalling that humiliating day in their old classroom where their food was drugged. "S-stop her?" Mikan wondered. Ibuki's bustline drew Mikan's attention like a magnet. "But if Ibuki wants to, it… it might be rude if I try to stop…"

"Don't let her fucking do it, or you'll answer to me!" Fuyuhiko snapped. That seemed to work, at least for now, and he spun around to try to solve this problem at its root.

There he was.

"What's in the drinks?" Fuyuhiko demanded of Teruteru, who looked futilely for an exit as he was backed into a corner. "D'ya find some stuff to slip into people's food, again?"

"It's just a palm wine punch, like I promised!" Teruteru protested. "With a perfectly irrestistable blend of fruit juices!"

Fuyuhiko gripped him by his neck scarf. "And?"

Teruteru hesitated. "I also. Ah. Finally managed to distill the wine. Like I'd been hoping to figure out. It'll be another option when we entertain ourselves!"

"Uh huh. And what's the ABV of palm wine?" His clan hadn't slipped a huge amount of foreign drinks past customs, but it had been enough to give him a rough familiarity with the alcohol by volume of various liquor.

Teruteru's gaze slid off to the side as he feigned uncertainty. "Ah, er, well, I believe about five percent?"

Fuyuhiko's eye narrowed. Okay, comparable to beer, but this wasn't beer-fueled behavior. Not this quickly. "And after it's distilled?"

Teruteru's attention wandered even further afield, toward the exit door he'd clearly rather be walking through. "About… fifty."

Fuyuhiko's grip around Teruteru's ridiculous scarf tightened. "So everyone was drinking ten fucking times as much as they thought they were, 'cause you told them it was palm wine."

"In—in fairness, I said it included palm wine. I didn't say that was the only alcohol."

"Shut the fuck up! Fucking hell." Groaning, Fuyuhiko looked around to again locate a visibly unsettled Peko. She also liked to maintain control of herself, and would certainly not appreciate losing far more of it than expected. "Hey, can you come here?"

She did, though she needed to put some effort into walking straight. A quick explanation later, anger flashed through Peko's red eyes in a way that had Teruteru looking even more ready to bolt for safety. "You took advantage of us," Peko muttered. Her words were precise, but they didn't come quickly. "I have said before: when a group lives together, propriety must be maintained. And for anyone who would ruin—"

"No taking advantage!" Teruteru promised, and held up his hands. "Nothing like that! I was only trying to bring life to the party."

Fuyuhiko didn't trust that for one single second. He'd heard Hajime mutter something that implied some pretty goddamn dark behavior on the chef's part, if—thankfully—only an attempt. "I'm gonna get people to their rooms before anything worse happens. Can you watch him?"

"Gladly." Peko loomed more over her target, even as her eyes couldn't quite focus.

Fuyuhiko ignored Teruteru's pathetic whimpers and looked around the room, sighing. People had already returned to their cups; the blend was, unfortunately, probably as delicious as everything else Teruteru made. Well. He'd better start with the people who'd be the hardest to get out of here if they went much further down this road.

"Come on," Fuyuhiko ordered Nekomaru, and grabbed the man by the wrist. "Put down your drink. We're going."

"Going?" bellowed Nekomaru.

Fuyuhiko shook his head, blinking. Nekomaru could be unbelievably loud when he wanted to be. A drunk Nekomaru appeared to reach those volumes unintentionally, with every single word. "Teruteru gave you the wrong drink. Come on, you need to go sleep it off."

"The wrong drink?" Nekomaru echoed, nearly loud enough to bring down the rafters. "But I feel great!" The words weren't just loud, but sloppy and slurred, like they were already tumbling down a slope that his body would soon follow.

By the bottom of the latest glass he held, Nekomaru probably would tip over, and then good fucking luck to anyone who'd try to haul him out of here. Do I actually need to bother, for Nekomaru? Fuyuhiko asked himself, only to grimace as he looked back at Teruteru. No one was safe around that little pervert. Fucking! Hell!

"You, uh…" Fuyuhiko cast his attention around the room. "You want to set a good example, right? For the team?" Okay, good, 'team' was the magic word. Nekomaru was nodding and looking for a coaster (a damn coaster!) to set his glass upon.

"Stop drinking!" Fuyuhiko shouted at Hajime as he steered Nekomaru out the door. The last thing they needed was someone with enhanced strength acting like a liquor-brainfogged dumbass.

"I've got a fast metabolism," Hajime promised, clearly certain that he could gauge his own drunkenness better than any outsider. "Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on people."

Whatever. That sounded good enough for now.

"This is very responsible of you!" Nekomaru cheerfully shouted as Fuyuhiko steered him toward his cottage. The hotel they'd settled on in the real world also had cottages like Mirai, though they were accessed from long walkways that ran out over the water. Herding everyone down that relatively narrow path already looked like a hellish task, Fuyuhiko realized as they approached it.

"That's me," Fuyuhiko grumbled, and pushed the massive man when Nekomaru drew to an abrupt stop for some reason that presumably made sense to his alcohol-soaked brain. "Keep walking."

