#or would he smell like a plague cause... all those bodies he consumed

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie Pt. 143- Phantoms

Summary: Thranduil gets a surprising wake up call. Raven and Legolas get one as well. Josie reels in shame over the prior night's events. A countryside carriage ride begins. Bash finds something gruesome. Narcisse receives a gift. The warlock lord is summoned. He and Bash assess a dire situation. A misleading letter arrives.

*Warnings* language, angst, hangover, GRAPHIC depictions! death, sexual references

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

December 3, 2022

Thranduil was up at the crack of dawn, awakened by the smell of breakfast seeping into the tent and the painful ache of his morning wood in which he scowled at and forced out of his mind for he was anxious to be on his way to Rivendell where he could truly relax with his needy member, and he had one particular destination in mind. His special secret place deep in the forest that he called Moonlight. How he longed for his bare skin to be submerged in the soothing crystal waters it held for much needed rejuvenation of his mind, body and soul.

He glanced over at a sleeping Raven whom he had ordered to sleep in his bed. He had planned to ravage her when they went to bed the prior evening but he had never touched her, for the desire had been lost after hearing your wish, so he slept as far as he could to the edge, facing away from the redhead who reminded him of you from the back. His mind had been plagued all night by Elrond's words and even Raven's about his real feelings and he hardly slept a wink.

As he sat up, his movement awoke Raven and she turned over, stretching and propping herself up on her elbow to look at him with her breasts exposed. Much smaller than yours, the King thought as he raised a brow at seeing Raven in the light for once. Just enough to fill his mouth but not his large greedy hands like yours did.

Forcing his misbehaving eyes from her bare necessities, his eyes reluctantly wandered up her copper strands, to her face. Thranduil was taken aback for a split second as he did not see Raven, but he in fact saw you, smiling your beautiful smile that formed on your cherry lips paired with your sleepy bedroom eyes that caused his membrum virile to twitch.

Thranduil sprung to his feet with a slight gasp and turned to you baring his entire unclad self.

"You...." he whispered as his eyes darted about your face.

"Well...it looks like someone is happy to see me."

Your face then disappeared as Raven's voice washed it away, her eyes wide, staring at his solid seeping cock.

His lips pursed and his eyes slitted as a hot puff of air flared out of his nose. "I thought I told you never to be of her image!"

"Wow. Now I know you still got it bad for my sister, for I have done no such thing. You can deny it all you like, but your cock is a big fat tattle tale."

Thranduil's neck stiffened straight up, more so than his member and just as long. He clamped his teeth so tight, ripples like earthquake waves could be seen in his jawline as he gave the dhampir a wicked glare.

"Get up and clothe yourself! It is time to prepare for our journey....and I desire for my boots to be cleansed of your regurgitation. Take them to the stream by the horses and do so."

As she stood up, instant nausea consumed her. Into the corner she ran to be sick.

"This again?? The silverbane is long gone from your system, so what is the excuse of this atrocity?"

Raven had to think fast, for now was not the time for the Elvenking to know she was with child, and possibly his....or even worse...Jareth's.

"Gimli...all those strange meets he cooked last night. Dwarves are so gross."

"Yes. They are." Thranduil agreed, turning to dress as a tiny curl of delight formed on the side of his lips at her statement.

On her way back from cleaning and primping the Elvenking's leather boots, Raven walked by Gimli, who was stirring some concoction in a pot over the fire that threatened her gag reflexes as the stinky smoke blew in her face.

"Would you like a bowl? This is the last of it." Gimli asked her to be polite.

"What...what is it? It smells like you do." she snarked with a crinkled up nose.

"You don't recognize a cauldron of boiling children? It is just to your liking." the dwarf quipped with a serious face.

"You disgusting little fuck!" she shouted with fiery eyes and kicked the pot over, then ran back to the tent as Gimli roared in laughter.

"Why is it there are tents here fit for Kings, but the food looks and smells of my vomit!" Raven griped as she handed the King his squeaky clean boots.

Thranduil was all dressed in his traveling attire, nibbling on some Lembas and washing it down with wine as he sat a bit angled with his legs crossed, for he was still in a bit of discomfort for ignoring his cock's morning call.

"You drink the vile blood of humans and yet complain of foul smelling food. Be useful. Place my boots upon my feet, then do something with your hair. A bird may want to nest in it."

"I do not see you consuming any of Gimli's stew...and for your information, I do not need blood to survive since I am part human. Normal edible food suffices just fine. Blood to me is just an addicting treat, like sweet wine is to you. You don't need it but you certainly crave it." She sarcastically explained as she tugged at Thranduil's thin unruly footwear, cursing under her breath.

"Adar. We are packed and ready to resume our journey to Imladris." Legolas informed as he stood in the tents open doorway with a quite noticeable look of disgust at Raven' s hands on his father.

"Very well." Thranduil said in exhilaration as he sprung up, then turned to Raven. "Eat some of the bread. You will need it for the long day's teetering travel on the horse. It will settle your stomach, for I do not desire your upheaval in the back of my hair."

"I...I am riding with you?"

"She is riding with you?" Legolas simulated in shock.

"That is where my queen would ride, is it not?"

"Your Queen??" Raven and Legolas simultaneously asked, both stunned.

"Has deafness become you this day?" Thranduil snarked at the both of them.

"Well...why am I riding on the back then if I am your Queen?" Raven asked with a raised brow. "A Queen rides in the front of her King, does she not?"

"She does, when it is official. That will be handled later."

Even then, Thranduil knew he would never place her in front of him. It was where you rode, which is why he did not want her there, for he knew that if he had to stare at the back of Ravens red hair, his mind would betray him with thoughts of you again, just as it had that morning...just as it had in the river. He had made Raven turn away for a reason and it was coming to the point where even that was not working.

"Adar...official? You cannot be..."

"Enough! The start of this day has already questioned me. No more. I will not be interrogated by my own son or Queen of my will."

"It is not your will!" Legolas snapped and walked out.

"Geez. Who pissed on his Lembas?" Raven muttered as she then followed an annoyed Thranduil out.

The morning sun shone in on your face, making you squint and moan in agony of your splitting headache. You gasped and sat up as coos of Leean sounded about the room. There sat Lola, holding her in a rocking chair and Narcisse was nowhere to be seen as your head whipped to the side of you where he had sat stroking your hair before you fell asleep.

"Good morning Josie. If you are looking for Lord Narcisse, he left you a note on the desk. He came and got us this morning."

You immediately held your arms out to your baby. "Can you bring her to me please, and a bottle of the water?"

As you held her, showering her with kisses and smiles, you fed her the bottle and then all the memories of last night came flooding back. What a fool you felt like and was glad Lola did not witness any of it....and Stephane, oh god. He was so right. You would have regretted it in the morning if you had slept with him in such a state of impairment.

"Lola...could you also bring me the note and a large glass of that water as well. My head feels like it's going to explode and the healing liquid will fix me right up."

You chugged it down as Leean's moonstone eyes watched you faithfully in curiosity. Within minutes, your head felt normal again, well, physically anyways and the horrible aftertaste in your mouth was gone too.

You laid Leean down beside you when she was finished with her bottle and then you opened the note.

"Good morning beautiful. I cannot wait to see you for our date. I will have a carriage waiting for us at 9 a.m., for I have a long day planned for us."

-Stephane

"Umm Lola?"

"Yes Miss?"

"What time is it?"

"It is 8 a.m my lad...Josie."

"Oh god!" you reeled as you flung out of bed in a panic.

"What is the matter Josie?"

"I'm late, or going to be for a very important date."

You cringed, knowing you just stupidly recited a line from Alice in Wonderland, a love of fairytales habit of yours.

"Will you make sure Leean is bathed?...I... I was going to do it myself but..."

"Miss...I have already given the little one a bath while you slept. Lord Narcisse asked me to make the morning easier for you."

There was that little one thing again. You did not want to think about Garrett today of all days, for you had a huge surprise for Narcisse and hoped the stableman did as you asked him to....and Stephane...caring about how you felt this morning because he knew you would be severely hungover, even after all you put him through the night prior. He really was an incredible man.

"Ok..Thank you so much. You're a godsend Lola."

You gave Leean a tickle and a kiss, then rushed off to the washroom for your own quick bath.

"Oh Josie! Be sure to dress warm today. It lightly snowed last night and the air has a chill."

You peeked back around the corner. "You're kidding?? It was just like, 60 degrees yesterday. Narcisse wasn't joking. This weather is all out of sorts for December."

Then again, everything was out of sorts since Thranduil left.

It was 8:45 and you were ready. You snuggled Leean a bit more, told her you loved her at least fifty times, then headed out with your stomach in knots, for you still felt so ashamed of last night's events.

The timing could not have been more perfect when you walked outside to see Stephane standing at the Kingly carriage, smiling like a King himself when he saw you.

"Queen Josephine...I see you received my note. You look as lovely as ever, my lady." he said as he bowed his head to you.

You had chosen a long coat with a fur neckline, but only because you knew it was faux fir because Narcisse would never allow such things in his realm.

"Thank you, Stephane. You look...quite handsome yourself."

You felt flushed as the memory of your make out session with him flashed through your mind, sending your stomach into some wild butterfly frenzy.

"Come. Let us be on our way and keep you warm."

Stephane reached his hand out and assisted you into the carriage, then he climbed in and the journey began.

"I have hot tea and a basket full of fruits, breads and cheeses for a morning snack to enjoy on your tour of the countryside. Later I will have a nice dinner prepared for you at my villa, since today is your actual birthday."

"You have thought of everything, haven't you?"

"So that all is perfect for you as you deserve the best."

He was definitely scoring points with you, but what he did last night scored the most when he didn't even score. Most men would have jumped at the chance for a roll in the hay and not have given a damn that you were highly inebriated....but Stephane did.

You opened the basket and snapped off a cluster of purple grapes, your favorite fruit besides cherries and watermelon, and began devouring them, for you were starving. Narcisse helped himself to some cheese and bread and you both ate in silence for some time. You weren't sure where to even begin, so you started with an apology.

"Stephane, I am so sorry for last night. I remember you telling me that it wasn't like me and you were right. I never do that. I feel so stupid."

He leaned forward and took your hand as he smiled. "We all have moments that are not our finest. That horrible fight we had just days ago. That wasn't like me either and I feel stupid as well for how I acted and I feel even worse for how I treated you. I understand your desire to apologize but it is not necessary. Jo, after all you have been through, it was bound to happen. One can only take so much pain before they fall to pieces. I am just glad I was there to pick them up."

"It wasn't like you because it was Catherine's black magic. Yes, that sure was me though. Big old humpty dumpty had a great fall. I could have had a literal one too if you hadn't saved me. God, did I really fly???"

"Like an eagle...just not as gracefully." Narcisse jested with a curled smirk.

"Ughhh....do you think I could do it again? I mean....would you help me? I...I don't even now how I made it happen."

"Your emotions, just as they make all your other powers work, such as the controlling the weather or healing the wounded such as myself."

"Or bringing Haldir back from the dead....Jesus, Stephane...this is so overwhelming. I even had a vision when I touched something."

"Well that is something new as well. What was it? What did you see?"

You had never even stopped to think about how you were going to explain that one without giving away what Garrett did to those two guards, but since they were both dead, what did you have to worry about? The fact you would have to lie to Narcisse is what you had to worry about, but you had to protect Garrett and prayed that Charles would keep his mouth shut, because he too was now lying to his father. You also worried if Arion himself would reveal your truth.

"Well...that is part of your surprise that I told you about. Can we stop by your villa first so I can use the lady's room before we venture out any further?"

"I would like to say we have had enough surprises to last us for quite some time, but...I will admit, I am very curious about what you have been up to, all for little ole me."

Back at the castle, Bash had been informed that two of the guards were missing and since Narcisse was out, he decided to go out to search for them with some other guards in the area they were last accounted for.

"Bash! Over here!" one of the guards shouted.

The deputy assistant rode over to them and dismounted his horse to find a small boat on the shore of a small river with clothes scattered about.

"I must warn you Bash, it is not a sight for the weak stomach."

The warlock's brow lifted in concern and made his way to the craft to find one of their guard and a woman laying inside of it, both unclothed and deceased, covered in blood....and both had their hearts ripped out.

Bash immediately recognized the man as the guard who fled after his drunken encounter with you in the dining hall, and the woman was a known harlot.

"Take care of this. Narcisse will want to assess their bodies. I am going to go locate him. Watch your backs. This looks like the mere sport of a vampire, done solely for the thrill of killing."

Narcisse knocked on the wall behind him to alert the driver to stop just outside of his villa.

"We are here my lady. Would you like me to refill the tea while we are here? Our trip will be at least two hours, for my lands reach far and wide." Stephane asked as he helped you out of the carriage, kissing your leather gloved hand.

"It won't be necessary. Your tea is one of the reasons we are stopping here in the first place." you giggled.

"One?"

You reached up and stroked his cheek as you smiled.

"Turn around."

Narcisse turned to see the stableman and a very happy Arion trotting up to him. His eyes widened as he blinked a few times to process what he was seeing, then he turned back to you with his mouth ajar and his eyes full of discernment over what you had done for him.

"I can't believe it...Arion!"

Narcisse went straight to his faithful companion, looking him all over with such joy and pure love as you stood with teary eyes to witness the happy reunion.

After a few shared head nuzzles between the two, Stephane came back to you wanting answers.

"H..how??"

"Well...when I went to your office to pick out a flower to wear in my hair, I saw the makeshift doll made of hay you told me about that was found in Claude's room. I don't know why, but I picked it up and when I did....I saw him. Arion. And I saw where he was. So...I went to the place, and...there he was. Alive and well. well, a bit weathered physically and sad, but all in all, he was alright."

Narcisse's brow arched as he looked at you with skepticism and you then knew the questions were coming.

"And that was it? You just found him and brought him back? Where was he?"

"Some place South of the castle in the forest. It was near a cliff that held a large round stone broken down dungeon."

Now his head tilted. "That is a good half hour away, at least on horse. Just how is it that you knew where to go by a vision when I know you have not been in that area before?"

"Well...umm...I kind of...asked Charles for assistance and he took me there."

Stephane began fidgeting with his ring like he always does when he is either trying to assess a problem, or when he is nervous. In this case, he knew you were holding something back.

"And? Arion was just there all alone, all this time? How was he being cared for, if at all? Surely if Catherine went to all the trouble to fake his death, she wouldn't have just left him there to rot."

'Well uh...I..I don't know what her plans were for Arion. I think she just wanted you to suffer by believing he was dead and that you had eaten him for your dinner that she served you."

"Jo...that does not answer my question. What are you hiding from me? Should I just go ask Charles, or better yet, Arion?"

"No...no. Stephane...."

You stopped and sighed. You were going to have to tell him about the guards, for he would eventually know they were missing....but you didn't have to tell him what happened to them.

Narcisse noticed your hesitance and walked closely up to you, taking your hands in his against his chest and peering straight down into your eyes as he sweetly spoke.

"Jo...after everything we have been through together...I think I have more than proven to you that you CAN trust me..."

You wanted to so bad, and you in fact did, but not when it came to Garrett, for you knew that if he knew Garrett was involved, he wouldn't be so lenient with him as he was that guard, solely because he was a vampire and a rival for your love.

"Ok...you're right. Stephane, I do trust you. I mean, how could I not after last night. You could have easily had your way with me and you didn't.'

"Then tell me what happened. All of it."

"There...there were two guards there. I don't know who they are. Once they saw Charles, they took off."

"Just like that? With no confrontation, for they obviously were in Catherine's pocket....and they certainly must have known you and my son would not remain quite...yet...you both did?"

"Because it was a surprise for you and if we had told you about..."

"Jo...stop. It's a bit insulting. You knew I would need and want to know of this immediately, for they are traitors."

"I'm sorry. I am not trying to insult you. it's just...well, they left...so I just wanted to get your horse back to the stables and get him the care he needed...and then all that stuff happened with the other guard and then it was time for the party...I guess I just got side tracked...I..planned on telling you all of it today when you saw Arion...and I have. Can that not be good enough for you? I...I brought your beloved horse back to you."

He sighed deeply and his eyes softened. "That you did and I will forever be grateful to you for that. Thank you Jo. You have healed a deep pain in my heart. In fact, you have done many things to my heart that boggles my mind. Do you recall that rare jewel I told you about that I had never experienced? That jewel is you."

That rare jewel was love that he spoke of. Did he just tell you in not so many words that he was in love with you?

Narcisse smiled and leaned down, placing his lips so tenderly upon yours.

His warm peppermint breath was so perfect in the cool crisp air, making you want more. Just as your mouths parted and began to join again, a guard came riding up, dressed in armor.

"My lord Narcisse. Your assistance is needed back at the castle. Bash and others have been looking for you."

Stephane saw the man was distressed. "What has happened?"

"I don't know. I just know that is of dire urgency pertaining to a missing guard."

Your heart sunk, wondering if they had found the one Garrett sent into a swan dive off the cliff, or the burnt remains of the other one.

"Is my brother alright??" Narcisse instantly asked.

"Bash is fine, but from what I have heard, the guard is not."

"Wait, what? Stephane...Sebastian is your brother??"

"One of them yes. The younger one."

"Ohh...I...I guess I am just surprised is all, that I did not know. I should have noticed the resemblance, especially of the eyes."

"Yes...well. I didn't think it was of any importance or I would have told you."

"Just like with Charles...Stephane...you know so much about me...I..I just want to know you too, even the littel things that you think are of no importance. You...are important to me."

He smiled so sweetly and kissed your hand. "I'll tell you what. I need to go handle this matter. You go inside my villa and wait for me. There are plenty of guards here. You will be safe. When I return, we can continue our trip and I will tell you anything about me you wish to know. Is that satisfactory? I will even check on Lola and Leean while I am there."

"O...ok...I..."

"Don't worry love...I won't be long."

He then turned to the driver and the assistant. "Take her inside. See to it she has all that she needs. I want my villa on lockdown until I know the details of what has happened....Jo, go with them."

You reluctantly let go of his hand as you did what he asked and walked back to the carriage. Narcisse, the guard and the stableman then all left with the horses.

"Bash...I came as quickly as I could. What has happened?" Narcisse inquired, slightly out of breath.

"Come...I'll show you."

Narcisse followed Bash and two other guards down to the a sealed off dungeon room used solely as a morgue to store the dead until they were inspected and released to be buried or burned. The odor was anything but pleasant, prompting Stephane to hold a cloth over his nose upon entry.

"I found them in a boat, naked, on the small inlet at the bottom of the drop. Their hearts have been ripped out of their chests." Bash explained.

"No other wounds?"

"None that I could see. I knew you would like to look them over yourself in case I have missed something. Also...I was just informed before you arrived that another body was found at the top of the drop, burnt to ash. It is unclear who it is....and two other guards are missing as well."

Narcisse was quiet as he moved to the edge of the stairs and looked down at the rotting bodies, then he threw a torch down to the floor so he could see. As his eyes scoured the lit up faces, he immediately could confirm seeing the warlock who confronted you in the hall and had fled to avoid Narcisse's wrath.

"I thought you said they were unclothed?"

"They were. Their clothes were there, so...I..."

"You had them dressed?"

"Well, yes. To be respectful."

"Respectful? Do you know what he had done to the Queen?"