Obligingly, Nekomaru set back into motion. "I really admire you, Fuyuhiko!"

"Hey, super, thanks." He jabbed Nekomaru in the back. "You're slowing down again."

Nekomaru tried to speed his pace, only to nearly stumble over his own feet.

"Nope, never mind," Fuyuhiko sighed, and relented into grabbing the (much) larger man by his wrist and steering him like a farmer guiding a team of oxen. "Just follow me."

Like that, he was able to get Nekomaru to his cottage. The man promised to sleep it off, and seemed surprised at how tired he felt after being confronted with the amount of liquor in the drinks he'd kept downing. The door closed and clicked into place, and Fuyuhiko exhaled. Okay. Biggest target down. That hadn't been too bad. Who was the next priority?

"Let's go," he soon ordered the Imposter.

"I was hoping for a pleasant buzz." Wobbling to a standing position, the Imposter unsteadily admitted, "I seem to have developed a little more than that."

"Yeah, we'll yell at Teruteru tomorrow." Fuyuhiko pointed to the door.

The plan was working. He'd get everyone closed into their cottages, nothing would happen out of bounds while everyone was drunk, and they could all bond as a group by punting that little asshole chef like a football. Great. Super. The Imposter's door was open, they were walking safely inside, and—

Fuyuhiko's hand reached out and snagged Ryota by his shirt collar before he could follow the Imposter. "No." He hadn't even noticed the guy tagging along behind them.

"It's okay," Ryota said with a disturbingly relaxed grin. He sounded to be wrapped in a warm, cozy alcohol haze, and as he looked toward the Imposter, his eyes were dilated beyond what alcohol or evening darkness would explain. "I'll stay with—"

"Nope!" Fuyuhiko ordered, reached in to grab the doorknob, and slammed the Imposter's door shut before Ryota could follow them inside. "Your own place!"

"But—"

"I don't care what the fuck you do, but do it sober," Fuyuhiko snapped as he spun Ryota around and pushed him in the opposite direction, toward his own cottage. Why the fuck did people like alcohol so much? It made you feel like shit, and if you did anything on it, you wouldn't even be able to remember it properly the next day.

Okay! Next person.

"A malevolent brew appears to have been slipped past my guard," Gundham slurred.

How are you still coming up with that bullshit to spout off? Fuyuhiko wondered as he steered Gundham down the walkway. Fortunately, the man gave him no trouble other than that, and they soon stood in front of his cottage door.

"I commend you for striking a clear path through this potion-fogged night." Gundham clasped Fuyuhiko by the arm and stared at him with unsteady intensity. "I am in your debt, son of the dragon."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll collect on that real soon," Fuyuhiko said impatiently. "Look, I gotta—"

With great solemnity, Gundham reached for something on a table next to his door, then leaned back to Fuyuhiko. "The unspeakable might of the dragon," he whispered with alcohol-slurred sincerity, and placed a gecko on Fuyuhiko's shoulder. "Yours to command."

Fuyuhiko blinked at Gundham and said nothing.

"We shall discuss the training of magical creatures upon the morn!" Gundham laughed, though his typically ridiculous cackle didn't have the same wild abandon as usual, and closed the door to his cottage.

"I'm gonna murder that fucking cook," Fuyuhiko spat as he made it back to sand and grass, and set the lizard down onto the ground. It scurried to safety as he stormed back into the event hall and yelled, "C'mere, Akane!"

That had been a mistake; it sounded like a challenge, and she decided halfway to her cottage that she wanted to wrestle. With her sober, he wouldn't stand a chance. With her drunk, she held back even less than usual. "Get in your room and stay there!" Fuyuhiko snapped as he dusted himself off.

"You're a sore loser!" Akane laughed, but she did close her door.

There were still so many fucking people to corral, Fuyuhiko miserably realized as he made another circuit into the event hall. He rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. The usually ignorable pressure of his eyepatch was suddenly giving him a headache. "Peko, can you just… slap the shit out of him, or something?"

Peko looked at Fuyuhiko, then back to Teruteru. A moment later, a heavy smack sounded through the event hall.

Gasping, Teruteru clutched a hand to his reddening cheek. "Peko!" he whined. "I thought you weren't taking orders, any more!"

"I'm not." She shook the hand that'd struck him. "It was still a good suggestion."

"Do it again!" yelled Hiyoko from across the room, like some rowdy sports fan.

"Do not do it again!" Teruteru yelped.

Well, by this point, Fuyuhiko had handled the biggest problems. He might as well go with whoever was convenient. "C'mon, Saionji," he sighed, and walked over to grab her.

"I don't have to go with you!" she sneered as he tried to pull her toward the door.

His gaze flattened. "You wanna deal with me, or with Teruteru?"

Hiyoko opened her mouth, considered the question, and closed it. "Party's over," she agreed with comparatively sober precision, and gestured Fuyuhiko away. The punch probably hadn't been sugary enough for her to fully indulge herself. "I'll walk myself home. I don't want some man walking right up to my front door. Even if he is smaller than me."