"I do. I just..."

"Never mind little brother. I want this entire castle on lockdown until we locate the one or ones responsible for this atrocity. You say it was near the drop...how very interesting."

"Yes...Why's that?"

"What we have here is a monster who likes games. That woman is a well know street walker, but harmless otherwise. She had no enemies. Having their hearts torn from their chests with no other wounds is purely a message from someone evil, a warning even, to show their power and lack of fear. The hearts were a trophy. I also know that there were two guards in that area recently that I know were up to no good and now you say two are missing. It has also come to my attention that a certain vampire has suddenly disappeared from this area with no explanation. A vampire that is solely known for seeking out the bad apples for his meals. A vampire that was once accused of the Lake-town slaughter and maybe that wasn't so far fetched after all."

"I thought the same thing, but vampires don't waste their food, nor leave it as evidence. What about Harker? He was here not long ago."

"As I said, this wasn't a meal, but an act of vengeance for whatever reason...and I think I may know what that reason is. Harker won't be ruled out, for this is very much his style. I know what he is after but right now, I want King Garrett Lee found and brought to me alive for questioning, for things don't quite add up where he is concerned. If you come across Harker, bring him in too. This could also be merely a distraction of Jareth's for a greater purpose, that being of that wretched book. The situation is an equivocal nature indeed. I must get back to my villa to protect the Queen, but first, I must inform Haldir and have him remain here with Leean and Lola. I cannot risk taking them out in the open. Have you seen him?"

"Yes...he was last with the child and Lola."

"And Catherine? She is still secured with no issues?"

"Yes. I checked her only moments ago."

"Good. I will be questioning her myself soon enough. Do not speak any of this to her. Now find me those two missing guards. They will have the answers we seek, if they are still alive.....and watch your back as well brother, and my son's."

"Lord Narcisse." Another guard called to him as he came in.

"What is it?"

"A letter has been left addressed to you, marked urgent."

"Very well. Bash, let us go see what this entails, for I cannot fathom the stench in here any longer."

Stephane went outside for fresh air as he read the anonymous letter, but he knew exactly who it was from due to the information provided within it.

"Coward..." he muttered as he crunched it in his hand.

"What did it say? Who is it from?" Bash desperately asked.

"I now know one of the missing guards is alive as I believe this to be from him, I know his scent...and according to this, the other missing guard is the burnt remains that was found. It would seem I was correct after all. We have a vampire breech. I want Garrett found now!"

@redeemer46

#lee pace #thranduil #thranduil and josie #king thranduil #the elvenking #fantasies #fairytales #magic #love stories #dark stories #witches #warlocks #legolas greenleaf #orlando bloom #craig parker #narcisse #torrance coombs #fantasy fanfic #thranduil fanfiction

[another-lost-mc]

The Attic

First you were his, then you were theirs.

Belphegor x gn!Reader & Beelzebub x gn!Reader

NSFW // Content: Belphegor-centric POV. Sexual content and dark content. Mentions of temporary death/blood/injury (Lesson 16 events), emotional manipulation, blood play, marking, mentions of cannibalism/eating MC, kink and relationship negotiations, jealousy/insecurity, voyeurism. 3.2k words.

A/N: Reader is shared between the twins separately.

Belphegor will never forget the day he killed you. He felt badly after, and he apologized and he atoned for his actions. You found it in your heart to forgive him, somehow, and you accepted his pact with a smile.

He wonders if he should feel guilty that part of him still hasn’t moved on from what happened. Memories of that day still plague his heart – the power he felt when you went limp in his hands, the way your blood trickled down his arms and dripped at his feet, the way your blood smelled. His memories of you are forever tainted by the touch of death.

Sometimes he dreams of the moment when you realized how treacherous he really was.  It happened so fast, the way your eyes widened with fear and your mouth fell open to say something – or to scream, or call for help – before he was upon you.

He wakes up from those dreams and wonders what it would be like to hurt you again. Would it still give him the same dark satisfaction to see your blood stained on his skin? What would it take for you to finally hate him?

Perhaps it would be even sweeter to hurt you now. You trust him, and you love him. Maybe heartbreak would cause your eyes to water so he can lick the salty tears off your cheeks while his nails dig into your skin and hold you still.

What Belphegor wants to know most of all, is whether you recognize the darkness that still lingers inside him. When you look into his eyes and smile, do you know there’s still a predator lying in wait? Do you know that part of him still exists, or do you pretend it doesn’t when you eventually look away from his gaze?

The worst thing you can possibly do is forget that Belphie is, above all else, a demon. He’s not ashamed of it. He wants to consume you, but he settles for second best. He accepts your love and loves you in turn. He has your heart, and he’s as close to your soul as he can get without killing you for it. He wants your body next - the pleasure and pain he knows you can give him, and that he can give you. 

He knows what he wants from you now, how he can satisfy his craving for you, and he knows how to get it. 

It’s not usually a lie when Belphie whines that you spend too much time with his brothers, or that he can’t sleep properly without you there beside him. He dangles the carrot in front of you - a problem he has that only you can solve - and it’s easy to spend more alone time with you and to have you all to himself.

Belphie doesn’t think seducing you will be too difficult either. How hard can it be? He sees the way you look at him sometimes when he catches you staring at him, and he smirks while you glance away quickly, skin flushed from embarrassment. You already share a bed most days, whether for naps or overnight sleeps. He pretends nothing is out of the ordinary when he strips down to his boxers so that the thin cloth is the only barrier between you. He wakes up hard sometimes, and he rubs himself against your hip or your thighs or the swell of your ass, and he knows you can feel him when your breath hitches and your body freezes. 

You don’t reciprocate or make any moves of your own, and Belphie gets frustrated waiting for you to do something.

Does he have to do everything for you?

His subconscious peers into your mind and he watches your dreams at night - he can tell you later that it’s an accident from sleeping together so much if you sense him there. He gets a front row seat to all your filthy, depraved fantasies this way. Even he can’t help but feel a little desperate when you’re moaning and writhing from pleasure underneath some faceless demon’s body while he fucks you senseless.

Belphie knows he could do better.

You both wake up the next morning a little frustrated and even more needy; Belphie’s cock is leaking in his shorts and he holds you to him while he grinds against you. You’re still a little dazed from sleep when you arch yourself against his chest. His tongue follows the trail of sweat up your neck and he sucks a small mark onto the column of your throat until you whimper his name, and he smiles.

“I couldn’t ignore that dream of yours if I wanted to,” Belphie murmurs against your skin when he slides his hand under your shirt and across your chest. “You were practically gagging for that demon to fuck you, and I was right here the whole time.”

He rolls both of you over so he covers your warm, trembling body with his own and presses you even further into the mattress.

“Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll give you what you want,” he whispers against your ear. “All I ask is that you give me what I want in return.” You nod your head in response, whining his name and letting all your pent-up desires fall from your lips. He hides his smug grin in your shoulder when he tugs your clothes out of the wear (the fabric rips so easily) and finally fucks you.

When your relationship with Belphie becomes sexual, not much seems to change at first although Lucifer and his brothers notice that Belphie is even more possessive of you than before. He clings to you and becomes the third wheel to anything his brothers invite you to. They reluctantly accept that you and Belphie are something of a package deal now.

Belphie is nothing less than loving and attentive, especially in public. Others passing by see the same lovestruck expressions on both your faces and don't question how well suited you are for each other. When other demons look at you with interest, or have the nerve to flirt with you when Belphie’s nearby, his aura turns menacing. He’s smug when they skitter away fearfully before the threat in his eyes turns into violence. He knows they won’t make that mistake again.

Some nights you prefer to sleep in your room and not the attic. Your bed is just big enough for the both of you with a bit of room to spare. When Belphie’s darker urges aren’t crashing against the edges of his mind and tempting his self-control, he lets himself be swept away by the sweet love he feels for you.

Sometimes you respond to him like a gentle wave, the smooth ebb and flow of your lovemaking teasing you both over the edge together. He likes to watch you ride his cock, so he can help guide the rhythm of your hips to meet his own.

Some nights he’s impatient for you, clawing off your clothes and maneuvering himself  on top of you or behind you, too desperate to be buried inside you to care about having to do the work today because all he knows is the need to claim, to fill and possess you.

When Belphie’s desires turn bloody, he takes you to the attic. It’s dark and warm and cozy with its oversized bed, piled high with fluffy blankets and pillows for you to nest in once you’re both spent. It’s perfect.

It doesn’t take Belphie long to convince you to let him try something new. He admits that he thinks about it a lot because he wants to be closer to you. He explains his idea in a bashful, playful tone that sounds more innocent than it has any right to be. He knows you’re easily lured in by his gentle pleas and wide, watery eyes.

He promises no pain and no permanent marks, and he abides by the limits you give him and the limits he forces upon himself. He doesn’t want you to die, not at all—he wants to do this so he doesn’t end up killing you by accident if bloodlust overwhelms him.

Usually he cuts you with a blade, making long, clean incisions that ooze deep red and the sight makes him feel a bit more than feral. He follows the trail of blood with his tongue and sucks on the wounds. He drinks his fill while he gives you pleasure to replace the pain. Even though his mouth is busy, his hand moves between your thighs, or he kneels between your legs and grinds his cock deep inside you, or you hold him close to your chest and ride him.

When you’re both satiated and tired after, he whispers healing magic against your skin and offers you a potion he makes specially for these moments. You wake up the next day feeling refreshed and any lingering cuts (or scratches, or bites) he made the night before are completely gone.

For a while, things are good. There are moments of domestic bliss and fun and mischief with him and his family, and there are countless moments of love and lust between the two of you. Belphie’s literal and metaphorical claws are sunk deep, unrelenting in his pursuit of you and everything you are. He doesn’t want to let you go, and he finally feels that he doesn’t have to.

The obstacle Belphie didn’t anticipate is his twin.

Belphie knows you care about Beel, and he knows Beel loves you in his own way too. Perhaps if Belphie didn’t pursue you first, Beel would have tried to claim you for himself.

What Beel explains to Belphie later is that they both share hunger for you. Every time Belphie sneaks back to their shared bedroom after spending time with you in the attic, he smells like your sweat and cum and blood. Belphie doesn’t usually shower after you’re intimate. He crawls into his bed and rolls around in his sheets like a contented cat, marking them with your scent so he can dream of being with you all over again.

While Belphie relives his passionate night with you in his sleep, Beel wakes up sniffing the air and salivating at the thought of being with you too. He rolls over and faces the wall and tries to pretend the smell of you lingering in the air isn’t making him hard as a rock. He never craved you that way before, but now that he's been tempted, he can’t stop. 

Belphie senses there’s something off with Beel and he watches him more carefully. He notices Beel’s eyes linger on you when you enter the room, or he subtly sniffs you as you walk by. His eyes darken just a touch when you walk into the dining room for breakfast, fresh out of a shower, and your warm skin diffuses your natural scent into the air.

Belphie knows Beel struggles with his impulse control when it comes to the things he wants. It’s his sin. He doesn’t understand how deep Beel’s hunger for you goes or if it poses a risk to your safety. It’s a problem he has to address, sooner rather than later if Beel’s increasingly irritable moods are a sign of what’s to come.

Beel finishes lifting weights one evening before bed, but he’s surprised that Belphie is sitting up in their room waiting for him. He must’ve been with you already and left you to sleep alone for the night; Belphie’s hair is tousled and he smells faintly of your sweat.

“We need to talk,” Belphie says to Beel after he closes the door.

The talk is how the twins have worked through most of their conflicts themselves. It’s brutal honesty and hurt feelings laid out bare for both of them to see, and they work through whatever the problem is. They’ve never had something they couldn’t solve before, but Belphie feels grossly unprepared for an ugly conversation he didn’t expect to have.

Belphie sits cross-legged on his bed, pillow on his lap, and faces his twin’s bed. Beel sits on the edge of his bed and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He scents the air again, and even in those loose sweatpants of his, Belphie can see the outline of his brother’s half-hard cock.

Have you always had this impact on his brother too?

“Spit it out. What’s going on?” Belphie asks without any preamble, and he tries not to sound too petulant. There’s no point skirting around the issue - they both know what it is.

Beel seems somewhat prepared for the question because he doesn’t hesitate to offer an explanation. “We’ve always shared everything, but not them. It’s not fair, not when you come to our room with their smells all over you almost every night. I can’t ignore it forever.”

“So what you’re saying is you want me to shower,” Belphie half-jokingly deadpans.

“No, I’m saying I want a taste too.” Beel says seriously, but the growl in his voice makes it almost sounds like a threat.

Belphie's half-cocked smirk falls and his mouth slants into a frown. “You can’t eat them, Beel. I don’t care how starved you are, I won’t let you do that.”

“Your breath smells like their blood when you come to bed most nights, and don’t try to tell me it doesn't.”

Belphie might've underestimated Beel’s keen sense of smell and tries to wave him off. “I make little wounds that I heal after we’re finished. I’m not biting chunks out of them like someone else might.”

Beel looks offended by the implication that he wants to hurt you that way. “I don’t want to do that either. I just want…” he trails off, looking for the right words, “...I just want to be with them, but every day it gets harder to resist. I don't think I'm asking for much.”

Belphie rubs his face warily. “So, what? You just want to fuck them?”

The blunt question catches Beel off-guard, and it's almost cute how the tips of his ears turn pink at his twin's blunt tone. “Well, yes, but...you would let me? The others—”

"I would never offer this to anyone else," Belphie interrupts him, a bit too forcefully as possessiveness sharpens his tongue and shortens his temper. After a moment he shakes his head and chuckles, but it sounds forced. This conversation is exhausting and he feels exposed. “I don’t like having to share, but I like the idea of you accidentally hurting or killing them even less.”

Belphie and Beel spend most of the night discussing the particulars of what this new arrangement with you might look like. They agree to share you but not together, because they're both a little too territorial to tolerate an audience for long. Beel wants permission to take you to the attic because he finds your own bed a little too cramped for his size and Belphie finally relents.

You meet Belphie in his room the next day when he asks you to come. He greets you at the door and gestures to Beel waiting anxiously behind him. “He wants to talk to you about something.” He kisses your cheek and leaves you both to talk in private.

(He tries to nap in your bed while he waits, but even he can’t manage to fall asleep.)

He’s not sure what exactly you and Beel said to each other, and he’s not sure he wants to know all the details. All he knows for sure is that you agreed.

When Belphie sneaks up to the attic to observe your first time spending the night with Beel, he tells himself it's because he wants to make sure his twin doesn’t hurt you by accident. His strength and his appetite are deadly, after all.

It’s not because he’s jealous and wonders if this is a bad idea.

It’s not because the attic is his special place with you, the one place where he can be his true self, and he feels vulnerable letting anyone else up there.

It’s not because he’s worried you’ll realize Beel is the safer option for you and that you might leave him.

Belphie melds like a shadow into one of the dark corners of the attic to watch you together. You don’t know he’s there - his brother’s tongue down your throat is a useful distraction - but he knows Beel knows he’s there. Belphie’s presence is a warning: if you fuck this up, I’m going to make you regret it.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize that the way Beel loves you is different than the way he loves you. Beel is raw power and strength, grunts and deep groans rumbling from his chest when he smothers your body into the sheets. His hands are confident but gentle when they remove your clothes and graze over your skin.

Belphie can’t help but smirk when he hears your gasp of discomfort when Beel enters you. He almost feels bad for you, but he can’t ignore the petty satisfaction that rises inside him. Beel kisses you slowly and murmurs apologies while you adjust to the size of his cock, which is apparently larger than you’re used to.

Perhaps bigger isn’t always better, eh? Heh.

Beel has to be careful with his movements which means he can’t fuck you as fast or as deep as he’d like. But eventually he finds a rhythm, keeping his thrusts shallow and slow at first until your whimpers give way to breathy moans and bitten-off pleas for more.

Belphie leaves the attic before you’re both finished. He'e seen enough and he finally understands what Beel was trying to tell him. They’re two parts of a whole, two pieces that are uniquely different but compliment each other in almost every way.

Beel can give you the slow, passionate tenderness you deserve when Belphie’s razor-sharp bloodlust begins to burn too hot; Belphie can give you everything else.

If their family notices anything different about you or the twins after that, they say nothing. Everyone knows that you and Belphie belong to each other, an unbreakable bond forged secretly in your death and the pact mark that proves it is etched into your skin.

Beel grows protective of your relationship with Belphie as if it were his own. He doesn’t want to take you away from his brother because it's not a competition. He's satisfied now that he’s found a place for himself in your heart. Belphie gives him a small indication to let him know when it’s his turn to warm your bed and visits your dreams after.

Belphie is secretly pleased that you still dream of him the most. 

Sometimes Beel can’t sleep when he knows you and Belphie are sleeping in the attic together. His bedroom feels lonely now when it never used to before. Sometimes he sneaks up to the attic stairs and slides into the bed so he can pull you gently to his chest while his twin curls along your back.

If you or Belphie wake up when he does this, no one says a word. The bed is big enough for all three of you, and there’s room for both of them at your side.

Read more: Beel Masterlist | Belphie Masterlist | OM! Masterlist

#obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphie x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #beelzebub smut #belphegor smut #obey me smut #x reader #gn!reader #obey me

[murdcck]

“DO YOU WORK IN A MORGUE BY CHANCE? You a mortician?”

ONE-LINER SC \\ @blacklyte​

#blacklyte #v ( MCU ) |「 FOR HE IS THE SERVANT OF GOD 」 #( #OKAY #i was trying to think #like what would alex smell like to matt #like... would he even have a smell cause??? VIRUS? #or would he smell like a plague cause... all those bodies he consumed #so... why not both lmao #maybe it just fluctuates #matt: dude you smell like the dead #)

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Vanilla Chain 1

Prompt: Ghost remembers each time they died and that’s how they’ve progressed through challenges most bugs wouldn’t even dream achieving. However, no one else seems to remember and instead they wonder why Ghost reacts badly to simple casual touches.

By @ink-of-void

A dull drone of rain pattered down across the cool stone below. The rain had only served as a buffer to the dull, passive steps of the bugs in the city, or the ever so gentle wing beats in the distance. Occasional creaks and groans would whine from the structures of the city, begging for maintenance or to finally be allowed rest. Each sound, each moment only served to further cement itself in the cacophony of white noise. A symphony of empty sound that echoed into the city's ambience.

It had been hours since the Ghost had stopped in front of the statue. Its small head tilted upwards to face that of the stone, carved to the likeness of its sibling. The inscription below spoke of sacrifice. An Eternal sacrifice. It was almost ironic. How the one forced to suffer was put on display at the apex of the ‘City of Tears’.

Memories began to rise, welling up and bubbling in its shell. They could remember their sibling screaming. How the sound of their cries echoed on deaf ears, or that easing their pain meant rending their own flesh in a desperate attempt to stop the torture. It was a waking nightmare.

They had failed their sibling. Try as they might, time and again, they could not bring it upon themselves to strike that final blow. The cries of the ‘Hollow Knight’ screeching into the black egg as they faded away from consciousness for the umpteenth time. A pang of discomfort manifested in their shell.

Slowly Ghost’s mind went from just their sibling to all the other bugs. Each one of those who slaughtered Ghost without mercy, killed with reckless abandon, or just proved to best them in combat. They were the ones it had defeated in the past. Bugs that had caused them to relive the same ritual of failure repeatedly before finally earning that place of victory. Every misstep, every badly timed jump, every poorly executed attack, It all ended in the same punishment over and over. 
CRaCK.