Fuyuhiko was too annoyed at the world to be baited by her in particular. "You're exactly four doors down from me, but whatever." Sighing as she walked away, his attention landed elsewhere, and Fuyuhiko stormed over to the couch and snatched away Hajime's glass. "What did I say?"

Blinking, Hajime looked at his empty hands, and seemed to need a few seconds to process why they no longer held anything. "I told you," he promised Fuyuhiko in a voice more slurred than the last time he'd offered assurance. "I can handle myself. Fast metabolism." At least, that was what he tried to say; it came out more like 'fasht metabulbism.'

By now, Fuyuhiko definitely had a headache. "Don't let him drink any more," he ordered Nagito.

Nagito stared at Fuyuhiko with a glassy, awed expression. "You care so much about everyone, now," he whispered. Tears pooled.

Fuyuhiko blinked back at him, then turned to the other person on the couch. "Don't let either of them drink any more," he ordered Mahiru.

Mahiru stared back with clear comprehension, but she also wore a heavy, hollow-eyed expression. "I think I had too much."

"If you're gonna throw up, do it on Nagito. Goddamn it, Ibuki, put your fucking shirt back on!"

Ibuki cackled and swung her shirt above her head like a spinning helicopter's blade. To the side, Mikan stared at Ibuki with a wide-eyed grin.

This is not working, Fuyuhiko thought, and rubbed his temples.

Peko seemed to have control of herself, but she needed to keep watch on Teruteru. It was like one of those logic problems: how do you get the apples, goats, and foxes across the river without anything being eaten? But in this case, he had to figure out how to get everyone locked inside their cottage without someone ending up groped, hurt, or drowned when they pitched off the walkway. He couldn't send most people off on their own, but neither could he send Peko away from Teruteru, nor keep leaving this event hall while things continued to develop behind Peko's back.

Okay. Okay! He'd been training to lead a clan of thirty thousand men; he could deal with a group of friends who'd gotten drunk off their asses. Mahiru seemed sober enough to lead someone else to their cottage, and then she could probably vomit over the side of the walkway to get that out of her system. Fuyuhiko considered that, then snapped his fingers. Such a moment might send a jolt of adrenaline through their resident nurse. "Mahiru, can you get Mikan back to her cottage before she… uh…"

Mahiru eyed Mikan's hand as it slowly extended toward Ibuki's bare stomach. "Uh. Yeah, sure. But I still kind of want to—" She swallowed visibly, struggling to force down her nausea.

"Throw up if it helps, but wait until you're outside." Okay! Two more problems down, Fuyuhiko assured himself as Mahiru made her unsteady way toward Mikan and pointed her toward the door. "Nagito, do you think you can get Ibuki back to her place? And get her damn shirt back on, too."

Nagito blinked up at Fuyuhiko. Without a word, he stood, embraced Fuyuhiko, and rested his head against Fuyuhiko's like a pillow. "You've grown so much," he eventually whispered. Emotion choked his voice as he continued, "The light of hope you bring to us all… is…"

Rigid, Fuyuhiko stood there and did not make any move to hug Nagito back. He hated his life. He hated it. He fucking hated it. "Never mind," he sighed. "You're drunker than I thought. Let's go. And set down that fucking glass."

"I'm not holding anything," Hajime lied, and took another drink.

"I could always see a light shining deep inside you," Nagito slurred as Fuyuhiko led him toward the cottages. He kept trying to wander off to look at whatever sight caught his eye, and so Fuyuhiko had to grip his hand like leading a schoolchild through a crowd.

"Don't ever talk about what's 'deep inside me.' And—HEY! Get your ass back inside your cottage!"

Ryota looked up guiltily and yanked his hand away from the Imposter's doorknob.

"Inside! Right the fuck now!" Fuyuhiko bellowed, and waited until the man had followed orders. "Lock the door!" He nodded at the sound of that click, then loudly finished, "Pass the key through the window!"

It was soon slipped through the open shutters, and Fuyuhiko considered the length of the walkway as he pocketed Ryota's key. He should probably do that with some other people (Mikan), too. "Okay, Nagito, let's go."

By now, tears had actually started to spill. "You're amazing," Nagito cried.

Muttering, Fuyuhiko shoved Nagito down the walkway and into his cottage. It was far easier than it'd been with Nekomaru, but by now, his patience had worn much thinner. At least Nagito was only a door down from Mikan, so it was easy enough to make that detour and secure her key, too.

Almost there, Fuyuhiko told himself. Almost. Fucking. There. All that was left was Ibuki, Hajime, and…

He drew to a stop on the walkway. Fuck! He'd even flashed back to that old classroom day with the chemicals, and he'd never prioritized tracking down Kazuichi and Sonia? Fuck! Fuck! Fucking goddamn hell!

At a run, he set off back for the event hall and started trying to find the overlooked duo. With each passing second, unease twisted further into real worry. Where were they? Where the fuck were they? They weren't anywhere inside the main event hall, and they weren't out on the deck, nor in the kitchen.