The pain was almost palpable just thinking about it.

It felt just as new as the first time they were ever defeated. A cold sting of its shell cracking, body being torn limb from limb, crumbling beneath them like old stone. Void spilling from its head and pooling into a free floating shape among those lost to the sickness or those who simply proved superior. Though, the empty feeling of losing its corporeal flesh paled in comparison to what came next.

It was like floating up into an entropy of empty space and confusion. The dark land was void of any life or warmth, disorienting all that passed into its wake. Yet every time, it would be waiting to welcome the vessel back again and again into its crushing, desolate embrace. It felt itself being split in two, one being given back to the world, while the other was forced to remain in limbo until it was saved. But it wouldn't matter, as they would re-awaken only moments later, sitting patiently on a bench back where they started.

The overwhelming sense of exhaustion and dissonance took a toll each time they came back. Missing half of their being and having to fight themselves just so they can regain the broken piece back. All the while, no one else seems to take notice, or even remember what had happened prior. Hundreds of failures, hundreds of deaths, and Ghost could never seem to get used to it. It truly was a burden, one that Ghost often sought refuge from by simply resting a while longer at the bench.

It was a dance with death that always ended in what could be considered a ‘mercy’. The lack of claim to its shade, allowed them yet another chance. But perhaps mercy wasn't the right term. Having to battle your own face, a fragment of your own being… it hardly seemed kind, or fair. Even after returning the shade to its rightful place, the fight wasn’t over. Most of the time, it was only just beginning. There would be no rest. There was never any rest.

However to the spider in red, this tiny bug formed of the void and pale, felt nothing as it cut down everything from vermin to gods. Acting as if death was simply part of a long list of chores, they made it seem effortless. So when she first responded to Lemm’s call, she would be lying if she didn't find it the slightest bit odd that Ghost was simply standing idle. She reached out to them, barely grazing their back with her fingers. “Ghost?-”


Without another moment passing, the vessel whipped around, nail in hand. The slash was quick, the sharp song of the blade ripping through the air as Ghost’s reaction went into motion. Time seemed to slow for a moment, its blind attack not revealing the consequence of its actions before it was far too late. Ghosts cloak finally revealed the bug into its immediate view. Upon seeing the figure, their body tensed, hanging onto the blade with an iron grip. 


Hornet didn’t even realize what happened until she glanced down at her arm. Seeing the deep blue blood dripping from the new slice in her shell was telling enough. It was nothing more than a surface wound if she was honest. Easily fixed with time and bandages. But that wasn’t her concern at the moment. Letting her hand close, she looked over to Ghost with a worried expression.

The vessel stood ready, both hands on its nail as it simply held the weapon in place. A tiny shake was visible at the end of the nail it was brandishing. Their face held no expression, yet its body told Hornet all she needed to know.

“Little Ghost?” She asked quietly, holding up her hands to show she wasn't a threat. “Are you… alright? Lemm asked me to come check on you. He says you’ve been here for hours now.”


Ghost paused for a moment, clicking its head towards Hornet. Realization struck them, causing them to slowly lower their weapon. Their gaze fell to the floor as the nail hit the stone sidewalk with a light clink. Their blade’s shimmering reflection bounced back to the vessel's sockets. Part of it was stained with the blood of their sister, obscuring some of the brilliant reflection. The water occasionally dripped down and cut the image in two, washing away the blood as it did.

Hornet sighed, going over to them and gently knelt down.

“Is something the matter, little Ghost?” the spider chimed softly, going over to touch their shoulder. Ghost recoiled, pulling their shoulder away in a rather aggressive manner. Their head didnt lift, turning instead to focus on their path. They put their nail on their back and began their leave. The spider stood up after a moment, bowing her head with a little shake as Ghost began to disappear


“Even you need to rest sometimes, little one. Please I’m, try to get some.”

-------------------------------

By https://twitter.com/Hell_Yena

-------------------------------

By @nonbinary-ghost​

Rain patters down against your shell like thousands of tiny, icy stones. The drum of it inside your mask and the prickling of it against your small body would normally be unpleasant enough as to be overwhelming; but lost as you are in your thoughts and the twisting waves of emotion trying to drown you, the rain is scarcely enough to ground you. You feel disconnected and distant, as if you aren’t really in control of your body, merely being carried along by the steady movement of your legs.

You gradually realize that you have been wandering like this for a while now. How long, you can scarcely guess, but long enough that your cloak is soaked through, and any scrap of warmth has left you. Dirtmouth had been celebrating the first twelve span of being free of the Infection, and while you had been just as happy as the next bug about the recovery of the town, the celebration had filled you with a nameless, twisting dread. And then all the lights and the sounds and the smells and the touching had left you reeling and sick. So you ran.

It could have been hours since then. You have no way of knowing. You don’t quite remember deciding to come to the City of Tears either. You just let your thoughts blur into a black haze, pointed your mask to the ground, and let your feet carry you wherever they wanted to go. You hadn’t expected to find yourself standing before the statue of your sibling. You simply realized that you were staring blankly at the inscription along the statue’s base.

“Through its sacrifice, Hallownest lasts eternal.” Something hot and prickly bubbles up inside of you at the words, making your shell itch and crawl like when you fall in acid. Hornet had once explained the feeling as anger. Why are you angry? You puzzle over it for a moment, resisting your initial urge to strike at the plaque with your nail and scratch out the offending inscription. Instead, you read over it again, feeling the anger boil deep in your belly.

Sacrifice. That’s the part that makes you angry. Sacrifice implies choice. Hollow had no choice in sealing the Radiance. You hadn’t had any choice. None of your siblings had any agency over anything that happened to them. No, none of you were giver the choice to make sacrifices – you were the sacrifice. And for what? Hallownest still fell. So many bugs died, so many cultures were consumed by the plague and lost to dust and rot. All of your siblings, but Hollow and Hornet especially, still suffered and struggled. Yes, you had eventually killed the Radiance, but that hadn’t been part of the Pale King’s plan. He didn’t even know about Godseeker, didn’t even consider that there might be another way that didn’t involve condemning his child to an eternity of suffering. No, your “Father” had expected all of you to “sacrifice” yourselves to the seals and suffer in silent mystery to keep the Radiance contained. How dare he imply any level of choice in what happened to your siblings.

“Ghost?”

The soft question yanks you painfully from your thoughts and you feel as if you slam back into yourself. You are suddenly very aware of the rain hitting your mask, of your hands clenched into fists.

Of the dark shadows that had begun to flicker like flames around you receiving back into you. You spin to find Hornet standing on one of the nearby signposts, her red cloak so damp it nearly looked brown and her needle poised as if prepared to zip away at any moment.

“Are you alright?” Her stance relaxes somewhat as the shadows fade. You don’t know how to answer, so you simply turn away. You look up at your sibling’s likeness looming over you, proud, regal, poised. Not at all like the desperate, brutal Pure Vessel you were forced to fight in Godseeker’s Pantheons. Not at all like the sick and injured bug that you freed from the black egg temple after killing the Radiance.

“Do you need to be alone?”

You shrug. The happiness and celebration in Dirtmouth had been overwhelming, and you had wanted to be alone then. But now, a part of you mutters discontentedly. You’re lonely, and maybe Hornet of all people could understand these feelings. She was the only one besides Hollow who might. “I’m angry,” you sign, pointing at yourself and making a sharp gesture with both hands. Hornet has slowly been teaching you and Hollow the sign language used in the Hive, but none of you are all that good with it yet. It often requires body language and facial expressions for certain distinctions between similar signs – a difficult feat to accomplish when your face is a mask. Hornet follows your gaze and hops down to join you.

“About the statue?”

You point to the inscription.

“We didn’t have a choice,” you sign furiously. “We failed. And now what’s left?”

You stop, a dawning realization creeping through you. That was why you’re angry. Why you’re discontent even though by all accounts you had succeeded. You defeated the Radiance, ended the Infection, freed your sibling, and even survived channeling the Void Entity. You are free to do whatever you want now, but you slowly realize that this new freedom is what has you feeling so distant. You and your siblings were all created with a purpose, and now, with that purpose gone, you have nothing left. You have no other skills but fighting. No passions, no home, no culture to rebuild. You and Hollow are free, but now what is left for you? Your Father had sacrificed your futures, not just your lives, and now you are feeling lost and separate from the bugs around you. They had all suffered through the plague, lost loved ones and homes. But they had passions and dreams to guide them and give them hope. You only have nightmares that keep dragging you into the past, making it impossible to look forward to the future.

“Who am I supposed to be, now?” you finish limply. The anger is gone, replaced with a choking sorrow. Your breathing feels thick and heavy. Hornet holds out a hand, hesitating before touching you to make it an offer, and you lean into it, letting her hand rest lightly between your shoulders.

“What the Pale King did, what he demanded of all of us, was unjust,” she said at last, an ember of her own rage warming her words. “There is nothing that can change that. You and Hollow and all the others deserved so much more. But Ghost,” she kneels so she can look into your mask with such honest ferocity that your breath hitches in your chest. “You are so much more than what our Father made you. You are not just a weapon or a tool. You never were. There is a future for us now, because of you. I know it will be had. It will be scary. Change always is. But we have each other – you, me, Hollow, all of Dirtmouth – we are all here to support each other. We are all learning and growing past everything that happened. I promise, none of us are going to leave you behind again.”

A tightness forms in your throat at her words and your vision blurs as that heaviness in your chest tightens. That promise to not be left behind again stirs a confusing blur of emotion that you can’t make any sense of. It doesn’t feel good, but it doesn’t feel bad either.

“Can I hug you?”

You nod and lean into her touch, the weight and warmth of your sister’s arms doing more to ground you that the rain. For once you feel … safe. Something inside you cracks, like an old shell you’ve grown too big for, and suddenly you’re crying. For everything you went through, for everything you lost, for everyone who didn’t survive to see the same light of freedom. You sob, clutching at Hornet’s cloak.

You finally let yourself mourn everything that brought you here.

And tentatively hope for everything that might come to be.

-------------------------------

By @brimal-baspid​

-------------------------------

By @martin-ftw​

The rain pours heavily in the city of tears.

The knight walks up to the fountain square. They look upon the fountain, where the Memorial to the Hollow Knight resides.

The knight inspects, "In the Black Vault far above. Through its sacrifice Hallownest lasts eternal." as Hornet dashes in with her needle.

"Again we meet little ghost." Hornet started, "... seek the Grave in Ash and the mark it would grant to one like you."

After finishing her guidance for the knight, she added, quietly, "Are you, perhaps, even a little, afraid?"

The water flows through the fountain endlessly, yet the knight remains emotionless.

Hornet giggles to herself, "hmmhmm, that's right, no voice to cry suffering, best of luck to your journeys little ghost."

After a few seconds of silence, Hornet raised her needle and hopped onto the ceiling.

The knight pauses, and dashes right to the opened door, leaving only the sounds of rain splashing the water fountain and flapping of wings from the lumaflies.

At the front door of the Pleasure House, the knight inserts the simple key and opens the door, walking in as Hornet follows. With the beautiful singing by Marissa, the knight goes on the long elevator ride as Hornet clings onto the elevator.

“About to learn your troubled past, aren't you little ghost?" Hornet asks inside the hot spring, while the knight sits on the bench.

The knight nods while opening their map and picking off one of those scarab markers, moving it to the bottom right of the map.

"Though I have underestimated your power, do you think you've got what it takes? To preserve the future of hallownest?" The knight does not know how to answer, they stand up from the bench and pack up their map.

"Exit's on the right, break the wall down to King's station," Hornet says while thinking to herself, could this one succeed? The knight swings their nail at the wall, breaking it open with a loud crack, and heads downwards.

Hornet sat in the spring by herself.

Guarding the cast-off shell is her job - she knows she has to fight the knight one more time, to ensure the knight is ready to finish their quest even after seeing their conception and past. She sighs, all rested, and stands up; knowing she's much faster than the knight in traversing the Hallownest, she raises her needle and swings out of the pleasure room, down to the Kingdom's edge she goes.

“Perhaps this one would be strong enough. They made it so far, don't fail me now little ghost" She quietly mumbles, before pointing her needle towards the entrance of the arena,

"So you'd pursue the deeper truth? It isn't one the weak could bear. Prove yourself ready to face it. I'll not hold back..."

With the wind blowing harder and louder in the edge of the world, the fight begins, the sentinel of a fading land and the vessel to save Hallownest.

-------------------------------

By @potentialforart​

-------------------------------

By @starstress​

They crouch, body full of tension, and they stare on ahead at their target. The platform is right there, waiting for them like a pedestal.

They jump.

Soaring through the air, quick and steady, they reach out, claws stretched and yearning.

There, they think. Right there.

And as the edge comes right by them, confidence blooms inside their chest, sure that they'll reach it. Their outstretched claws brush by a single tiny pristine leaf, one in a dozen, green and lush. It bounces right back into place as they are claimed by gravity.

They fall onto the lower platform, the moss softening their landing. They look up, and disappointment is a small bitter ball in their stomach, but they brush it aside. The stone edge they were aiming for now looms above them unforgiving. They will not let it discourage them, they will try again.

They want to know. They need to know. Who that red-clothed bug was, and why they felt such a pull to her.

----

Through stretching lush highways and seeming ceilingless and bottomless caverns, they push onwards. They’re spurred ever on by glimpses of rushing red, pale horns and swishing silk.

They would have expected the constant green to become monotonous by the time they reach a bench locked behind a gate, guiding them ever higher, but the shrub and moss-covered land surprises them still. From keeping them on high alert constantly and mercilessly, to undeniably charming them through towering leaf-embroidered architecture and statues, simple but beautiful blooms filling the air with glittering pollen, and soft chimes of birdsong, Greenpath has carved a spot in their heart that they can’t believe can ever be topped.

Still on they go, for though they wish to properly explore, they know that that can wait. They heal themselves, fill in the map with all the paths and twists and turns that they have crossed, put on the few charms that they have gathered, and stand up. They look ever upwards and hope they’re drawing closer to wherever the red-clothed person might be leading them.

----

There--

They rush forward, into the air and off the moss-covered stone ledge, eyes locked onto the red figure. Behind them, a gate slams closed, but though the sound echoes in the small clearing, they pay it no mind.

They land on steady feet, leaf softening the sound of their fall.

There she is--

They've found her.

The red-cloaked bug, in all her stern and decisive figure.

She is encompassed by engraved and moss-covered pillars of stone, but still she towers over them, despite only being about twice their own height.

Her dark eyes, but not as dark as theirs, no one with as dark as theirs, never, track their every move, ready to act, ready to cut down. They stare at her and she stares at them, a contest of wills.

She raises her blade - her needle - and they rush to mirror her.

Soft light streams down, from in between greenery, though they not know not its source, and halos her in pale light.  And though this is their first proper encounter with her, the red bug feels familiar, like they know her mask, the shape of her eyes, like they once gazed, even briefly, upon those features in a past life.

Nevertheless, her stance is rigid and unforgiving.

No further, her eyes scream even before she deems them worthy of words, no further I will allow you, until you prove yourself.

They tighten their grip upon their nail, and shove back into their void all pangs of sadness. This is a fight for their life, and, more than ever, a fight for their existence.

Maybe, after they defeat her, they can ask her why she feels like family - lost, but found again.

-------------------------------

By @dovalore​

-------------------------------

By @jonsilverstone​

https://soundcloud.com/jachym-hajek/vanilla-1-july-21-jon-silverstone-hornet-v-hollow/s-8IcY8UIzrtg

-------------------------------

By @alaska-ren-works​

“Do you want to just fulfill the wyrm’s standards or do you want to make me proud, Princess of Hallownest?”

Hornet tightened her needle’s grip and lowered her stance. Heart calm and mind steady, she didn’t feel the rise of a subtle smirk on her face. This was her moment she had trained for in the Hive. Not to be the pale wyrm’s spawn, but to be the Daughter of Deepnest.

“You will see my answer soon, Mother.”

Weavers and bugs alike stood in solemn excitement as Herrah, Beast and Queen of Deepnest, circled the princess. Her white mask hid her emotions, but Hornet could more than feel the queen’s wide grin. Herrah twirled her own needle in her hand, a feat that impressed Hornet to no end as that very needle was longer than she was tall.

“Very well.” With a final step, Herrah faced Hornet with her needle at the ready. “You know the rules and so do I.”

Hornet nodded. As the lower-ranked of the two, Hornet must make the first move. Everyone and everything turned still. Watching. Waiting.

With a resolute bang of a drum, Hornet yelled, “Garama!”

The crowd roared with the start of the duel, but Hornet only heeded her opponent. She speared her needle forward and as Herrah jumped away, she reeled it back. Herrah dodged the attack and closed in on Hornet. The young spider darted away right before Herrah’s needle slashed through the space she just left.

When it came to brute strength, Hornet would lose in an instant. But she was smaller, faster, and more agile. If she could avoid a direct hit, she might have a chance at winning this.

Hornet rolled away as another strike whistled too close for her liking. She slashed her needle upwards, forcing Herrah to jump back. Taking this, she jumped into the air and released a storm of silk.

When her feet landed, Herrah slammed into her. Her breath wrenched out of her chest as she flew then skidded on the floor. It was a miracle she was still on her feet. With her head bent, she did not see the pride glimmer in her mother’s eyes before the queen composed herself.

Herrah’s head turned when the ravelling of silk sounded above her. The whistling of an incoming needle alerted her and the Beast parried Hornet’s thrust.

In Herrah’s moment of distraction, Hornet covered the arena in sticky silk traps. Now, this was where Hornet shines. She darted between the silk

strands and rushed at Herrah, the bigger spider now pressed for space. Strikes and slashes were landed and blocked, and Herrah growled. The next second Hornet rushed in, Herrah took hold of her and used her momentum to throw her far. Hornet flipped in the air but stumbled on her landing. Looking up, Herrah’s needle swung in a wide arc, destroying the nearby threads.

Mother and daughter studied each other from opposite ends of the arena. Hornet felt fatigue settle in her bones and her lungs struggled with big gulps of air. Herrah stood tall and her giant nail held steady, but Hornet could see her chest moving quickly.

“What do you think about heading over to the hotspring after this, huh?” Hornet’s eyes widened at Herrah’s invitation.

“Y-yes, Mother!” Hornet reddened at her stuttering voice. She cast out her exhaustion and readied her stance.

Herrah grinned as she raised her needle once more. “Then let’s make this worth it.”

#hollow knight #hollowknight #telephoneknight #vanilla #hornet #ghost

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

mango, m | jjk | 2

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: A love story between bad boy Jeon Jungkook and a strange girl with mango eating obsession.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of parental abuse and suicide; suggestive words/actions; alcohol consumption; mentions of nightmares plaguing the reader; non-idol!AU - university!AU; badboy!Jungkook x sociallyawkward!reader, ft bestfriend!Hoseok and friendly!Namjoon

--

1.

-

Your head leaned against the wall of the library. Too many books around you, research paper already outlined for you seminar class. That was good. You only needed a partial outline next week and you would finish tweaking the outline tomorrow. You phone was open beside your papers, screen blaring at you.

Jungkook’s text, asking where you were. Your reply.

Library.

No further information. A guy like that probably never stepped foot in a library his entire life.

You closed your eyes. Placed your arms over your papers, sighing softly. You were in one of the study rooms in the upper floors of the library, where all the scientific journals were.

Why had you given him your phone number like that?

Self-destruction.

You turned your head the other way, eyeballs shifting under your closed lids.

Guys like that only cause self-destruction.

Your thumb ran over your glossy nails. You wondered if he would be mad at you for associating yourself with someone who looked dangerous and wild. Maybe he would tell you it was a bad idea. Maybe he could make you see reason. All you had to do was call him and ask for his opinion.

I’m sorry, Hoseok.

You ran your other thumb over the nails on your other hand. The little stickers caused raised bumps, but none of them had peeled off yet. You pressed your thumb down on one of them.  At least he was still there, with you in this way.

A soft blackness swallowed you up, taking you into deep slumber.

Then, a coated sweetness pressed against your lips. A familiar taste. You opened your mouth and the thin, flat piece of dried fruit slid partway in. Your teeth stopped it. Spun it slowly with your tongue. Then it went into your mouth. Chewed.

Opened your eyes.

Jeon Jungkook, standing over you.

Holding a pack of dried mango. Eating a piece, his straight white teeth gnawing at it. Pink lips closing around the orange fruit. The mole under his lip danced with movement. His brown eyes were darker due to the harsh fluorescent overhead light. Tan skin glowing, black hair slicked back with too much gel, revealing his clean undercut. Leather blazer over a low-cut black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black backpack far too deflated to be holding much.

“Don’t know how you eat this stuff,” Jungkook said absentmindedly. He sat down on the chair next to you. Scooted closer. You could smell his cologne. Something sharp, but clean. “It’s not bad, but I couldn’t eat packs and packs of it like you.”

You lifted your head. “Habit.”

He nodded. “I noticed you do it whenever I talk to you.”

You chewed slowly.

“I don’t talk to people.”

“Hmm.”

He looked you over. Black turtleneck. Maroon oversized hoodie. Black flared miniskirt. Black opaque tights. Black boots with a ten-centimeter platform.

“What do you do for fun?”

You reached over and stuck your hand into the pack of dried mango. Picked a piece and placed it in your mouth. Sat back in your chair as you chewed on it.

“I don’t have fun.”

Jungkook sucked his teeth. It seemed like he was trying to unstick some candied fruit from them. “You seem like the creative type though. Moody and artistic.”

You shifted your eyes, staring into the bookshelves. “Creation is meaningless without an audience.”

Jungkook scratched his nose. “Maybe you just don’t want anyone to know what you’re thinking.”

You stopped chewing.

You turned your head to face Jungkook. He frowned at the packet of dried mango and placed it on the desk, sliding it to you. Then he noticed you staring at him. His lips curved into a slow, sly smile.

“You doing anything tonight?”

-

You didn’t go to parties.

Never. In your entire life. Not even a birthday party. You didn’t have birthday parties yourself either.

You only remembered beatings on your birthday.

You stood at the edge of the lawn, looking up at the large house. Too many people. Too much drinking. Too much danger. You reached into the center pocket of your maroon hoodie, pulling out a piece of dried mango. Slowly placing it in between your teeth. Spinning it. A couple was making out on the porch, pressed against the wall. Sucking the dried mango in your mouth. On the other side of the porch, a girl was slapping another guy and tossing the contents of a red plastic cup at him.

Chewed.

You shouldn’t have come. This wasn’t where you belonged.

A strong hand gripped your upper left arm. Familiar fingers. Long, strong ones, with small tattoos.

“How long you been standing out here?”

Alcohol on his breath.

“How much mango you consumed in that time?”

You held out an empty cellophane bag.

“Wow. Impressive.”

You chewed. The fingers let you go. They danced up your shoulder.

“You don’t seem to be bothered when I touch you.”

You swallowed.

“That’s because it’s obvious what you want.”

Jeon Jungkook chuckled. Deep and amused.

“But talking bothers you?”

You exhaled. Took out another piece.

“Words, intentional or not, leave everlasting scars far longer than a meaningless fuck.”

You placed it in between your teeth.

“Do you think it will be meaningless?” His voice was low, treacherous.

You paused. His fingertips balanced on the shoulder of your hoodie. A gust was wind made your black skirt flutter against your thighs. You felt nothing. Not cold, not hot. Nothing but those fingertips balanced on your shoulder. You sucked in the piece of mango and chewed. You could walk away. Not provoke him anymore and not try to walk through that fire.

You could back away and continue on your tightrope, high above.

But if you were already standing on this street, in front of this house, didn’t that mean your feet were already on the asphalt? Weren’t you already on the ground, wandering down that lost highway?

“There is no meaning in the arms of a stranger.”

You reached for your hoodie pocket again but his fingers wrapped around yours. Stopping you. Pulling you to him. Face shining in the moonlight, brows furrowed as he looked down at your face. Thick silver chain glinting at his throat. Dark hair slicked back but falling apart due to the events of the night. Eyes like the dark side of the moon.

He leaned down.

You could feel his breath against yours. Alcoholic, but somehow not unpleasant. It mixed with his sharp, clean cologne and the leather of his jacket. You saw his eyes flicker. He was really staring deeply into your eyes. He was as handsome as everyone said he was. You tilted your head at him.

Guys like him were always looking for a target. A puzzle to solve. The harder and more difficult it was, the better the thrill. That’s how it was and that’s how Jeon Jungkook was. So, you stood there. Waiting for him to do it.

Thing was, Jungkook wasn’t doing anything.

He finally backed off; expression unreadable. You pulled your hand out of his.

“Let’s go on a walk. I have to sober up.”

You looked from the house to him. He cocked his head. You two began to walk, stepping into the moonlight. Not touching each other, but walking side by side. The silence was deafening. He wasn’t speaking to you. Not even looking at you. You placed your earbuds into your ear and put on some violin music.

“What are you listening to?”

You jumped, surprised he noticed. Jungkook tilted his head at you. You handed him one of the Samsung buds. He placed it in his ear, tucking his hair back. Profile illuminated by the moon, nodded slowly at he listened.

And then you two walked, serenaded by violins.

-

Jungkook texted you and showed up in the library again. You were in the middle of writing your seminar research paper. To be honest, he was a welcome distraction. The scientific articles were giving you a headache.

He handed you a piece of dried mango before speaking.

“Let’s date.”

You blinked at him. Jungkook grabbed a seat and sat down, taking out a slice himself. You placed the piece of dried mango in your mouth and chewed slowly. He watched you the entire time, chewing with you, staring at your lips. You swallowed, sighing.

"Jungkook, you don't want to date me."

He nibbled at another piece of dried mango. "Pretty sure I do."

You took in a deep breath, feeling the annoyance rise in your chest. "Your body is the literal reincarnation of Adonis himself and you radiate bad boy vibes like nobody's business. You would ruin your image by dating the strange girl with a dried mango obsession."

Jungkook chewed slowly. "That's the first time your tone has changed with me."

You froze, realizing that too. Realizing that, for once, you were actually irate instead of being objective or apathetic about it. You were not making an ambiguous comment or philosophizing humanity. You were just stating what you were thinking straight up.

"And, anyway, you're the literal reincarnation of sex goddess Aphrodite herself, so there should be no problem if you're worried about looks."

"That's not..." You cut yourself off, not bothering to correct him. "You can barely see my body."

Jungkook's eyes traveled down to your legs. Your black pantyhose-covered legs, with your short red skirt and black hoodie. He reached out and grabbed your hand. You tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. 

"True, your skin is always covered," he mumbled.

Then Jungkook pressed your hand into his crotch. 

Your eyes widened, feeling his semi-hard length in his jeans. He let go of your hand and you recoiled as if burned. Did he really just–?

He gnawed thoughtfully. "And yet every time I hear your voice, that happens to me."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sexual attraction is not a solid foundation to a relationship."

"It's not," Jungkook agreed, grabbing another piece of dried mango. Then his eyes flickered to you, dark and serious. "I just didn't like how you dismissed my physical attraction to you so easily." He went back to nibbling. 

You looked away; ears hot. "In the end, all you want is to boast that you fucked me."

"That was my original intent, yes." You snapped your head back, furrowing your brows. Jungkook inspected the dried fruit, licking some sugar off. Your stomach flipped a little as you watched his pink tongue. "But now I want to take you on dates, hold your hand, and make you eat real meals that aren't only composed of candied mango."

You looked down at your lap. "I'm not a hand-holding kind of girl."

"Then I'll hold your ass."

A muscle in your eyebrow twitched. You glared at him, but he was smiling, popping the mango in his mouth. 

"One date. And then we'll see how it goes."

You closed your eyes. Inhaled deeply. You could say no. You could refuse and tell him to leave you alone and never speak to him again. You could and maybe you should. Because once he knew... he would know. You chewed on your lip. Fear was an understatement. And you were afraid because you knew the truth. If there was a flame between you two, the truth would likely snuff it out. 

Was that better or worse than you smothering it yourself?

"Before we go on a date," you said quietly but firmly. "I need to show you something."

-

“Okay. What is it that you have to show me?”

You were standing in Jeon Jungkook’s apartment. Different day, different clothes. He was wearing a loose leather jacket, white shirt, and distressed acid-wash jeans. He stuck his hands in his pockets. Black hair slicked back as usual, sculpted dark brows framing intense brown eyes. Even though he was dressed like a delinquent, his apartment was well-kept and clean. It was one of the student apartment complexes, decently expensive, segregated for men and women. Not that it mattered, since you were obviously standing there right now.

You were wearing your black turtleneck and flared black miniskirt. But instead of your usual opaque pantyhose, you were wearing black thigh-high socks. They made you very uncomfortable and not because Jungkook was staring at the sliver of exposed flesh. To be honest, you couldn’t care less if he was staring or not.

You chewed on you lip, clutching your messenger bag.

You really wondered if you should show Jungkook. Your thumb ran over your nails. Painted royal blue with raindrop crystals. You asked Hoseok to do them for you this time. He was excited to pick a design and style for you. Asked you what it was for and you said you just felt like it.

Hoseok was very happy to hear that.

Jungkook seemed to sense your unease.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. “Do you want a piece of man–”

You shook your head furiously. Just do it. Do it and maybe he’ll leave you alone. Do it and he’ll understand this is a bad, bad idea.

You took a deep breath and bent at the waist. Then you yanked down both your thigh-highs, all the way to your ankles.

Jungkook gasped sharply.

You stared down at your legs. At the knife scars, mostly on your calves. Some white and thin, but there were a few big dark ones, knotted and twisted from the skin trying to grow back evenly but failing. Your legs were quite pale too. They never saw the sun.

You hated looking at them. They reminded you of why you had nightmares.

“What… happened?”

You didn’t look at him. His normally smooth, suave voice was trembling. Confused.

You sucked in your lips and clicked your tongue.

“My father was not a nice man. I was an only daughter and he was not happy about it. Perhaps he was never happy about life to begin with. He reminded my mother and me about it constantly.” You straightened, still not looking at Jungkook, but no longer wanting to look at yourself either. “He beat us up a lot. At the time, I really thought that was how it was. Men lost their temper sometimes. Happens. What else am I supposed to think?” You shrugged. “But it was always slapping around, the occasional punch. Not that bad, perhaps.”

You had to remember to breathe. Breathe.

“But when I was twelve, thirteen, it got worse. I don’t know if it was because my mom was slowly fighting back or if work became more stressful and he acted out, but the reason doesn’t matter. He simply got worse. Things thrown at us. Years of insults made them cut deeper, harder. He pulled a knife on me, when I was home alone and my mom was at work.”

You had to swallow hard, trying not to go back there. Trying not to get too detailed, because the nightmares already did that for you. You pulled up your sleeves. There were a few unpleasant scars there too, but nowhere near as bad to your legs.

“Anyway,” you continued. “I think he thought I was bleeding out or dead. My mom, feeling that something was off, decided to come home early. I don’t think I would be alive if she hadn’t thought to do that.” You inhaled deeply, pausing for a moment before continuing. “My father took his car and drove to the other side of town. Drove to a deserted area and ended his own life with the knife he cut me up with. I don’t know if it was guilt or fear of being exposed. But it doesn’t matter. I went to the hospital and stayed there for a long, long time. Not because of the cuts or almost bleeding out, but because I had to talk to a lot of psychologists. A lot of counselors.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out the pack of dried mango. “My mom would buy me these. She couldn’t visit often. She had to sell the house and work overseas to pay all the medical bills. Maybe she has a hard time seeing me too.”

You chewed on your lip, shoving it back into your bag.

“I look more like my father, unfortunately. And, even though I understand what has happened to me, I can’t escape it. I see it every day in the mirror. I am reminded all the time. I can’t talk to people unless I’m eating dried mango. It’s a stupid tick, but my therapist told me once that it was better than cocaine, so, whatever, right?”

You chuckled darkly, feeling empty.

“And I have nightmares. They don’t go away. When I take medication, it gets worse, so I don’t try anymore.”

You kept your eyes on the wall, still not looking at him.

“You’re handsome, Jungkook. Handsome, decently smart, could clean up well,” you said, still gnawing on your lip. “I’m not pretty like the other girls you hang around with. I don’t get to wear what I want because I don’t want to be asked what is wrong with my skin. Sometimes, I wake up screaming, remembering everything that happened that night. I eat way too much dried mango and speak like a fucking robot.” You closed your eyes and sucked in a shuddering breath. “I spend a lot of time trying to not feel anything. I’m not okay. You shouldn’t date someone like me.”

Silence.

Ten seconds past.

Then, the creak of leather. You suddenly felt his presence right in front of you. Strong arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. The sharp, clean scent of his cologne, the thinness of the white shirt revealing his toned torso. Well, the reaction wasn’t disgust. Maybe it was pity and that was worse. You did not want a pity fuck.

“At the risk of something insensitive,” Jungkook murmured quietly into your hair. “Your battle scars are really fucking cool.”

… What?

You laughed.

You laughed, because, what? That wasn’t a reaction you expected. Your laugh was raspy and kind of gross, considering you hadn’t laughed like that in years. But you laughed into Jungkook’s chest, laughed because it was ridiculous, laughed because it was a little insensitive, laughed because you didn’t care. No one who knew about your scars ever said anything like that. Everyone else was very serious and solemn, pity in their eyes as you explained.

Jungkook buried his face into your hair. You could feel his smile.

“Your laugh is cute.”

You wheezed, shaking your head a little. “It isn’t. I didn’t even know I could laugh,” you choked out weakly, breathless.

You felt him kiss the top of your head. You froze, a shiver running through you.

“You know,” Jungkook murmured. “I was really nervous in the library when I was asking you out.”

You didn’t reply. Couldn’t breathe, really.

“I found myself continuously eating that mango. I think you rubbed off on me.”

You remembered. And then you realized.

“You only ate one piece though,” he muttered. “It made me even more nervous, honestly. I just kept eating to keep my mind off it.”

Was this… was this the first time you had an entire conversation with Jeon Jungkook without eating mango at one point?

The only person you weren’t like that with was Hoseok, and that was because he was your oldest friend. The only friend who knew it all, who witnessed your bruises and tear-stained cheeks. The only friend who saw you in hospital gowns and did his best to cheer you up. Drawing pictures with you, making bracelets. Telling you that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be your daily dose of sunshine, your hope, never getting discouraged. There weren’t romantic feelings between you two, but there was love, and you were eternally grateful that Hoseok never gave up on you.

Jeon Jungkook?

He was just the annoying kid who kept trying to copy your Chemistry homework.

“You’re… not that bad at Chemistry, are you?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Nah. I always do the homework. I just wanted to annoy you.”

“You are, indeed, very annoying.”

You two stood there, Jungkook hugging you, your thigh-highs at your ankles, clutching your bag. To be honest, you thought it would have been a lot weirder. But somehow, it was kind of nice. You were okay with it.

“Where do you want to go on our date?” Jungkook suddenly piped up.

You spoke into his chest. “We’re still going on a date?”

He hugged you tighter. “Yeah, of course.”

You were pressed against his body, held so close that your ribs felt like they were being crushed.

“Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Something is poking me.”

“… Please ignore him. He doesn’t know time and place.”

A few silent seconds passed.

“I mean, maybe you needed some reassurance that I still think you’re fine as hell.”

“He’s getting bigger.”

“I told you to ignore him.”

-

3.

--

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

[entishramblings]

Hush Now [Aragorn X Reader]

A.N: So I cut the request a little short as it was pretty long but I think I still fullfilled what was asked for the most part. Additionally, read the warnings before reading. Also, if you ever need help or are in a rough spot, please reach out.

Request: Anon — Would you be comfortable writing a comfort fic with Aragorn and reader? (obviously don’t write this if you’re not in the mental capacity to do so!!! Your health and happiness come first and foremost.) Reader is, in general, recovering from anorexia, alcoholism, suicidal ideation, self-injury, and PTSD. Maybe she’s in the thick of all this and Aragorn starts picking up on the fact she’s not eating, she’s cutting, and that she’s planning to kill herself? Idk. I’m just in a rough spot and could use some comfort fic if you’ve got the time/energy/etc.

Pairing: Aragon X Reader

Summary: Reader is struggling a lot and Aragorn notices.

Word Count: 990

Warnings: suicidal ideation, self-harm, eating disorder, ptsd, fluff

MASTERLIST | AO3

.....read the warnings before reading.....

Being a ranger of middle earth meant that you had clearly seen some shit. There is no other word for it—just: shit. And, quite frankly, (Y/N) would be lying if she said that it didn’t affect her. Every time she closed her eyes, the horrified chill of what she had witnessed and been through engulfed her—taking over her life one aspect at a time. It consumed her every being—every second, every minute, every hour. Every face she couldn’t save, every soul she couldn’t rescue, every being she could not forget—it haunted her.

If they didn’t get to live, why should should she?

Why should she survive when they didn’t?

It plagued her.

That is why she joined the quest to destroy the ring. Not for the honor or fame; no, not for those frivolous glories—for death. A mission that was most likely going to result in every members’ demise would be an easy way to go, would it not? Not one would question her or label her a coward. It was just....simple.

Well, so she thought.

Being surrounded by nine men, four of which who were very observing, made her addictions....difficult.

(Y/N) would decline some meals and dump others when she thought no one was looking. She would take large swigs of alcohol from her flask when she thought they were otherwise occupied. She would sneak away from the group and draw her blade across her skin when she thought no one was near. (Y/N) let herself dive into the addicting clouded release of it all...and she didn’t care.

Of course, her self-destructive behavior did not escape everyone’s attention. A pair of grey eyes lingered on her often—studying, analyzing, and examining.

Aragorn knew the signs all to well. The shifting looks, the grimly set jaw, and the lifeless eyes—all too familiar. The dunedain had come across many soldiers who could not escape the dark corners of their minds. Therefore, when dusk had settled into the sky and the female Ranger had taken off and had not returned for some time, Aragorn followed.

He held a makeshift torch in his hand as he made his way through the trees and brush. Winding and twisting he went, until the sight of a figure slumped against the trunk of a tree caught his gaze.

“(Y/N)?” He questioned softly.

No answer.

Aragorn frowned as he took another step towards her, lifting the torch.