He finally caught sight of a pink head of hair just outside of the bathrooms, and thankfully, Kazuichi was alone. "Something's wrong," he tried to whisper right against Fuyuhiko's ear, but it came out a little louder than normal volume. He smelled like a distillery.

Fuyuhiko blinked and shook his head. At least the two of them weren't together, like he'd worried Kazuichi's liquor-drenched brain would steer him toward. "Wrong?"

"She keeps saying weird things." Kazuichi's lower lip wobbled. "I can't figure out how to help. I can't do anything right. Ever. Can I?"

"Hold that thought," Fuyuhiko told him. Pathetic, weepy Kazuichi was something he could deal with in due time; Sonia's condition sounded more concerning. He rapped his knuckles against the door. "Sonia? You in there?"

Nothing. Fuyuhiko pressed his ear against the door, then covered his other ear when Kazuichi wouldn't stop whimpering about what a useless, no-good coward he was. Inside the bathroom, soft, gasping cries were barely audible; at least Sonia was still conscious and hadn't succumbed to alcohol poisoning. (Seriously, he hated the stuff.) "I'm coming in," Fuyuhiko said, and prayed that the door wouldn't be locked.

Thank fuck, Fuyuhiko thought with relief as the bathroom door swung open. He closed it securely behind him, not wanting to push his luck around this drunk duo, and knelt on the bathroom floor. By now, he was beyond caring about how dirty it probably was.

Loud drunk. Horny drunk. Confused drunk. Happy drunk. Emotional drunk. Sick drunk. Combative drunk. Sad drunk. He'd had to deal with all of those, so far, and Sonia had apparently carved out yet another kind of drunk for Fuyuhiko to deal with: paranoid. "They're going to get photos of me like this," she fretted from her crouched position in the corner. "It will ruin my coronation."

Oh fuckin' boy. "Yeah, uh, you don't need to worry about that," Fuyuhiko muttered. How, exactly, would he explain to someone drunk off her ass that her beloved homeland was now nothing but ashes?

"But I've let down my entire kingdom," Sonia insisted. None of the words came out like they should. Sticky trails of half-dried tears coated her cheeks. "And the buzzar. Buzzers. Buztards."

"Buzzards," Fuyuhiko supplied.

"With cameras would love nothing more than to capture me like this!" Years ago, in her old life, she'd be right; the former darling of Novoselic had an oddly stained outfit, with hair that was alternately frizzy and untamed or smeared with something that Fuyuhiko didn't want to identify. It was a sight designed for the gossip industry, and she clearly didn't remember that industry getting ground under the heel of the apocalypse.

Fuyuhiko sighed. They weren't supposed to joke about things like this, but fuck it, she wouldn't remember this by tomorrow. "Hey, Sonia. All those paparazzi?"

She looked up, flinching at the word. "Yes?"

He drew a finger across his throat. "All gone. My clan took care of them for you. Call it some diplomatic outreach."

It was unsettling that she took that as a positive, but he was beyond caring. They could all dig into some much-needed therapy tomorrow. "Yeah, happy coronation, congratulations," he agreed as Sonia's face crumpled into fresh tears and her tongue stumbled over a waterfall of thank-yous. "Let's go."

"What did you do?" Kazuichi demanded as Fuyuhiko led a still-crying Sonia out of the bathroom.

"Convinced her that she wasn't about to end up on the front page of a gossip rag. Shut the hell up. It's more than you managed." That was more than he should have said, Fuyuhiko instantly knew as Kazuichi's eyes filled with fresh tears and his lower lip trembled. Drawing upon every last scrap of patience left in his fragile reserves, Fuyuhiko took a deep breath. "Come on, Kazuichi."

Okay. One last plan to make. "Peko," Fuyuhiko said with rapidly growing exhaustion. "Can you watch Sonia for a second, too? I'll be right back."

Nodding, Peko gestured Sonia into her field of vision. Teruteru tried to check on her with what seemed like genuine concern, but one sharp move from Peko sent him scurrying back to a corner.

"Kazuichi. Ibuki. C'mon." Fuyuhiko grabbed both of their wrists and led them to the door, ignoring Ibuki's giggles and Kazuichi's continued pathetic noises. At least Ibuki still had a bra on.

"I tried to help," Kazuichi promised as he and Ibuki stumbled along after Fuyuhiko. "But you're right. I can't do anything. Hey. Hey. Hey. Fuyuhiko. Am I your best friend?"

"No! Shut up!"

"I knew it," Kazuichi mourned. "I bet I'm not Hajime's best friend, either. Sonia definitely hates me."

Ibuki began singing scales.

"Does Gundham hate me? I think Gundham hates me. I don't hate Gundham. I used to but now I don't."

"Be each other's best friends," Fuyuhiko seethed as he led them onward, futilely trying to block out Ibuki's singing as it rattled around his skull. "I don't care."

The singing abruptly stopped. "Besties? Me and Kaz?" Ibuki said, and giggled with clear delight over the idea. "Yeah! We can do each other's hair!"

Kazuichi nearly tripped, but got his feet back under him before he fell. "Wait, really? …Can I get streaks? Your streaks are cool."