As the light stretched forward, his lips parted and brows furrowed, for what was revealed to him made the thudding in his chest stop.

(Y/N)’s fingers played with a blade—a bloody blade. She let the metal dance upon her and reflect where the harsh crimson had come from. Long lacerations clung to her wrists and warm liquid ran down her arm. Red tears they were—angry and full of rage and sadness. This stream was mirrored on her face too, but with salty clear water instead.

The sight caused a shock to run through Aragorn’s form, halting any response that could have come from him. Yet that frozen state soon faded and he rushed towards her immediately. He dropped the torch beside himself as he knelt next to her, grasping her arms. He spoke quickly as he ripped fabric from his tunic and began to bind the wounds, “(Y/N), why did you not tell me it was this bad?”

The young woman rolled her eyes and yanked her wrists from him. “It’s nothing, Strider.”

The man shook his head and reached for her arms once again, “This is not nothing, (Y/N).” He paused, “I have smelled the alcohol upon your breath. I have heard the soft whimpers when you sleep. I have seen the refusal of food from your lips.”

The female Ranger closed her eyes and turned her head away from the man’s words.

“(Y/N),” he whispered. “Look at me.”

When she made no move to do so, Aragorn reached forward and grasped her face gently in his hand. He turned her gaze towards him and locked his stormy eyes upon hers.

“I know what it is like to be haunted by those memories. But this—this is not a solution. Why didn’t you tell me it was this painful?”

She stood and began to pace, contemplating a way to respond to his question. When words could be formed upon her lips, she spoke frantically, “Because—because I couldn’t. Okay I just.....”

(Y/N) let her sentence drift into the cold air as she shook her head and blinked back more tears.

Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment as realization struck him, “Because you came on this quest to die.”

The woman turned away from him, clearly trying to hide her expression for she did not wish for him to see her so; but the uncrowned king did not need his eyes to hear her suck in a shaky breath, telling him that he had been right.

Aragorn placed a hand upon her shoulder and gently twisted her body so she was facing him once again. He gazed at her with soft eyes and she seemed to let her strong façade crumple.

A cracked voice came from her lips, “I see them all—the ones I couldn’t save. This...this is the only way to numb it—to ward them from my mind. I...I...just....”

Aragorn forcefully pulled her quivering form against his own and enthralled her cold heart with his warm embrace. Her fingers desperately clutched onto his sleeves as she buried her head into his chest. Loud sobs escaped her throat and she could not hold back the pain any longer. Yet the male Ranger did not mind; he let her absorb the comfort she craved.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head before speaking in a quiet whisper, “Hush now. I’ve got you.”

#lord of the rings #lotr #the hobbit #aragorn #strider #aragorn x reader #Aragorn/reader #aragorn son of arathorn #aragorn imagine #aragorn drabble #aragorn one shot #Aragorn one-shot #Aragorn fic #Aragorn fanfic #Aragorn fanfiction #suicidal reader #self harm #cutting #anorexia #LOTR fic #LOTR fanfic #lotr fanfiction

[yanderesimps]

"Twenty years too late"

/Keigo Takami x Reader\

(Tw: references to rape, kidnapping, reference to forced pregnancy)

The house had been filled with laughter for many hours now, something she never though she'd hear in a place that she held such contempt for. Or perhaps it had always been like this but she'd been too blind to see it, too consumed by her ever-growing hatred of the former number two hero. Her swallowed anger and smothered pride had tainted the bright walls and subtle sweet smell that wafted through the halls.

She ignored the laughter, the chatting and how the voices would grow slightly quieter whenever she would hum to calm her shaking hands as they guided a knife. The clatter of the metal as she sliced through the vegetables that sat upon the cutting board before spilling them into a pot.

She couldn't focus on anything else but her working hands. They had grow old, not elderly but age had taken it's due. Her once smooth skin now held the occasional wrinkle as subtle crows feet clung to the corners of her eyes and faint laugh lines cursed her lips. It was a wonder she even had laugh lines but perhaps her years of faking smiles had grown all too practiced and actually left their mark. Fine grey hairs were visible now, more than average for a woman of her age but after decades of kidnapped enduced stress it was a miracle she still had hair.

The sound of the kitchen door opening caused her hand to catch and her posture to straighten suddenly. The flutter of wings could be audibly heard. She prayed, pleaded and begged to whatever divinity existed in the cruel wretched world.

Don't let it be him

Don't let it be him

Don't let it be him

"Mom...do you need any help with dinner?" Tears of relief threatened to fall from her eyes right there and she almost felt her legs give way. Whipping her head around, she spyed her youngest who was still an adult now nevertheless. Their eyebrows were knoted together in subtle confusion, perhaps they saw her heavy breaths and shaking hands. "No...no, it won't be long now"

Maybe once she would've given a more convincing answer. Maybe once she would have given a more genuine answer but after years of fighting for her life where each action could've been a cause for punishment, she was no longer a woman of many wonders. Turning back to the cutting board, she could feeling the lingering eyes fixated on her back and the unspoken questions that lingered in the air like a cancer.

But no questions ever came, only the sound of the kitchen door closing once again. She didn't know why her heart was pumping out of her chest right about now, would she have even given an answer to such a question? Through the years it had been less question and more accusation. Tears spilled and arguments made about how she was a terrible mother. Neglecting her children since the day they were born and avoiding them like a plague as they grew older.

She had only done the bare minimum since that's all what keigo allowed. Change them when needed, feed them when they cried but in the end, all her attention must be focused on him unless she wanted to explain to her children why they lost a sibling.

That almost made it sound like she loved her children which she did in a sense. Loving them like you may love a gold watch, only ever seeing the materialistic value in it. Taking it to get fixed, cleaning it when it was dirty and protecting it from damage. Pure maternal instinct but nothing more than that.

It was the eldest of her children who had brought up her years of distancing herself from them. Saying that if she didn't want them then she shouldn't of had children. She could still remember the look of shock on their faces as she laughed, a bitter and hate filled laugh before she muttered something along the lines of "as if I had a choice in the matter" which keigo didn't like at all but that was a victory, one of the few she'd gained over the two decades she'd spent locked in this prison of obsession.

Now her life was a big joke constructed by keigo, a sour reminder that it wouldn't be just him that would look for her if she were to ever escape again. Unspoken gloats shown through opened windows and unlocked doors, something she would prayed for in her youth. He knew and took pride in how he had broken his little house wife and moulded her into whatever he desired.

She stopped cutting the vegetables, her mind growing blank as a single question ran through her mind.

What was the point?

He had her wrapped around his pretty finger despite how she resisted falling into Stockholm syndrome and never stopped resisting behind closed door.

The wedding band strapped around her finger now felt like it was burning her flesh. It acted not only as a sign that she was taken but to show her that she would forever be his and his alone.

Her hand gripped the knife tighter. She glared down at the sharp glint of the steel. The knife could be a escape. How long would it take them all to find her fallen body? Perhaps when the food would start to burn. How long would it take keigo to fly across the city with her in his arms and get her stitched up and discharged without a single word of refusal? Even despite the occasional greyed feather, he was still the fastest hero in Japan.

She placed the knife down with shaking hands, taking a moment to leave the dinner behind but not before remembering to turn down the stove. She blocked out the chatting as she neared the backdoor, gripping the handle and pulling it open to be greeted by the early afternoon sunlight. She bathed it in, taking a deep breath of the clear air as she gazed out at the city that sat upon the horizon. Another one of keigo's jokes. A city in the distance which made an hour of running seem child's play if it meant her freedom. Alas, she could never escape the house despite how hard she tried. Her last escape attempt when her youngest had turned five was still etched in her mind and her arm. The broken glass of a window sliced up her joints which left a pretty trail for her capture to follow.

Taking a step forward felt like breaking through a brick wall and taking another step felt like walking through the remnants of that wall. Years of a past life which her mind held at back flashed past her eyes.

What was her mother's name?

Did she have a sibling?

Was it her grandmother who had given her that birthday present on her 18th birthday?

Who was that boy she occasionally saw when walking through UA? Was he a hero now?

The heels that clung to her feet touched the grass of the yard. Images of a dozens of birthday parties, screeches of children and an arm clutching her hip all burned her mind. Each birthday marked a rape where keigo's need to breed her was successful. Each candle marked a year that held countless more rapes. Each flame blown out showed her dimming defiance that was swallowed by obidience. When was the last time she had audibly disagreed with the bird captor?

She broke into a run, leaping over the yard fence as years of instilled hero training cracked free from the slacked chains of keigo's torture. The wind tore at her skin, feeding the adrenaline that had set her heart ablaze. Decades of memories unleashed themselves upon her, each children first word that had always been "mama", each drawing they would happily hand her even if she would turn away and refuse it without a word.

Her mind begged her to turn around, attempting to persuade her that all those sweet nothings that keigo whispered we re true and all the torture he inflicted had been fabricated. She didn't listen. She only wondered how far she would get before hearing that beat of six pairs of wings.

With each step she felt liberated, with each second that the distant buildings seemed to grow made her heart quicken even more.

For now, she was free. She wasn't a mother, a wife or a victim. She was a saviour. The saviour she pleaded for through nights of tears and blood. She was the one that would save herself and break that cage that she'd been encased in for so many days and nights.

It was too late to go back now. Even if she returned they would notice the sweat on her brow and the heave of her lungs as she breathed. For now she ran with all her might, the pleas of twenty years pushing her further, screaming at her to run faster.

There was no doubt in her mind that keigo would find her but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of doing it without a fight.

#yandere+keigo+takami #Yandere #yandere hawks #Hawks #Keigo Takami #Bnha #Yandere hawks x reader #Keigo Takami x Reader #Fanfiction

[luminescencefics]

you feel like home - part three

He’s smiling then, and Jackson takes that as his cue to continue snuggling Luna into his lap. Ryan’s eyes shift from her new small friend to his father leaning against his doorframe wearing slouchy grey joggers and a graphic t-shirt that shows off his decorated toned arms that she can’t seem to stop looking at.

“Is this our new thing? Meeting up in hallways?” Harry asks, and Ryan can feel the butterflies take flight in her stomach, stretching their wings along her ribcage and floating up through her body, leaving her feeling far too many things all at once.

story page // read on wattpad // join the taglist // banner credit

previous | story masterlist | next

***

Luna’s Great Escape

It’s been two days since Ryan last saw Harry in her doorway, and she’s grateful for the rainstorm that’s been plaguing north central London ever since he left her heart racing that afternoon. The rain hasn’t stopped roaring, presumably ruining Jackson’s playtime in the park, allowing Ryan a short period of time to catch her breath.

She’s spent the past two days in a bit of a drunken stupor. After Harry uttered those words to her in the hallway before entering his own flat, Ryan ripped open the parcel and finished her work for the day, sending over her inspections and adjustments to her supervisor in a daze before the clock struck five. Afterward, she tore off her flannel pajama bottoms and shoved them into the depths of her drawer to hopefully never be seen again, traipsing into her bathroom to turn the tub on, a few bottles of Carlsberg nestled tightly under her armpit.

It’s not that Ryan was avoiding her feelings, because she truly didn’t understand them. After two beers, she came to the conclusion that the bubbling in her gut and the warmth on her cheeks, the fluttering of her heart and the pinch in her breath—was all due to the fact that she found Harry annoyingly attractive.

Ryan’s no stranger to attractive men. Her awkwardness practically disappears after a few shots of tequila have settled into her bloodstream, allowing her to hold a conversation with a handsome man without the overwhelming urge to stutter over her words or shift in her heeled boots from nervousness. Most times, in her debilitated state, she’s gotten lucky with a quick shag and a fumbling exit hidden under the darkness of the night. But now, as she sits in her bathtub nursing her fourth beer, a Kiehl’s face mask hardened over her skin, she’s not sure how much alcohol she would need to consume in order to appear seemingly normal in front of Harry.

That was last night. Now, as her hangover starts to settle in, Ryan’s decided that she needs advice. The brutally honest kind that usually fell unapologetically from the lips of her best mate Fiona. 

“So let me get this straight, your new neighbor just so happens to be fit as all hell, and you’ve had a handful of conversations with him without making a complete fool of yourself, and you still haven’t shagged him? What am I missing here, Ry?” Fiona’s voice calls out from Ryan’s mobile that’s leaning against her porcelain fruit bowl, the camera angle allowing her to be able to see Fiona while attempting to cook some sort of pasta dish to cure the throbbing in her head.

“Fee, I got fucking rug burn on my knee from tripping over my own bloody feet the first time I met him!” Ryan recalls, the memory causing her head to shake aggressively, trying her hardest to expel it from her brain.

“Well, I did say complete fool,” Fiona retorts, causing Ryan to roll her eyes as she tries her hardest to follow the vodka sauce recipe she found on Pinterest. She’s eyeing the heavy cream she just added to the saucepan, wondering if the color should be pinker.

“I think it’s for the best if I just continue avoiding him for the rest of my life,” Ryan says, opening the box of ziti and throwing it into the boiling pot on the back left burner. 

She can hear Fiona laugh over the hiss of the water. “Stop with the dramatics! You’re starting to sound like me.”

Ryan just ignores her friend, stirring the sauce that’s starting to smell. She instantly reaches for the parmesan cheese, adding more aimlessly to change the viscosity into something that doesn’t resemble broth. 

“This could be great for you, Ry,” Fiona says through the screen once Ryan’s reappeared in front of her.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Ryan asks, a bit distracted with the way the saucepan on the hob begins to gurgle inconspicuously.

“Because he’s fit. And he literally lives right next door. This is fantastic news! You can get laid without even leaving your building! Especially during quarantine with the entire city on lockdown!” While Ryan loves her friend, she hates the way Fiona says certain words, her voice level rising with each stressed syllable. She’s speaking so loudly that Ryan thinks back to how Harry referred to hearing Mrs. Bingsley banging about in the kitchen when she used to live in this unit, and immediately Ryan lowers the volume on her mobile, grabbing it from its spot against the fruit bowl and turning into her living room to be as far away from the thin walls as possible.

“I’m not sleeping with him, Fiona. I literally just met him,” Ryan says, sitting on the arm rail of her couch, watching Luna in her periphery continue sleeping soundly against the throw pillows. 

“But you want to.”

Ryan stays silent, wondering if that’s what the bubbling and fluttering and pinching of all her insides means. Wondering if all of these feelings can simply be associated to sexual attraction.

“Why don’t you knock on his door and ask for a plunger or something?” Fiona says, breaking the silence. Ryan instantly disagrees, her eyes widening in fear.

“No, that’s a terrible idea! I don’t want him to think I’ve clogged up my fucking toilet,” Ryan shrieks, knowing that move would definitely work on a girl like Fiona—confident, unrelenting, and fearless. But for a girl like Ryan, whose cheeks turn red whenever a boy like Harry even looks in her direction, she knows there’s no way she can handle that.

Fiona sighs. “You’re probably right.” 

Before Ryan can respond, the blaring sound of the smoke detector going off from the kitchen interrupts her thoughts. “Shit!” she screeches, jumping up from her seated position and running into the kitchen, her mobile clutched in her fist as she approaches the stovetop. The saucepan with the once pinkish-red sauce has now turned black, the edges burnt to a crisp, smoke rising from the top because Ryan forgot to lower the heat to a simmer. The pot with the pasta has boiled over, water falling onto the burner with a loud fizzle. “Fuck!”

“Christ, Ryan! Only you can burn fucking pasta!” Fiona shouts through her mobile, and Ryan immediately discards the device on the countertop, flicking the burners off. She reaches for the dishtowel near the sink, waving it under the smoke detector to make the incessant noise cease.

“It won’t fucking stop!” Ryan bellows, switching the towel to her left arm. If Harry didn’t hear her before, he definitely heard her now, and the thought is enough to make her wave her arms frantically, praying for the smoke detector to shut off.

“Open the front door, get some airflow in the flat, you twit! Twenty-seven and still can’t cook a bloody meal, it’s a shock how you’ve survived this long on your own—”

Ryan doesn’t stay in the kitchen long enough to hear the rest of Fiona’s comment. Instead, she’s spinning on her heels towards her front door, opening it up partly in hope to get the smell of burnt food out of her flat.

Just as she walks back into the kitchen, the beeping finally stops, and Ryan feels as if she can finally breathe again. Her cheeks are stained red from the exertion of flailing her arms about, the stray hairs from her low ponytail sticking to the nape of her neck uncomfortably. She takes in the state of her kitchen, annoyed with herself that she got too preoccupied with Fiona’s ramblings instead of focusing on cooking her pathetic meal.

“Have you died?” The sound echoes from the countertop where Ryan left her mobile, and for a moment Ryan forgets that Fiona was waiting for her. She saunters over slowly, leaning her mobile on the toaster oven so that she can rest her bent elbows on the countertop, her hands falling over her cheeks in embarrassment. 

“Knew I should’ve gone with the boxed mac and cheese,” Ryan mumbles, catching her breath.

Fiona laughs. “I appreciate the attempt, Jamie Oliver. You’ve probably scared Luna half to death, poor thing.” 

At the mention of her kitten’s name, Ryan immediately swivels her head around to the living room, eyes falling to the spot on the couch her white British Shorthair was just occupying. But when she looks closer, she realizes that Luna is gone.

She quickly stands up straight, telling Fiona she’ll call her back before ending the FaceTime call, entering the living room to search every nook and cranny for her kitten. Luna’s small body is nowhere near the couch or armchairs, her cat tree is empty, and when Ryan takes a look in her bedroom and finds absolutely nothing, she’s suddenly filled with fear at the fact that her kitten has disappeared.

Before Ryan can have a full-blown meltdown at the loss of her meal and kitten in the span of ten minutes, she hears the faint echo of a meow from the other side of her front door. A tiny giggle follows after, and suddenly Ryan’s head is peering out into the hallway, falling on the sight of Luna laying on the carpet with her tummy up in the air, and Jackson’s small hands rubbing soothing circles in her fur.

“What would your dad say about you leaving the flat without him?” Ryan calls out from her doorframe, watching the way Jackson’s face lights up when he realizes it is her speaking to him.

“Daddy will probably be mad. But I heard the kitty outside when I was playing! I didn’t know you had one!” He’s smiling so wide it causes Ryan to immediately do the same, despite her borderline breakdown a few moments prior. She trots over towards the pair, crouching down in front of them and balancing on the heels of her socked-clad heels, watching the way Luna purrs at Jackson’s soft strokes.

“I do. This is Luna,” Ryan answers, grinning when Jackson begins cooing at the tiny animal.

“Hi Luna, I’m Jackson. You’re so soft.” He’s whispering to her and Ryan isn’t quite sure why, and when Luna suddenly flips over and sits on Jackson’s lap, Ryan feels her heart swell at the sight of two tiny things cuddling up to one another.

The silence is broken by a gruff, frustrated voice. “Jackson! You can’t keep runnin’ off—oh.”

Three pairs of different colored eyes look up at the intrusion, and suddenly Harry’s anger dissipates at the sight of his son holding a cute kitten in his lap. A cute kitten that just so happens to belong to his even cuter neighbor who he seemingly can’t stop thinking about.

He’s smiling then, and Jackson takes that as his cue to continue snuggling Luna into his lap. Ryan’s eyes shift from her new small friend to his father leaning against his doorframe wearing slouchy grey joggers and a graphic t-shirt that shows off his decorated toned arms that she can’t seem to stop looking at. 