"Great! Looking forward to the results," Fuyuhiko said as they reached the first cottage and he slammed open its door. "Inside."

Ibuki obediently went in, but immediately walked back out with a pair of scissors in hand. With a delighted grin, she snip-snip-snipped their blades against the air and approached Kazuichi.

"Tomorrow," Fuyuhiko corrected Ibuki, spun her back around, and closed the door once she was inside. "C'mon, Kazuichi."

"Do you really hate me?" Kazuichi wondered once they were alone. Unfortunately, his cottage was at the opposite end of the line from Ibuki's.

"I don't hate you," Fuyuhiko sighed as he led Kazuichi past the line of cottages. From one, Nekomaru's snoring pushed through his shutters like a sounding foghorn.

Kazuichi wiggled out of Fuyuhiko's grip on his arm and instead clutched the smaller man by his shoulders. It was an awkward way to walk, especially on such a narrow path, but it seemed too near to their destination to make an issue of it. Fuyuhiko resigned himself to being held as Kazuichi sing-songed, "You are my best friend, huh?"

"All I said was that I don't hate you. But you're changing my goddamn mind."

Kazuichi sniffled. When Fuyuhiko looked over, his tears were now only from joy. "I love you, too."

"Just get inside your cottage." After a moment, Fuyuhiko sighed more deeply than ever. "Don't hug me."

Kazuichi's grip on him tightened.

"I mean it. Get off. Now."

More than a minute later, Fuyuhiko whooshed out a determined breath and stalked back toward the event hall. Almost done. "Here's the plan," he said the instant he was inside. "Peko, I don't trust Sonia not to do something stupid. Can you stay with her tonight?"

Peko nodded, and Sonia burst into fresh tears at the reassurance that she'd have a bodyguard's protection.

"And as for this asshole: you cause one single problem more," Fuyuhiko snapped at Teruteru, "and tomorrow, we all take a hike up to the top of the volcano."

Teruteru went paper-white. "That is in incredibly poor taste."

Fuyuhiko's answer was a wordless snarl.

Rounding on Hajime, Fuyuhiko gritted his teeth as he saw an empty glass dangling from his loose grip. "Hajime," he began in a barely-controlled voice as he walked over. "Did you have another drink?"

Hajime looked up at him blearily. "'M good at. Tracking." He appeared to think hard about the next addition to the explanation he'd indicated before, that he was uniquely suited to monitor his own metabolism. "Good at. Tracking."

Too tired to protest, Fuyuhiko just let him stumble slowly through it. Very, very slowly.

"Good at tracking. Talents," Hajime added emphatically, like that explained it all. "Tal. Ents."

Fuyuhiko pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hey. Supergenius. How drunk was that brain of yours when it decided everything was under control?"

Hajime stared back at him, red eye and green eye equally fogged. He needed a long, silent moment to work through Fuyuhiko's question, but eventually realized, "Ohhh."

"Yeah, 'ohhh,'" Fuyuhiko sighed, and tried to figure out how best to haul Hajime up off the couch. "No!" he instantly snapped when Teruteru approached to offer help, and pointed toward the door with his free hand. "You! Go!"

Grumbling, Teruteru followed Sonia and Peko into the night.

Damn, he could have asked Peko for help. At least Sonia could walk on her own. "Come on," Fuyuhiko muttered, and tried to haul Hajime to his feet. "Can you stand?"

"I can stand," Hajime promised, right before he nearly fell over.

Great. "My place is closer," Fuyuhiko sighed as he inched an unsteady Hajime toward the door. "You'd better not throw up on anything."

"S-sorry," Hajime managed once they'd made it down the few broad steps outside the door, slowly and carefully. "'M not supposed to do this."

"No," Fuyuhiko said shortly, strung drumskin-tight with the night's annoyances. "You're not."

"Yeah." Hajime's already apologetic mood cratered further with each step. "'M supposed to be in charge. Right?"

"In charge? Heh." That finally earned a smile, if a very small and tired one. "Says who? I'm not gonna listen to you."

Hajime's clouded gaze grew increasingly distant, and even more despondent. "That's what they made. What they put together. In a lab. Right?"

Oh.

Fuyuhiko stayed quiet for a while, and adjusted his grip when Hajime's unsteady weight angled against him wrong. "Don't worry about it. You're just a guy like anyone, and you pulled a dumbass move like they did. You're not the only one. Trust me."

"Really?" The question was tremulous, vulnerable.

"Really," Fuyuhiko promised him with a sigh, and leaned over to open his door. He gestured toward a loveseat and began, "You can take—"

Before Fuyuhiko could finish, Hajime collapsed gratefully onto his bed and closed his eyes.

Of course.

Too depleted to even complain, Fuyuhiko shut his door, locked it, and took the loveseat for himself.

He knew he'd been right to steer clear of parties for most of his life. They were more trouble than they were worth, especially when trouble-makers entered the mix. Or when alcohol did, or trouble-makers deliberately supplied that alcohol to everyone.