“Is this our new thing? Meeting up in hallways?” Harry asks, and Ryan can feel the butterflies take flight in her stomach, stretching their wings along her ribcage and floating up through her body, leaving her feeling far too many things all at once.

Ryan just smiles shyly, swallowing harshly when Harry crosses his arms over his broad chest, his large palms cupping his bulging biceps under the thin material of his shirt. She coughs into her fist, realizing now that she probably should stand up from her crouched position so that she’s no longer staring up at him underneath the cover of her eyelashes.

“Daddy look! Ryan has a kitty!” Jackson squeals, his cheek squished against Luna’s tiny face as he pets behind her ears, causing her whole body to vibrate with a deep purr.

Harry looks between Luna and Ryan, that slow smirk grazing his lips that causes Ryan’s cheeks to burn with a deep blush. “I can see that, Bubs.” His voice is so deep Ryan can feel it settle into her bones, and suddenly she wishes her hair wasn’t tied behind her head in a ponytail so that she could hide her reddened cheeks under the deep brown tendrils. 

Before she can speak, a loud whistle from Harry’s flat breaks the silence. His upper body shifts away from the doorframe so that he’s standing straight, arms falling back to his sides as he peers behind the entranceway to ensure that the steam is blowing from the spout of the kettle on the hob.

“Fancy some tea, Ryan?” Harry asks once he’s turned back in her direction. 

Ryan quickly stumbles to stand upright, wiping her sweaty palms on her cotton biker shorts. An oversized band tee she stole from her ex-boyfriend swishes with her hasty movements, and she can feel her head shaking before her mouth can say no.

“Uh, I’m okay. Don’t want to impose or anything,” she stutters, the sound of her thick woolen mid-calf socks scuffling against the carpeting with her incessant shuffling due to the influx of nerves that begin creeping up her spine.

“Please, Ryan? I can play with Luna! I’m a great sitter,” Jackson proclaims loudly from his seated position behind her. Once again, Ryan finds herself struggling to say no to her new friend with just one look into his beady green eyes. With nothing but a small smile, Ryan’s nodding in Jackson’s direction, her grin growing larger when he scoops up Luna in his little arms, ducking past his father and entering the flat.

Harry chuckles, holding the door open a bit wider so that Ryan can follow him inside.

She’s watching as he ducks into the kitchen, shutting off the burner so that the whistling kettle can quiet down. Ryan watches Jackson plop Luna on the soft emerald rug, laying on his stomach so that he can observe her every move. After guaranteeing that her kitten is in good hands, Ryan enters the kitchen, settling on one of the dark leather barstools and watching Harry grab two tea mugs from the cabinet above the sink.

As his arm extends to reach the top shelf, Ryan can’t help but take note of the contrast between his right and left arm. His left arm was ornamented with various black etchings, flowing across his skin in a strange way that somehow looked beautiful. When Ryan watches his right arm reach out to grab the tea bags, the untouched skin practically blinding against the harsh overhead lights, she feels her throat suddenly dry up—and she’s left wondering if she should add this to her growing list of symptoms she feels whenever she’s around Harry.

“Sugar? Milk?” Harry asks, his back still to her as he rummages around the drawers to prepare their tea. 

“Sure.” She’s distracted by the way his thin t-shirt practically hides nothing, the ebb and flow of his back muscles constricting with each gentle movement he makes as he grasps the sugar from the counter and grips the milk from the fridge.

When he turns to meet her at the kitchen island, he clutches both mugs in one hand, the other holding both the sugar jar and milk carton. Ryan’s forced to look away, her mind completely fogging over at the site.

The sound of the ceramic mugs clinking against the granite counter causes Ryan to look up, smiling softly when he pushes the tea in her direction. Just before her hands can clasp around the handle, she regards the black script tattoo above the crook of his elbow, the words Jackson in lowercase lettering make her breath hitch in her throat.

“How have you been, all right?” Harry asks from across the island, reaching for the milk and adding a generous amount to the murky tea. His eyes are busy focusing on the task at hand, and Ryan can finally feel herself calm down a bit.

“Yeah, been okay. You?” she responds, blowing a bit on her tea before bringing the mug to her lips, swallowing deeply and reveling in the taste of the brew. Harry’s eyebrows arch when he notices that she takes her tea black, but he doesn’t make a comment about it, choosing instead to rest his forearms on the counter, pushing his mug a bit closer towards Ryan’s as he leans against the island, infiltrating her personal space just the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, okay. Bit shit with the weather, though. Jackson’s been going crazy,” he comments, his mouth far too distracting when he licks the spilled over tea on his lower lip. Ryan flicks her head over in Jackson’s direction, thankful that she can look at something other than Harry’s stupidly good-looking face.

Ryan hums in agreement, bringing the tea back to her lips as she swivels back in her stool, her eyes back on Harry’s. 

“That cat of yours will give him another reason to talk about you for hours,” Harry says with a grin.

“If it weren’t for his knack of sneaking out of your flat, Luna probably would have ended up on the seventh floor. Guess I owe him a proper thank you,” Ryan counters, smiling at the fact that she made Harry laugh.

“Little shit never listens to me,” Harry says lightly, and Ryan suddenly wonders if he has any help looking after Jackson.

She starts to look around the kitchen for any hints of a feminine touch. The state of his flat is disgustingly clean, and when she observes the fridge to see if there are any photographs of Jackson’s mum, she’s found that there’s nothing but artwork most likely done by the hands of a four-year-old.

When she shifts her head to the other side of the room, where the kitchen flows into the living room, she doesn’t really find anything new. The walls are still filled with records, the instruments are still lining the walls, the couch is still void of throw pillows. Ryan tries to visualize the entranceway, trying her hardest to remember if she noticed any heeled boots or women’s jackets on the coat rack.

She hasn’t known Harry long, barely a month at this point, and in that short period of time she’s never heard him speak about a woman before. Ryan’s not stupid—she knows that both sexes are needed to produce a child—but she’s truly never seen a woman enter or exit Harry’s flat.

Granted, it’s only been a month. And she isn’t really sure if she can call him her friend yet, therefore she feels a bit odd in asking. Ryan’s come to the conclusion that maybe Jackson’s mum is an essential worker, a nurse perhaps, a profession in which she has the luxury of leaving her home to go to work.

“Ryan?” Harry’s oaky voice breaks Ryan out of her headspace, and suddenly she’s blinking in Harry’s direction, embarrassed at the fact that she wasn’t listening to anything he had just said to her in the last few minutes.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” she responds lamely, bringing the mug to her lips with the goal of hiding the lower half of her flushed cheeks.

Harry just laughs, cocking his head to the side to observe her intently. “Doesn’t matter. Lost you for a minute in there.”

“Right. Sorry about that,” Ryan responds, wishing Harry would stop looking at her as if she were the most fascinating creature on the planet. 

“Does that happen a lot?” Harry asks quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to know every little thing about her.

Ryan’s eyes squint in confusion. “Does what happen?”

“That,” Harry starts, taking a sip of his tea without tearing his eyes away from Ryan’s. “You getting lost in your own head.”

Ryan quietly contemplates Harry’s comment, watching the way he watches her with intrigue. As a serial overthinker, Ryan knows that she retreats sometimes, mulling over her words intensely before speaking. Unlike Fiona who blurts every thought that runs through her head, Ryan’s always been more critical, obsessing over every detail before verbalizing. It’s the only thing that helps subdue her social anxiety.

But she’s found that whenever she’s around Harry, she can’t bring herself to think about anything, really. It’s as if her mind is blank, encouraging her to speak what she truly feels, without all the thinking that usually comes along with it.

She’s not quite sure what that all means.

So she just shrugs, sipping softly. “Sometimes, yeah.”

Harry nods before changing the subject, which makes Ryan feel relieved. “So, my quiet, reclusive neighbor is also a cat lady? It’s far too fitting, Ryan.” He’s teasing her a bit and it’s enough to make Ryan giggle, the sound practically causing Harry to splutter his tea over the rim of his mug. 

“I’m all about clichés, clearly,” Ryan responds, her eyes zeroing in on the hollow dimples that appear around his mouth whenever he laughs. She finds herself enjoying the sight very much.

“She’s cute,” Harry says, his eyes shifting from Luna to the woman sitting across from him. Ryan assumes he’s talking about her kitten, and she smiles, swiveling around in her chair to watch Jackson giggle whenever Luna’s paws graze his arms. But when she feels Harry’s gaze on her cheek, she’s wondering if he’s talking about something else, too.

“He’s good with her,” Ryan acknowledges, impressed with how gentle Jackson was with Luna. Most toddlers his age were too handsy with her, scaring her off before she even got the chance to get used to them. But Jackson is proving to be a natural, allowing Luna to grow comfortable around him before he started playing with her.

Harry finally looks over to his son, smiling at the sight in the living room. “Yeah, he’s a good kid.”

Ryan turns round to face Harry again. “He really is. Guess he has you to thank for that. And his mum, I suppose.”

Harry’s face suddenly loses its grin, and Ryan’s wondering if she’s said too much. His eyes have lost their shine, and the granite countertop seems to be more interesting than Ryan’s face. Before she can say anything, an apology or some version of one, the computer in the corner of the living room begins to ring loudly, causing Harry to stand upright and peer at the clock on the microwave screen.

“Shit. Forgot I had a four o’clock meeting,” he says quickly, gathering his mug in one hand and crossing the threshold so that he’s entering the living room space. Ryan stands up, frowning down at her half-emptied cup of tea, wondering what blend Harry uses because it’s just that good, and she’s a bit sad to leave it unfinished.

Harry turns around, catching the frown on Ryan’s face. “You can finish it at yours if you’d like,” he offers with a small smile. 

“Oh, no it’s okay, I wouldn’t want to—”

“—Ryan,” Harry says, cutting her off and walking towards her so that he’s fully in her line of vision, “It’s fine. ‘S not like I don’t know where you live.” The smirk is back on his face and the blush is back coating Ryan’s cheeks, and suddenly the balance has been restored in their small universe.

Ryan nods, clutching the mug tightly in her hands and side-stepping Harry in order to reach Jackson and Luna on the living room floor. “‘M sorry, champ, but Luna and I have got to go.”

“Really?” Jackson says, tearing his eyes away from Luna and onto the two adults standing in front of him. He’s frowning and Ryan instantly feels bad.

“Yeah, Bubs, daddy’s got work to do. I’m sure you can see Luna again very soon, if Ryan’s okay with it,” Harry says, causing two pairs of green eyes to fall onto her frame.

She nods quickly, crouching down in front of her small friend and grabbing Luna in her unoccupied hand. “Of course, champ. We’ll schedule a playdate.”

Jackson grins enthusiastically, wiggling on the floor with excitement. Before Ryan can respond, Harry appears in front of her, a small smile on his face.

“I’ll see you later, Ryan,” he mutters in a low timbre.

“Bye, Harry. Thanks again for the tea,” she responds, heading towards the doorway in her socks and leaving the confines of his flat, trying her hardest to catch her breath in the silence of the empty hallway.

It’s only once she’s back in her own flat, her sad attempt of dinner disposed of in the bin and in its place an oversized bowl of cereal in one hand, with Harry’s mug in the other, Ryan comes to a startling realization.

Harry’s tea mug was a far better alternative than the fucking plunger.

*** A/N: Hi guys, here’s part three of you feel like home! I hope you enjoyed it. Part four will be posted on Thursday November 19, so feel free to chat with me in the meantime! This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! x

taglist: @stylishmuser @vikki1220 @greatestview @verorax @cronias13 @adoremp3 @ilovegolden @taintedwonder @stepping-into-the-light​ @onlyphysicallypresent​ @dontwanttobealone​ @justsaying20​ @elemayox​ @awomanindeniall​ @ihearthemcallingforyou​ @halloweenniall @live-at-the-forum​ @kakayam​ @harryinsweatersandbandanas​ @hopelessly-harry​ @ficnarry​ @morethanamelodyy​ @niallgolden​ @harryswinterberries​ @caramello-styles

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #hs #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #harry x ofc #1dff #1dffupdates #fic: home #1dffquarantine

[inb4belphienaps]

warnings: demon hunter au, monsterification (?), blood, gore, fighting (physical), death word count: 2028

Through the sounds of one man’s grunting and the clash of metal meeting hardened flesh, the ground of the forest shakes. Whatever birds had remained in the wake of the battlefield signal to one another (warning not just their own, but also the other inhabitants) that the current fight taking place could have devastating repercussions. More devastating than the smell of iron continuing to linger in the area.

As the earth shifts, flashes of bright light mingle with green smoke, creating a pool of fog that, were it privy to the eyes of outsiders, would hint at sorcery being afoot.

Magic holds its weight here in these lands. Depending on where your loyalties lie, you are either the hunter or the hunted. The former is normally trained in combat and taught to wield their powers as well as their swords. The latter, on the other hand, is feared, for the reasons that they are hunted are rooted deep in their very nature.

They go by many names – creatures of the dark, harbingers of evil, infernal bearers of sin. The list continues. And the stories grow. Generation after generation, children are taught to fear them. They are…demons. Children too in fact, of the King of Hell.

A royalty shrouded in mystery. The legend says that those who look upon his face never again see the light of day. And, since, no one has been able to confirm nor deny the numerous depictions of him, littering the books of those whose teeth chatter at the very mention of his title and covering the walls of the temples erected in honor of those who fight against him, he is better thought of as the very embodiment of your worst fears.

The soldiers are easier to motivate that way, more willing to be shaped into obedience. Whether that is seen as the mangled bodies of their loved ones or heard as the cries of the innocent, they are to never show mercy to the beings that do his bidding.

However, there are those who (baring the markings of a heretic), believe that these monsters were once human. That they sold their souls and gave into the darkness. That they were swayed by sweet words of promises unkept and in the end only saw suffering.

There are also those who, in the same manner, believe that these monsters take on the forms of humans. Either the humans they’ve converted or humans that they are to ravage, soon-to-be victims of a plague that cannot be cured or forgotten.

Dangerous thoughts like these are what make the difference between a good soldier and an immovable hunter. If there is doubt or a shadow of sympathy when facing these beasts, you may very well find your head removed from your body, and then, shortly after, consumed in its entirety.

(Yes...they feed on humans.)

Blood mars the surrounding trees and smothers the leaves, painting them an ugly copper. Where the dirt turns black, Simeon knows a struggle took place. How valiantly his brothers and sisters must have fought, he thinks. And how unsavory a death they must have met.

With this in mind, he steels his resolve and focuses all his energy into the magic materializing in his hands, imbuing it into his sword. He’d perfected his techniques. Trained until they’d become an extension of him and his will.

“Why”, the creature says, “they didn’t tell me they were saving the best ‘til last.”

Simeon neither flinches at nor acknowledges its voice. A voice that would otherwise send humans fleeing, pushes him to carry on, to increase his speed and thrust forwards with accuracy.

“But I suppose I should’ve known. The ones before you were far too weak to stand against me.”

He lunges, twisting half-way when he’s met with a swipe of a giant arm and a lash of a bright-green tail. Green. The color of evil. Green. The color of sin.

“They never had a chance.”

“Quit your blithering, monster. I have no intentions of hearing you speak.”

The creature smiles. Though its features are ghastly and covered with remains, Simeon can make out the ends of its mouth and how they curl upwards.

“You’ll have to cut out my tongue then, hunter.”

With each instance that their magics meet, the world around them becomes all the more obsolete. The serene landscape is instead transformed into an arena, of which only the strongest contender will leave from unscathed.

Simeon has hunted many of these puppets in his time. Cutting their strings and burning their shells, he’d gotten used to the smell of them. Except their appearance is another matter entirely. This creature that stands before him is a testament to that.

Its scales shine in the sunlight, like jewels beneath clear waters. Its limbs are strong and impressive. Its horns, like the antlers of a magnificent stag, demand his attention. Disregarding the loathing he feels; the creature is almost beautiful.

Almost.

He creates some distance between them, reconfiguring his stance and propelling himself off the scarped face of a mound of rocks piled atop one another just so.

The creature is quick to respond and close in on him, running on all fours at him head-first, like a raging bull. Its strides are far and wide, causing Simeon to abandon future attempts at discouraging close combat.

There is a menacing, contained kind of anger that permeates from the creature. He senses it every time its magic brushes against him be it the patches of exposed skin or his armor.  There’s a heat to it too. A hot measure of lethality that reminds him to be careful.

Demons are after all, tricky beings with a history of dabbling in the dark arts (necromancy was nothing to them). These are experienced fighters, unhinged and free to do as they please without their need for self-preservation or the need to maintain their dignity getting in the way.

The sheer force of their clash resounds, akin to a clap of thunder and the sparks that fly as its talons scrape against Simeon’s metal gives ode to the lightning that would normally accompany it.

When they part, following a further exchange of blows, Simeon is panting, and the creature seems excited by the notion.

“You are a creature of the dark. You take solace in the shadows, so you may attempt to flee from your sins but make no mistake, beast”, he hisses, jutting his chin out defiantly with a type of pride that the creature knew all too well, “I will have your head.”

The creature laughs and bares its fangs. Only…the hunter in front of him pictures how they’d glint on his neck, to serve both as a reminder and as a medal for his efforts.

Taking this monster down and fashioning his remains into something wearable? It was the least he could do for his companions who had sacrificed themselves and died fighting. Hell itself would have to freeze over before he’d admit defeat in any sense of the word so that their deaths would not have been in vain.

Suddenly, something splits in the air, the fractures dissipating in a myriad of pieces that could pass for shattered glass and Simeon is temporarily rendered immobile. His eyes widen, and he feels the creature within him. It was invading his mind.

Sentiments of nights spent practicing on his own and memories of harsh winters spent in front of crackling fires cause his shoulders to shake. There, amidst the confusion and horror, his friend’s cheerful visage startles him back into reality.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you?”, the creature chides. “It’s dangerous to go looking for the dead.”

So, the creature knew his intentions. To find his friend and give him a proper burial. His friend, who was probably now disfigured beyond recognition, was waiting for Simeon to find him. He could feel it. His friend, the one who had been there to see him through the hardest times of his life, was calling to him.

“Silence”, Simeon spits, venom coating his demand as he hurtles daggers and magic alike at the looming silhouette shrouded in mist. Each one ricochets off of its hide, and he clenches his jaw. He wasn’t focusing hard enough.

“I’ll give you two seconds to prepare yourself”, it says.

The creature then comes to a standstill and Simeon feels the first inklings of dread. A sentence like that meant that he was either going to be met with a resistance he had no hopes of fathoming or it had a trump card up its sleeve – another nasty trick it could use to its advantage.

“One.”

Wind rustles the foliage above and carries his scent towards it. He tightens his grip on his trusty weapon and tilts his head to the side to crack his neck.

“Two.”

With inhuman speed, it leaps, first into the thickets, disappearing from view, then to his side, grabbing him by the scruff as he’s rendered helpless.

Simeon squirms, his sword doing little to better the situation, and he kicks at the creature’s torso. The dull sounds of his foot colliding with its build send a rush of panic through him. And then-

And then he is falling. And the creature is smiling, eyes narrowing in satisfaction as he looks down at the devastation tainting his features. The creature stands at the edge of the cliff, watching him descend into the abyss.

“What a shame”, it says. “You put up such a good fight, little hunter.”

As the creature turns his back, its ears twitch and it swivels around in disbelief. Was there a humming noise? A buzzing? A ringing in its ears?

It doesn’t have the chance to come to a conclusion. Simeon surges upwards from within the depths, colliding with its giant frame, and crushes it to the ground, with the same foot he’d used to kick it just moments before firmly planted on its chest.

“You…you have wings”, the creature whispers.

Simeon resists the urge to shiver. He hadn’t known he’d had them. He hadn’t known he was even capable of conjuring such things.

In its moment of weakness, he plunges his sword into its chest, watching the expression in its eyes change from bewilderment to indifference. Perhaps this was its way of dealing with death. Upon realizing that it too, like him, is capable of it, perhaps it resigned itself to its inevitable fate.

“What is your name, hunter?”, the creature rasps.

He hesitates. It is said that once a demon utters your name, you are forever cursed. And yet, with the outcome of the battle decided, he’s willing to take his chances.

“My name is Simeon.”

The creature nods once and sighs, as if vaguely fatigued.

“And what do they call you? Do your kind even have names?”

It snickers, and Simeon removes his sword, the severe movement causing it to stiffen and clutch at the fresh wound, talons covered in its own sanguineous substance. He feels no remorse or contrition at the pitiful sight, and he digs his sword in once more, eliciting a grunt. The creature assesses his hands – vigorous and seemly, and baring a ring too.

“Satan. That is my name.”

.

.

.

As the sun sets on the horizon and bathes the scenery in twilight, a shadow emerges from the edge of the forest close to the border. His clothes are ripped, and his blonde hair is covered in mud.

He stands, taking a deep breath in, and closes his eyes. When next he opens them, they glow a vibrant chartreuse – its yellow and green hues mixing together to create an uncanny image. The dust has settled and so has the blood running through his veins.

A body lies beneath his feet. Its uniform indicates that the man was once a solider. And as he turns him over, a familiar-looking ring falls out of the soldier’s pocket. He stoops down to pick it up and admires it in the low light.

Yes, those seemly hands and those crystalline irises that’d shown unwavering tenacity.

He will return. If only to cradle that hunter’s pretty little head in his hands.

#when i first considered this pair #this concept was FAR from what i thought i'd write them in #also that lrb was too perfect not to have come before #might have to edit this when i wake up omg #obey me au #obey me writing #obey me angst #obey me simeon #obey me! simeon #obey me satan #obey me! satan #satan x simeon

[sebsmetal-arm]

Sex (f)or Breakfast || Bryce and Hunt

Summary: The morning after Bryce takes care of Hunt, the two are met with some unspoken truths lingering in the air. When their worlds - and lips - finally collide, there is going to be more than just eggs on the table for breakfast.

Disclaimer: These characters and world are the sole intellectual property of Sarah J Maas. I claim no right to this property, this is a work of fan fiction. I tried my best to stay true to Sarah's writing style and characterization but any difference in character aspects or dialogue is intentional. Please do not copy or repost my work. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you to everyone on Instagram that helped me with ideas of what was in Bryce's nightstand, and THANK YOU to my beta readers! You know who you are and I love all of you!

After the prior night’s events, Bryce had spent the better part of the morning laying awake in bed, waiting for a text, a call, anything to break the damning silence of the apartment. She knew eventually that bedroom door opposite hers would open and she would have to face the reality of what had transpired between the two of them. She couldn’t seem to shake the images of all that she had seen the night before - the dark emptiness in Hunt’s eyes when he had come through the front door. The way she discovered him sitting in the shower an hour later, letting the scalding hot water batter and burn him relentlessly. How she could feel the pain and remorse and inner hatred roiling off him in waves as thick and suffocating as the steam from the shower. The horrifying realization that this was not the first time he had done this, that he had become accustomed to this act of self-inflicted torture following each of Micah’s depraved missions. 

The world had been so wrong about him, he didn’t wear the title of Umbra Mortis with pride; he wore it with shame. In that moment, he was nothing but a shell of himself, of the Hunt that she knew. It was akin to staring at a reflection of herself, of her soul, and of the torment and guilt that had plagued her every day since Danika’s murder. 

So she did what she had wished for those past two years. She took care of him, the way she had wanted someone to take care of her. She had been alone, with no one left, and she would never let him feel that sort of hollow loneliness again. 

She lathered his hair and his wings, and carefully scrubbed his raw skin free of any grime and blood that remained. With her hands, she gently coaxed as much pain from his body as she could, washing it down the drain along with any physical trace of what had happened that evening. He remained resolute in his silence, with his head downcast and the wet strands of midnight hair framing his face, only giving her the barest recognition when she asked him to stand. But it was enough. Enough for her to know that he was still in there, however deeply buried beneath the weight of contrition. 

After slinging a towel around his waist, she gently patted him dry, and led him to his bedroom and into a pair of shorts before helping him into bed. When Hunt sank down into the mattress, the groan of the bed seemed to shake the stillness of the room, as if Hunt was piling on those invisible chains he had worn for over two centuries. He had been designed by Urd for the heavens, gifted with wings for great and magnificent things, but had spent most of his life shackled to the ground by the thorned halo across his forehead. That wretched tool of enslavement, which was a bastardization and mockery of the Malakim, placed a chokehold on his magic so strong that it had become nothing but a trickle. 

When Bryce made to leave, his hand shot out and gripped her wrist, giving a barely there squeeze as if silently pleading for her to stay. So she did. Letting him nestle his head in her lap, she stroked his hair until the restless heaves of his chest stilled into a calm rising and falling as sleep consumed him. Once content with his sleeping form she eased out from under him, carefully letting his head fall back onto the pillow. There had been nothing sensual about that evening, but as Bryce crept back to her room she couldn’t deny the inkling that something had changed. Since they had begun their partnership, their lives had simply been locked in orbit. Revolving around the same fixed position, tethered by gravity that held together the shattered pieces of their lives. But with every stroke of her fingers through his hair and each desperate lean into her touch, their worlds had begun to eclipse. 

***

When Hunt awoke, the first thing he noticed was the distinct smell of Bryce’s skin. He stretched out to reach for her, hoping to ground himself once more, but was met with nothing but crumpled bed sheets. She had definitely been there last night, there was no denying the scent of her that lingered heavily. 

He had spent so long coping with his own nightmares in solitude, that when she was suddenly kneeling in front of him on the tile floor, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what to say, his own mind numb and void of anything remotely human. It wasn’t until Bryce was coaxing him into bed that he realized what it felt like not to be alone. And when her caressing touch dragged the last dregs of tension from his shoulders, he had slept soundly for the first time in ages. 

The intoxicating comfort of her presence called to him. He knew he needed to seek her out, to thank her, and to let her know that he was okay. He flipped off the covers and threw on a pair of sweatpants, silently padding to the door as the smell of coffee wafted through the apartment. As he approached the kitchen island, Bryce scowled at her phone before throwing it down in protest. He leaned against the marble countertop.

***

“Hey.”

Hunt’s voice, gruff with sleep, startled her out of her furious haze and she spun to find him leaning against the island. She couldn’t help but notice he was shirtless, a grey pair of sweatpants hugging his lean hips. 

“Fucking Hel Hunt, you need a warning bell or something.” Bryce cursed, her fists clenched in surprise. His shoulders shook, his mouth crooking up slightly. A smile, good. “How are you?” 

His brows furrowed, pain washing over his face momentarily. “Fine.” he stated in a pinched but gentle manner.

She took that as a clue to leave him be, not wanting to pry but worry overtook her so she averted her gaze, toeing the ground nervously before attempting to change the subject, “Do you want some-”

“Wait, Bryce,” he blurted, interrupting her, “I- I’m okay, really. I mean, I don’t think anything will ever change the- the person I have to be.” He ground out, his voice full of disdain, “Or the consequences of that. Not as long as I still bear this,” he said gravely, gesturing to the halo, “but-” he stammered, taking a breath to school his thoughts.

He closed the distance between them hesitantly, his statuesque form now towering over her. She couldn’t help the way her breath hitched at the closeness of him or the smell of his bare skin. As he looked down at her sun-kissed face, her lips already parted in anticipation, he could see the hope and trepidation swirling in her amber eyes. He took one of her hands in his, a gentle and intentional embrace.

“I’m more okay than I’ve ever been… Thank you.” he breathed, his words skittering across her skin like electricity. 

Her eyes lit up, as if they had soaked in the morning rays beaming through the living room windows. Any fear that had once lingered on her face had been chased away and the smile that broke across her face, Urd help him, was brighter than any star in the realm. They shared a silent moment, her hand still in his before she averted her gaze, a secret blush creeping into her cheeks. 

He broke the silence first, sensing her uncertainty of what to do or say next, “So, how about that coffee?”

***

As they milled about the kitchen, the routine was much of the same. But the unspoken truths hung in the air, smothering the very oxygen from the room until they were both choking on it. And when Hunt unexpectedly pressed a gentle kiss to Bryce’s cheek in a gesture of thanks, she was left reeling. She tried to fight the heat piquing in her cheeks as she became hyper aware of the hairs on her arms raising at his touch. Of the muscles between his wings flexing as he tended to breakfast. Of her thighs clenching to quell the rush at her core, and the subsequent absence of underwear causing the color to drain from her face. She was wearing nothing under the shirt. His shirt. 

Without warning his shoulders went tight, his wings tucking in, and he slowly turned on her with a curious but predatory gaze. The sudden quickening of her heart rate had likely alerted him. Or maybe it was the newfound heat pooling between her legs that had incited the almost feral way his eyes were roving over her. 

“You okay, Quinlan?” He asked, giving a smug perk of his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I- I’m great.” She choked out, barely able to breathe under the weight of his stare.

As he scanned the length of her body once more, his eyes narrowed, “Is that my shirt?”

She nervously fingered the hem, which fell to mid-thigh, tugging it down for good measure but not daring to look away. “Uh, yeah, I hope you don’t mind.” she breathed, her usual bravado now a simpering and demure thing hiding in the corner. He continued to examine her for another few seconds too long, causing her to resign to embarrassment, “I’m sorry, I’ll go change” she stammered, turning to escape to her room. But as she went to step, he grabbed on to the hem and tugged her back to him. 

“No, Quinlan, I don’t mind.” He said, his fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the hem. “I like seeing you in my shirt.” he confessed, his voice rumbling over her skin as he dropped his own gaze. His throat bobbed as he swallowed roughly.

In the movement of him pulling her back, she was now wedged between him and the island, suddenly aware of the cool marble against her spine. She knew her next move could be detrimental, that she was toeing the line between staying professional or diving headlong into something she might never be able to come back from. But in truth, she was already drowning in his presence and her own arousal. She willed her hand to move, placing her palm against his chest and he became violently still. Neither of them dared look at the other, their attention solely on her hand which was now drawing lazy circles on his tan skin. 

“What about…” she trailed off, her nerves jolting her into momentary submission before she steeled herself, practically shouting at that part of her quivering in the corner to pull up her fucking bootstraps, “what about out of it?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He became preternaturally still, not even a feather rustling out of place. Before she could register what was happening, not even lifting his head he stepped away, letting her hand fall to her side, and turned back around to the eggs cooking on the stovetop. Bryce watched him for a moment, letting the realization of her mistake sink in, before whirling around to escape the sight of his rejection, the distance now separating them. She crossed the line that she had stood on the precipice of for so long, and she had fucked up. She silently admonished herself, pressing her palms against the countertop in agitation. The sound of the burner clicking off echoed through the morose quiet of the room. Not even she could muster the confidence to eat breakfast with him, not after what had just happened.

She was about to excuse herself from the room when a strong hand snaked around her from behind, palming her stomach, as another hand ghosted down the length of her arm sending chills racing along her skin. His lips were suddenly at her ear, his voice dripping with desire as it consumed every nerve in her body. 

“I would like that even more, Bryce.” He murmured, her name rolling off of his lips like a prayer. His body was pressed against hers, conforming to every curve, and the evidence of his arousal was pushing into her backside. The only thing louder than the stark silence of the room was the thunderous beating of their hearts. 

Hunt reached up, pushing aside her red-wine hair, and Bryce trembled at the cool draft suddenly whispering against her bare neck. Even though she knew what was coming, nothing could prepare her for the state of catatonic shock her body plunged into when his lips pressed against the silken skin of her shoulder. Everything became narrowed to that singular point of contact. She turned to putty in his hands. He trailed his lips up her neck, her mouth dropping open when his teeth grazed against her skin until he reached the shell of her ear once more. 

“Where do you want me?” he asked, his voice a tremor beneath her, threatening to shift and rupture her entire existence.

“Everywhere.” she moaned, gasping for a breath she had been holding. 

“Show me.” he said. A two word command that had her body aching and quivering. 

His hand that had been tracing up and down her arm nestled into her cupped palm, hanging limp at her side. Silently begging for permission. For direction. 

Fighting through the erotic haze fogging her brain, she found the wherewithal to respond and gripped his strong, callused hand. As she guided his hand down her leg, she turned her head to look at him, holding his gaze as their hands crept toward the inner apex of her thighs. It was when his fingers brushed across her center and the physical evidence of her aroused state that she whispered a single word. 

“Here.” 

His eyes went dark with primal lust and when his lips met hers, they were rough. Needy. No longer gently asking permission but rather desperately demanding entrance. She would let him take and take from her until they were both sweating and limp with satiation. 

Her lips parted, his tongue diving in to entwine with hers. She grazed his bottom lip with her teeth and a guttural growl rumbled from his chest. In a swift movement, he spun her around and gripped her behind her thighs, lifting her to sit on the edge of the cool, marble countertop. It was as if he had read her mind, seen the fantasies she had imagined many a morning.

He pressed himself between her legs, the feathered tips of his wings tickling her calves as they flexed and shifted around them. His hands roved the surface of her body, fitting into every crook of her curves, each voluptuous swell nesting perfectly in his palm, his grip greedy and unforgiving. As they kissed, their gasps and moans the only sound in the room, Hunt pushed his hands up her thighs, working the shirt up to her waist. When his thumb pressed and circled around her delicate clit, her jaw slackened as she exhaled a whimpering moan into his mouth. She grappled for something to hold onto, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck. He continued to work her, massaging the sensitive bundle of nerves as he kissed along her jawline. 

He hooked his arm under her knee, lifting it up and spreading her wider on the marble, causing her to drop one hand and lean back on the counter to support herself. With their faces mere inches apart, he held her gaze as he continued the rhythmic movements of his hand against her center, watching the way she reacted to him with delightful hunger. When he teased her entrance with one finger, her grip on his neck tightened and she bit her lip. She was aching for him and that drove him wild. He was becoming unhinged at the sight of her, her heaving chest pressing her pebbled nipples against his shirt, her thighs spread wide for him, and the way she had just bitten her pink, kiss-swollen lip.

Before Bryce could even beg, he slowly thrust one finger into her, making her head tilt back with euphoria, “Fuck, Bryce.” he cursed. The feeling of her wrapped around him, warm and wet, made his cock ache even more. Attaching his lips to her neck, he kissed and sucked and licked from her chin to the hollow of her throat. He wanted to draw this out, to tease her until she was trembling and gasping with pleasure. He wanted to taste her. Gods, he needed to taste her. But not yet. 

After a few moments, he withdrew his finger before inserting a second. Bryce brought her head up and with her eyes closed and lips parted in a pant, she focused on the sensation of his strong fingers teasing and stretching her, her arousal surely glistening on his skin. She wanted him to fill her, make her ache and scream with pleasure until there was nothing left of her. 

The next word she uttered made him groan in approval, “Faster.” she pleaded, knowing exactly what she needed to find her release. Hunt brought his forehead to hers, their lips barely touching as they shared breath, and he quickened his pace. The skin-to-skin contact and the way his strong fingers moved in and out of her, would bring her to the edge soon. When his free hand slid under and up her shirt to palm her bare breast, his thumb flicking her hardened nipple, she gasped, “Yes- yes, keep doing that, please!” she begged.

He did as she asked, his fingers unrelenting in their actions, and soon enough she was tipping her head back in ecstasy, her body shaking with pleasure. Hunt feathered kisses along her neck and chest, seeing her through her orgasm and when she was done, when her chest no longer heaved, he withdrew his fingers. He sucked them into his mouth, rolling his eyes back at the sweet and all-consuming taste of her. When his eyes opened again he realized she had been watching him, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across her flushed face. 

“Are you done?” she asked pointedly, her eyebrow perking. 

“Not even close.” he growled, catching her lips in his. When he dropped her leg, letting her straighten on the island, she broke from the kiss and gave a sharp intake of breath. The sound of pain sobered his mind and he discovered her face wrenched in a grimace. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he blurted out, gently gripping the sides of her face with concern. 

“Oh stop fussing, it’s just my leg.” she told him off, “As much as I fantasized about this exact moment, I didn’t really take into account the comfort level of a countertop.” she laughed.

When Hunt didn’t laugh along, Bryce searched his face and found it set in a look as grim as his sudden demeanor. He was gently running his fingers along the brutal scar on her leg, his mind somewhere else entirely. She reached out, tipping his chin up to look at her and his gaze met hers, full of remorse. 

“No one could have changed what happened, not even you. If it weren’t for you being in that alley, I might have died that night… so stop blaming yourself.” Bryce said, her voice soft with forgiveness. 

Hunt gave a terse nod, cradling her hand that was pressed to his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss into her palm. 

“Now, for the love of Urd, can we go somewhere more comfortable?” Bryce laughed in feigned exasperation. 

“Alright, c’mon, we’re going to your room.” he said, sliding his hands under her and picking her up, letting her legs wrap around his waist. He walked toward her bedroom determinedly and she eyed him with curiosity.

“You just want to look in my nightstand, don’t you?” she asked with suspicion.

“Oh, you fucking know I do.” he purred, giving her ass a possessive squeeze. 

When they entered the room, Syrinx jumped off of Bryce’s unmade bed with a yowl and ran out of the room. Hunt kicked the door shut before laying her down carefully on the bed.

She swatted his hands away, “Fucking Hel Hunt, I’m not an invalid. I just need a second to stretch, okay? Go do what you came here for.” she said, gesturing to the side of the bed. As she began stretching her leg, he turned to the notorious nightstand, grabbing the handle and pulling the drawer open with contained excitement and curiosity.

Silence, and then,“What the fuck?” He exclaimed, her back turned to him as she stretched. The contents of the drawer jostled as he plucked an object from inside. 

“Oh c’mon Athalar, don’t act like you’ve never seen nipple clamps before.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes before turning around to see that looming giant of a man clutching a tiny Jelly Jubilee to his chest, his other hand shielding the toy’s face like a child. 

“Don’t look Juby!” He proclaimed, gasping in a playful tone. “Why in the Hel is she in your left nightstand?” 

“I don’t know, maybe I decided to bring her in here for safekeeping after someone rifled through my linen closet!” she spat in accusation. 

He leaned in, whispering as if performing an aside, “Y’know, I don’t think I can, in good conscience, continue this with her in the room.” 

“Oh for fuck sake, Hunt, just give her to me.” Bryce demanded in endeared exasperation, reaching up and snatching the glittery pegasus unicorn from his clutches before tossing it into the opposite nightstand. 