Before exhaustion could take him, he ran through everyone in his mind and checked off their conditions. Aside from the hangovers from hell that were certainly coming, every last person on the island was safe in their cottage, protected from themselves and others. No one would do anything they'd regret, no one would decide to challenge themselves to a midnight swim a mile offshore.

Alright. Good. They'd better appreciate this, because it was the last party he'd ever risk attending.

For if there was one thing that Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu clearly was, it was anti-social.

#my fic #if only kiyotaka had been there to lend a hand

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xlovely-daydreamsx · 2 years

Text

Yandere Steve Harrington | Protector

warnings: ns/fw, yandere themes

notes: a little drabble for funsies :)

__________

"If you think I'm gonna let you run off to God knows where when all this... shit is going on in town, you're out of your mind." Steve snarled, holding you back with barely half of his strength, hand placed on your shoulder. You try your best to shove him off, but he stays firmly in place.

"You can't make me stay, Steve- I'm not some kid you have to babysit." He looks down on you, your delicate frame much smaller than his own, and he can't help the wave of protectiveness that washes over him. No, you're not a kid- nothing of the sort, nothing near it with what you've done to him. How you've made him desire you entirely in mind and body, how you've tempted him so.

He pushes you backwards with a hard shove to your shoulder, sending you stumbling backwards and onto the ground.

"Steve, what-" It's only a moment before he joins you there, his knee slotting itself between your legs as he pins you to the ground, hands placed beside your head.

"You think you can defend yourself out there? You can't even defend yourself from me." Why would you ever have to? You want to say, but you can't seem to pull the words out of your throat. Steve had always seemed like a safehaven to you- ever since you'd met, he'd been nothing but sweet and caring, but this Steve scared you.

"If you're so tough, fight me off," his hands start moving. One grasps both your wrists, so small in comparison to his hands, and the other trails its way down to those tight little jean shorts that drive him crazy- he know you wear them just to draw his attention, to make him want you even more.

"Steve, stop! This isn't the time for this..."

"This is a lesson, (Y/N). You're so strong, right? Then stop me," his gentle hands caress your hips, then dip down your V line towards your pussy, growing ever more wet, "or do you want this?"

You squirm underneath him, unable to move your legs from his weight.

His fingers slide into you easily, eliciting a groan from you.

"So wet already... are you really so desperate for it?"

"No, I don't-" his fingers curl upwards into that spot he knows drives you crazy, drawing out a loud moan from deep inside you, "I can't..."

"Can't what? Can't admit you're weak? That you need me to take care of you?"

His fingers pump into you faster than before, the sick, wet noises coming from you filling the room.

"Jesus, baby- this is where you belong. Not out there- right here, underneath me."

You feel yourself tensing, the waves of pleasure rolling over you, ready to crash down and give you the sweet release that you need, but just as you reach your crescendo, it just... stops. Steve's fingers disappear, and you can't help the whine it illicits.

"C'mon now, you know what I want. Tell me the truth,"

Someone smarter would've fought him more, surely, but you were dumb and in love and oh, so horny.

So you submit.

"Please, Steve... I'm nothing without you. I- I need you! Just take control... I'm yours."

That's all he ever wanted and more.

Steve wastes no time unzipping his pants and pulling out his shaft, long and girthy and everything you've ever wanted and more. Your legs open wide for him, ever inviting as you feel your wetness drip down, most likely leaving a puddle underneath you. Neither of you could care less about anything except each other, as Steve pushed himself into you, fast and punishing with a bruising grip on your hips.

God, you were always so sweet and delicate. Steve's trophy to be won, his treasure to protect. He'd do anything to keep you safe and in his arms, to be able to make you cry out for him like this.

You belong to him, belong with him- his and his alone, and the only way you can ever be safe from the shitshow in Hawkins is by staying here, where he can keep his eyes on you.

"Tell me who you belong to, (Y/N)." He thrusts faster and deeper, feeling you grip around him, so warm and wet.

"You, Steve! Always you..."

He grunts, burying his face in your neck, and God- you always smell so good.

"That's right baby, you're mine. Forever and always." Your arms wrap around his neck, hold him close as he thrusts into you deeper than before, his seed filling you with warmth as your body goes slack, the aftermath of both of your orgasms tiring you out. He follows suit, relaxing on top of you and not bothering to pull out.

You lay like that for a few moments before he starts back up, carrying you to his bed and cleaning you up.

"See? I always take good care of you."

#yandere #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #yandere steve harrington #stranger things #yandere stranger things #yandere fic #x reader #yandere x reader #stranger things fic

435 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 2 years

Note

Arkham Knight scarecrow with a corruption kink and the reader is like innocent and Jon has like very.. explicit sexual thoughts ab the reader.. soo he does those same things he though of to the reader (Crane’s got a sir kink too🥴 the reader is female btw!!)

Venal

Arkham!Jonathan x Female!Reader, word count: 1k terrible boy is hot and opens new line of kink thinking for finnie ;-; request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: sub/dom elements i guess if you squint hard enough, innocent!reader, naivety, suggested virginity/inexperience, needle, controlling, fear play kinda, kind of dubcon because he's scary and he uses that to his advantage, though reader goes along with it, but just incase!

Your innocence was beyond comparison, a key component in his interest in you. Sweet, naïve, so willing to find the positive and good in people. Although he was sure the determination you had to seek the good in him was by down dwindled to a glimmer of hope that you might be able to find at least one redeeming quality in him.

And he was more than happy to oblige. In fact, he was keen to offer you his secretive skillset, his one good thing.

So rarely did the opportunity come for him to be around people, although that lack of social interaction was by his own hand. It was only because he could smell it on you, the lack of experience that made you pliable, corruptible, that he let you think you had broken through. The same way he let himself think of you, untarnished skin, unspent virtues, unscathed interior, beckoning his cold and cruel touch. What pleasures could he draw forth from your gaping maw, as you gasped in pain at his arrival within you, at his fingers gripping tight to your flesh, your warm entrance stretching to accommodate his less than gentle length. The days, the weeks, he had spent, holding off on allowing himself even the quickest of releases in favour of waiting to savour you when you fell to him, which you would. You would.

“And though you knew of my academic prowess, you believed yourself to be in a position where you could teach me?”

He slammed his hand down against the dusty desk, behind which he loomed as you sat in a chair in front of it, nervously pulling at your skirt, fraying the hem with the strenuous, obsessive pulling at the loose threads, desperately trying not to think of his own threads, the fabric that became one with him.

“I thought, Jonathan…Mr. Crane…I thought”-

“Sir.”

You hesitate, trying not to look him in the eye as you allow this first leniency, the first sign of submission to him.

“…Sir…I thought I could show you how to accept kindness or at least-”

“Futile…but admirable that would make an attempt. Would you like to learn something though?”

He walked softly around the desk, leg brace creaking ever so slightly with each step. His fingers curling around the edge of the wooden tabletop as he leant against it, leaning forward to whisper into your ear.

“Because I have a whole host of wisdom I might be able to impart on someone so…lacking.”

Your breath hitched as the fingers of his hand traced against your thigh, just below the hem which you were gripping tightly at.

“Afraid of something?”

He stayed close to your ear, his words chilling and yet oddly welcoming, comforting.

“Yes.”

It was all you could muster, but the one word reply amused him, seemingly, as he let out a soft chuckle followed by a moan.

“But do you like that?”

“Yes.”

He withdrew from your personal space, so quickly it caused you to jump, nerves already frayed, but he ignored you and continued his lecture.

“I thought you might. There’s no other reason for you to have continued seeing me for so long. You knew one of us was going to win the battle of the wits, and you took the risk. Eagerly, I assume?”

You swallowed the pooling saliva, hands tremoring as you clasped them together in your lap, eyes fixed to the floor. His fingers, jagged and rough nails digging into the soft skin past your jaw, hooked under your chin and tilted your head up, gaze meeting his clouded stare.

“You knew you would crumble. You reek of venality.”

As you tilted your head away again in shame, he pulled it back up, pressing his thumb and forefinger at either side to hold you in place.

“Awfully brave. You would disobey me?”

Fear response.

“No, sir.”

His voice, gravelly and appreciative in return.

“Good girl. In fact, you’re a very good girl it would seem. I can’t tell how good yet.” He pressed his palm to the inner thigh of one of your legs, pushing them apart slightly. “But I intend to find out.”

Too frightened to move, to desperate to say no, you allowed your hips to relax, legs opening wide on the chair, skirt hitching further up your thighs as you opened yourself up to Crane, who stared intensely at your underwear, the slight damp patch that formed there.

“So quick to arousal, are you desperate, or have you not built up a tolerance yet?”

“Jonathan, I-”

“Sir.”

“Sir…I’m not a…I’ve had…partners, but not-”

He was swift, nimble and rough fingers pulling the fabric covering your swollen lips to the side, dipping the tips between your folds, dragging a shivering breath from your throat.

“None like this. And not enough to prepare you for me. No, none like me.”

He leaned in, breathing in your ear, anticipation tingling over the hairs which stood up straight all over your body. His fingers languidly explored inside of you as you waited for his words. But you twitched when his tongue pressed forth from his lightly caged lips, dragging itself up your cheek before he grazed the skin with his teeth.

“And none after me either. I’ll teach you. I’ll show you. I’ll have you bending to my will.”

“Sir.” A moan of approval as he withdrew his mouth and fingers from you to gaze at you, taking you in as you shuddered, face blushing red, hands covering your slick mound, eyes averted but darting up to meet his occasionally, worried he might be disappointed that you wouldn’t look at him. When you caught his eyes, he held your attention. He was leaning against the desk again, hand behind him teasing at the drawer, the sound of it sliding open as he brought his hand back round again, needle in his palm. He tapped against the glass, watching the orange liquid inside jiggle slightly.

“We’ll see to it that you’re on my level.”

#finnie writes #batman #fanfic #riddler x you #scarecrow #jonathan crane #scarecrow imagine #scarecrow smut #scarecrow x reader #rogues gallery #batman rogues

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kuroneko1815 · 10 months

Text

Storytime at the Palace Part 2

@eloise175 here’s part two of your bedtime stories.

Tonight the children had decided that they wanted a story before bed so he ushered their family into the private sitting room of his palace and had the servants light the fire and ordered some hot chocolate for them. The children lay on the soft carpet that’s been laid down, the skin of the fire bear from that first hunt was laid over top. Penelope had laughed when she saw it but he’d thought it was a good reminder of how far they’d come and of the days when they were little more than stupid children in comparison to the people they’ve grown into together, to the people that now ruled a vast Empire and raised five children with all the love they could ever muster. The people who had chosen one another over and over and stayed together against all odds.

As he watched Penelope fuss over the children, handing them a cup of the hot chocolate each and piling on some cushions and blankets to keep them warm and comfortable, he realized he knew what story he wanted to tell. So he left his seat and repositioned himself with his family, reaching out a hand to pull his wife to him, holding her close as they gazed upon their little miracles. For that was what they were, for Callisto whose hands were so bloodstained that he thought such things would never happen to him, that any child he may have would have been as a requirement through whatever political marriage suited him the most to win the throne (and wasn’t he ever thankful that he’d been wrong), and for Penelope who had suffered through a thousand years or more of bloodshed, dying repeatedly, agonizingly, until her soul had shattered, been reborn, and eventually pulled back here for one final time where she chose, against all odds and common logic, to stay by his side and live their lives together.

He pressed a quick kiss to Penelope’s forehead before he turned to the children. “There were many moments I could point to about when my feelings for your mother grew. But the one I can point as the definite shift from interest to something more was when we fled from assassins, your Mother asking me to trust her with my life as she shot assassin after assassin. I had no other choice, not when I had to focus on controlling the horse and keeping your Mother safe, so I did and was pleasantly surprised and incredibly impressed by the results.”

His mind returned to that day, it was fury he felt, the same fury that filled him whenever there was an attempt on his life or when he was in the heat of the battle. But Penelope was there, terrified but still determined to fight. “When we hit a dead end, we got off our horse and made what we thought was our final stand with nothing but a cliff at our backs. There was fear in me when I heard your mother scream and I threw myself in between her and the assassin.” The children gasped in horror. Eden clutched Judy’s hand tight, her precious little face hidden by her other hand. Dante clung to Kaden whose eyes were shut tight. Rigel crawled to Penelope and climbed on to her lap.

Callisto, who hadn’t felt fear in so long, who had never been nervous in battle, felt all those things whenever Penelope was concerned. Had been feeling those things since she had confessed her feelings for him in that maze. And even if he’d only meant to tease her about it, he remembered the feeling of anger and disappointment when she took back her words. He remembered some sort of anxiety going through him the night before that, when those monsters had surrounded Penelope and he’d been too far away, remembered how enticing she looked as she took them on single-handedly. It was the same feeling he felt that day, fighting assassins with her, and every day after that, every moment, every encounter where she bewildered and impressed him, setting her apart from the other women. “Your mother, the magnificent woman that she is was still able to shoot the last assassin even as we plummeted off the cliff and into a river. I managed to pull your mother’s unconscious form out of the water and brought her to the cave. And we held each other by the firelight to keep ourselves warm while our clothing dried.”

“She looked so beautiful and I remembered just thinking that this was peace.” He remembered that first night when he first held a woman, well, the only woman he’d ever held was Penelope, so it was better to rephrase it as, the first time he’d ever held her. The warmth that came with it, after living for years away from any comforting touch, where people were afraid to touch him, not just because of his reputation, but also because of his status as the Crown Prince. Where he, as a child in the battlefield, wished he could enjoy that camaraderie with his men where they’d pat each other’s back or throw their arms around one another as they got drunk over a mug. Instead, Callisto had spent much of his time in the tent, the men, despite the ease of their relationship, found it awkward to be too drunk around him.

But in that cave, in that moment. He wished they could stay there forever. That he could hold her in his arms forever and bask in that peace and contentment that washed over him. Years had passed but he still felt that way whenever he held her in his arms. Even their children gave him that feeling. Their precious little dragons who never knew the cold isolation of being touch starved because he and Penelope swore their children would never suffer as they had. That they’d have their golden flowery paths and a warm and happy youth filled with nothing but love and laughter.

He smiled mischievously as he decided to end his story there with his new piece of life advice. “In short… a great assassination attempt and a nice damp cave can do wonders for your romance.”

Penelope who had been listening beside him as she held their baby, was touched until he said the last part, hits her husband as he gives another one of those shitty pieces life and romance advice to their impressionable young children.

Over a decade later, Dante found his way into the very cave his parents spent the night in, his lady love who had confessed to him under duress from sword point was by his side after an afternoon spent hunting together and losing their way. He wasn’t that concerned. His parents would no doubt send every single one of the Imperial guards after them, had probably done so by now. Still, he kept his Father’s words of romance in mind and he, as well as his siblings, followed it all to a T. Two months later, he’d discover that he and his lady were expecting as a result of that night in the cave and their little one would be born nine months to the day.

That’s it for part 2 folks. I hope you enjoyed this.

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