The contents of the drawer clattered again and when she turned back over, he was gripping her trusty vibrator in one hand, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold swinging from one outstretched finger. “I see you found Bob.” She winked.

“Who the fuck is Bob?” he asked, genuine confusion lacing his voice.

She snorted. “Battery. Operated. Boyfriend.” she punctuated, pointing towards the purple, silicone vibrator in his left hand. 

He looked back and forth between her and the toy, contemplating what to say next before gulping in a breath. “Well besides that, uh, interesting bit of information, I have so many questions.” he mused, climbing onto the bed and crawling over to kneel between her legs, already spread for him. 

“For starters, where did you get these cuffs? They feel alarmingly real. Not just some cheap, adult store replica.” 

Setting down the other two items, he focused on the metal handcuffs, unlocking them with the key he had also pulled from the drawer before tossing it onto the nightstand.

“Those?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows and feigning forgetfulness, “Oh I, uh, may or may not have stolen them…” she said, “...from the 33rd.” she added, her face breaking out into a sheepish grin.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he let her words sink in. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because,” she sat up, peeling off his white t-shirt, her body in all its glory now visible to him. He gulped, his eyes growing wider and he shifted on the bed. “Just like the rest of this gods forsaken city, you’ve heard the stories. My reputation precedes me…” she said. He saw the hurt flash through her eyes momentarily, but as quick as it had happened, it was gone. 

“So,” she stretched out two upturned fists to him, “cuff me officer.” she pouted, jutting out her bottom lip and giving him the saddest looking doe eyes.

His cock throbbed at the tone of her voice, at the way she was looking up at him so innocently, but he could see the wicked glint in her eyes. He took her hands, ratcheting the cuffs around each wrist and then picked up the blindfold, sliding his rough fingers along the silk material. He pushed a few stray strands of her hand behind her ears before stretching the elastic and sliding the blindfold down over her eyes. He ghosted his hands down the length of her arm, lifting them above her head and gently laying her back to rest on the bed. A knowing smirk played across her face.

“What are you up to, Athalar?”

He was hovering over her, his hard groin pressed against her aching center, his lips inches from hers. “Keep your arms up, and don’t move.” his voice was low and hungry, his command reverberating off her bones. 

With his hands planted on either side of her torso, he began kissing his way down her body, his lips trailing a tortuous path along her skin. When he reached her breasts, her skin pebbled at the contact. At his lips savoring each taste, his teeth grazing her teasingly, and at the cool breath he blew across her skin. He took each pert nipple between his lips, sucking and swirling his tongue around them, meanwhile flicking the other with his thumb.

Suddenly, he pulled his hands away, releasing her nipple from his lips. As much as it killed him, he stopped touching her altogether, admiring the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell with each breath. She began to squirm and his grin turned devilish. 

“Hunt, what the fuck? Why did you stop?” Her voice was wanting, needy.

He didn’t respond. Just continued to watch her squirm in the wake of his silence, enjoying the sight of her missing his touch. After a few moments he rubbed his fingers together, feeling the static spark come to life. Pressing the pads of his fingers to her skin, he circled them around her breasts, dragging a small electric current along her skin and causing her back to arch off the bed.

“Fucking Hel Hunt!” she yelped, bringing her hands down to her chest where he caught them by the chain of the handcuff.

“I told you not to move your hands.” He scolded, his voice a deep bass. 

“But I-”

“Does it hurt?” He asked, a tinge of concern edging his voice.

She paused, considering her response carefully. 

“No.”

“Then,” he pushed her arms back, guiding her hands once more to their resting place above her head. “Do what I say and don’t move, understand?”

She nodded, obeying willingly, and he sat back to work his remaining undergarment off and reposition himself. Laying down on his stomach, he nestled himself between her legs and wrapped his arms around her hips, bringing his hands up to rest on her abdomen. He looked down at the junction of her thighs, humming in approval at the sight of her gloriously aching center, the wetness of her arousal glistening in the morning light that shone through the penthouse windows. 

He called forth that static again, that small kernel of power that was only a fraction of the full might of his gift. As he kissed down the inside of her thigh, the one that had been injured two years before, he traced his fingers down the inside of the opposite thigh. She let out a gasp, the sensation like nothing she had ever experienced. He repeated the action of kissing her other thigh, this time not using his power, taking care not to cause her further pain. When he could no longer contain himself, he pounced upon her, his tongue lavishing erotic pleasure to her sensitive clit. When he electrified her skin once more, her back arched into his mouth as he feasted upon the taste of her. The delicious mixture of sensations - the soft press of his lips and the sharp tingling of his fingers against her skin - sent her reeling.

He repeated the tantalizing of her skin, diving his tongue into her entrance. “Holy fucking Urd, Bryce, you taste so good.” he groaned in delight, each word a tantric vibration through her core. 

Each languid swipe and thrust of his tongue was breaking her down and tearing her apart from inside. She could feel herself tightening, feel herself building to that eventual climax, but she didn’t want it to end that way. She wanted him inside her, filling her up so she could fall apart wrapped around his cock. She let him have a few more moments, let him savor the taste of her with delicious appreciation before setting her ruse into action. 

“Hunt, stop,” she moaned, lacing her voice with a whimper. He pulled himself up, sliding his body over hers so that he was once more hovering above her face, his arms pinned on either side of her torso. 

“What- what is it?” he asked. She could hear the panic in his voice. He had taken her bait.

She couldn’t help the devious smirk that spread across her face as she, with surprising strength, rolled him over onto his back and straddled him. She pushed the blindfold off and reached over, grabbing the key off of the nightstand. With quick precision, she unlocked the cuffs and chucked them, and the key, across the room. In this position, she could easily and selfishly find her release but she wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. He reached up to caress her arms but she pushed them above his head, her body parallel to his, her breasts pressed against his hard chest. 

“I want you inside me.” She moaned in a whisper, nipping his lip playfully. She felt his abs clench underneath her in response, heard the growl hum in his chest. 

Reaching back, she grabbed his already hard cock, positioning it at her entrance, teasing herself and delighting in the way his jaw clenched at her touch. His eyes were dark with hunger, his face schooled into a look of lethal and predatory calm. When she finally shifted her hips, pressing herself down onto his throbbing length and taking him in fully, their jaws both slackened and the moans they let out were loud enough for even the wretched souls at the bottom of the Istros to hear. With her hands planted on his chest and her nails digging into his skin, Bryce sank down onto him over and over, her lithe dancer’s body affording her grace and flexibility as she gyrated up and down. Hunt reached around, his wide grip claiming her ass with devious possessiveness, bringing her hips down harder as he thrust himself up to meet her. The change in force made Bryce whimper and dig her nails in deeper, threatening to draw blood. 

“So, is it just like you imagined?” Bryce asked, her words breathless and unhinged.

“If you’re referring to this,” Hunt said, giving a pointed squeeze of her ass, “it is so much better.” he growled, before pulling her down to catch her lips in his, his tongue invading her mouth with reckless abandon. Bringing his hands up to either side of her face, his fingers slid into her hair and he gripped a section, giving a tug to bare her neck to him. 

“I have one more idea that I think you’ll enjoy.” she said as he feathered kisses along her skin from her chin to the hollow of her throat.

“What could I possibly enjoy more than this?” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck.

Without answering, Bryce lifted herself off of his cock, the absence of him instantly making her ache even more. She crawled down to the edge of the bed and on all fours, perked her perfect rear into the air and gave a beckoning wiggle. She wasn’t looking, but she knew as the bed shifted with his movement, that he was prowling towards her with a voracious hunger. She could practically feel the tension and sexual energy sizzling in the air. She felt his hands grip her ass again and then she felt his teeth sink into the tender skin of her rear, followed by a gentle but territorial spank.

His callused hands traced along her back and up to her neck, reaching around to gently grip her throat. His body was confirmed to hers and when his lips were once more at her ear, his deep voice rumbling through her, the fire inside of her was reignited with damning ferocity. 

“The kitchen counter may have been your fantasy, but this is mine.” he groaned, tracing his tongue along the shell of her ear.

“Oh, I know.” she moaned with a smirk, her voice dripping with arrogance. 

Hunt dipped two fingers into her, giving a few quick thrusts before withdrawing and sliding his cock in, letting her wrap around his sensitive erection. In this position, his reach was even deeper and their gasps and groans intermingled, filling the otherwise silent room. With his right hand still gripping her throat, Hunt reached his free hand around her abdomen, his fingers finding her clit. When they made contact, her body shuddered around him, writhing at the sensory overload assaulting her body. 

Bryce heard an airy snap as Hunt unfurled his wings fully and a moment later the room became a torrent of air. With both hands occupied, he was using the flap of his feathered wings to both balance himself and provide him further leverage to sink into Bryce with each thrust. The currents of air made her nipples harden, made her skin tingle with delight, and she could feel the coil deep within her tightening again. 

“You’re going to wake up the entire building with all that flapping.” Bryce snapped, her sex-mussed hair billowing like a curtain of fire.

“Good.” Hunt grunted, “Let them hear.” His wings beat faster, bringing his thrusts against her backside harder and deeper. His fingers still worked her clit, massaging her in circles that made her legs tremble. When he dragged his tongue up the side of her neck, biting her earlobe and groaning into her ear, it was her undoing. 

The coil within that was threatening to rupture sprang alive and it was everything she could do to keep herself on all fours. Her body shook with unrelenting pleasure and her moans echoed off of every wall. When she tightened around his cock he, too, found his release. The windows vibrated from his roar as he spilled into her, every muscle in his body tense, his skin gleaming with sweat.  When they both stilled, their chests heaving and legs trembling, they collapsed onto their backs in a sweaty but satiated heap, laying shoulder-to-shoulder. 

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was their gasping pants. Hunt’s wings were still extended, cascading over the edge of the bed in a blanket of white, Bryce’s blood red hair a stark contrast. 

Bryce squirmed, reaching under her and yanking our the purple vibrator. 

“I guess we didn’t need Bob after all.” She exhaled, tossing it to the other end of the bed. Hunt chuckled, his laughter shaking the bed, a smug smile forming. 

“I-,” Bryce started, still gulping in air, “I guess it’s a little late to ask, but do you take the tonic?”

“Every month on the dot, as per Micah’s contract.” Hunt said, his voice now a sharp edge at the mention of his servitude, “It doesn’t bode well to have a bunch of slave offspring running around I suppose.”

Bryce looked over and saw the way his face was set into hard lines, his eyes turning dark as he became lost in thought. She rolled over onto her side, taking his tattooed wrist into her hand. She pressed her kiss-swollen lips against the inside of his wrist where the slave tattoo was etched into his skin. She repeated the action, kissing the spot several times before angling herself up to do the same across his forehead, trailing her lips gently across the thorned halo.When she was finished, she pulled back and looked him in the eyes with absolution.

“I’ve seen who you are Hunt, who you truly are, and you are so much more than those markings.” she spoke quietly, the tender admission lingering in the air between them. His eyes grew softer as he looked into the amber ones peering into his soul. Like so many other times, his breath caught at how beautiful she was. How the morning sun made her glow with an otherworldly radiance. How her face was so soft, a smattering of freckles bedecking her skin like a constellation. How her red hair spilled over her shoulders and back like a velvet curtain. 

In that moment, he wanted so badly to say what had tortured him every day since his exploration of her linen closet, and the innocent way she had divulged a part of herself that no one else had seen. He could taste the words on his lips, could feel them forming, but before he could utter a word Bryce broke the silence with a contented sigh and flopped back down onto the bed.

“Alright Athalar, can we actually go make breakfast now? I’m fucking starving!” she exclaimed, making the bed shake from their laughter.

Hunt rolled over to hover over top of her, his sable hair hanging down around his face and tickling her skin. He pressed his lips to hers, lingering once more at the taste of her.

He spoke, his words coming out muffled against her mouth. “The last one there has to do the dishes!” he grinned wickedly, making a dash for his underwear discarded across the room.

“It’s on alphahole!” she shouted, leaping off the bed, knocking her bedside lamp off with a clatter in the process. She shrugged on his t-shirt once more, dodging the forgotten handcuffs he chucked at her which hit the closed bedroom with a metallic crash. From across the apartment, Syrinx gave a whine at the commotion, leaping down off of the couch to wait patiently for Bryce to fill his food bowl. 

#BryceHunt #crescent city #Quinlar #Bryce quinlan #Hunt athalar #sarah j maas #alphahole #angel #smut #fanfiction #fantasy #books #love #angst #fluff #confessions

[official-archivist-keith]

Eventually they reach the first town, Lance going off for a walk while Keith sits to watch as he pulls out the tape recorder.

"There is a sickness in this village. Perhaps you would not see it from a distance, and the faint sting of rot on the breeze is easy enough to dismiss. But as you get closer, that infectious feeling of wrongness is harder and harder to shake.

The grass is not the green of nature, the buildings are warped by more than age, and the voices that come from behind the inhabitants’ masks are hoarse and wet.

They move with exaggerated casualness, a parody of idyllic village life. And when they have a break from weeping, they reassure each other how wonderful it is in their village, or at least how wonderful it used to be.

Each is covered from head to toe in thick black fabric, and they never, ever touch.

Take a deep breath.

The air feels thick and soupy in your lungs, swarming with a thousand contagions digging into you, begging for you to join the village:

It’s so quiet there, and everyone cares for each other, far from the din and compacted flesh of the city.

In the center, a maypole stands, mildewed strips of colored cloth hanging limply from it like shreds of ragged skin. The base of the pole is ashen and charred.

The disease itself is nothing special. It begins as a small patch of discolored skin, the tiniest blemish. Scrub it off, and it is gone! For a few hours, at least. But it returns again and again, and begins to spread, a mold with tendrils that burrow deep.

It ranges in color from rancid yellow and corpse-fat white to the dull, angry purple of a fresh bruise. It itches, and burns, and you can feel it growing and spreading inside you, looking for the core of you. At least until it worms its way into your bones.

Beneath the coat of each terrified citizen of this sick village lies a lurking possibility, a nightmarish suspicion of infectious constellations of hungry mildew, a mutating technical atlas of rotten and pockmarked flesh.

But who can know for sure? Their coats are oh, so thick.

There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you. It has always been in the village, always festered in the dark corners where no one could stomach to check. Where good neighbors wouldn’t dream to speculate.

But those who live here will tell you different. From behind their masks those friendly voices will tell you how it used to be: clean, and hygenic, and always bathed in sepia sunshine. They know in the guts of them this sickness has come from outside, that it is those from beyond the village that have done this to them.

They brought it here, they whisper to each other in the unnamed pub, hunched and bloated over their pale and stinking beers, lifting their masks to take a mouthful, puce faces and frightened sneers exposed for just a moment.

They couldn’t leave us well enough alone. They wanted what we have, our perfect peaceful life, and so they dragged their sickness here and damned us all.

The patrons speak quietly, ‘cause who can say for sure if the face behind a mask is a good, honest village face - or a sickness-bearing harbinger from beyond?

And people do still come to the village, for however thick the paranoia, however terrible the disease, there are worse things beyond.

They are stopped, of course. Beaten and stripped and checked head to toe for any sign of infection. The village council sees to that. Most are uncontaminated, though that does little to save them, while others are already laced right through with fungus of their own.

A few are spared brutality, and treated with such cordial politeness you must have thought their inquisitors old friends. Though there seems on the surface no rhyme to such decisions, were you to look below their coats, you might see the patterns of their mold were matched.

It is, alas, those who are unblemished who suffer worst. So incomprehensible is it that any from outside could be clean, that there might be another source or vector, the inspectors devise another theory: An invisible infection. A hundred Typhoid Marys spreading mildew and decay.

They keep them in the post office, wrapped in chicken wire, prodded and jeered and watched. Should they begin to show signs of the rot, then maybe, just maybe, they can stay for now, though nobody will doubt that it was they brought the illness.

But if they stay clean, if they continue to act like they are better, like they are above the sickness that it is certain that they must have brought to the village, then that cannot be endured. So they are taken to the village green, and the scorch marks at the base of the maypole get darker.

The villagers stand on the green to watch, ignoring the bending of the grass as it tries to worm its way through their boots. They watch the screaming outsider as the fire purifies them, and inside feel the gnawing panic of their own secrets.

For how long ago did they really come to the village? How deep did their roots go? Do any of them truly remember? What if they are an outsider? What if they’re found out?

No. Such fears are to be quashed and swallowed; they must stand strong; they must stand together as one body against the mass of those beyond the village who would see them degraded and destroyed. They cannot allow such secret terrors to break their unity.

And the maypole watches over all.

There is no house in town that has not found itself marked with the red cross of plague, but paint is fleeting and the villagers are so desperate to hide their state. Night still falls here, if only to give those that wish it a chance to try and hide their frantic denials.

As the weak dawn breaks, you may count the doors now painted white, and see who is more conscientious in covering their spongy skin.

The deception is pitiable, and yet deep down every villager knows the mold has marked them deeper than any of the others, and carries it as their most secret shame.

Foremost in their denials are the village council, those loud and hardy souls who have taken it upon themselves to police this place, to safeguard their traditions and denounce the infection that is the right and proper punishment of those who would allow the village borders to be breached, and their ancient way of life to be compromised.

Their masks are blue and red and white, and their coats are the color of fresh ivory, stained sometimes with streaks of crimson from their dutiful ministrations. None would dare accuse them of infection, and to cross them or draw their eye is to invite the strongest diagnosis.

Head of the council is Jillian Smith. Her father’s father’s father’s father’s father built the maypole, carved from a jackalberry tree and painted in the colors of the village. This place is her home and her right and her duty, and woe to any fungus-riddled outsider who might believe it otherwise.

For no one would speak up if Jillian Smith were to mark you infected or declare you foreign. No one would lift a finger as they dragged you to the green.

Her gloves are purest white and never sullied, and they hide a cerulean mold that covers every inch of her, through skin, muscle, and organ, though she has no idea it runs so deep.

By night, she sits in the quiet darkness of her perfect cottage, peeling herself with a straight razor, layer by layer, desperate to reach the pure flesh she is so sure must still be in there, somewhere.

Her living room is the same suffocation blue as the rest of her, every surface piled high with her own discarded bloody skin, and she has no terror deeper than the thought she might be discovered. As she pulls spongy strips free one agonizing fiber at a time, she stares from the window at the house of her neighbor, Mrs Kim.

Mrs Kim is not on the village council. Mrs Kim keeps to herself. And Jillian Smith is certain Mrs Kim is not infected, and hates her for it.

What Mrs Kim is, is scared. Scared of her neighbors, scared of her friends, scared of the moment when someone will smell the spreading patch of darkness on her back, and decide she is infected, or remember she has only been in the village since her grandfather’s day, and judge her to be an outsider.

Should she accuse someone else? Send them to the village green? Perhaps she might petition to join the village council, though that would invite their attention as much as anything might.

Even through the masks, Mrs Kim knows the looks she gets in the pub. But what can she do?

When she hears the shouts outside and sees the smoke pouring from the thatch roof, she knows it is too late.

They drag her to the maypole, their masks hiding the tears of terror and angry shame, and lash her there with those strips of cloth that never seem to burn.

Mrs Kim does not fight, though she screams and screams and screams as all her fears are realized. Jillian Smith tries to smile as she watches her neighbor burn, but the fungus is too thick around her lips, and her face no longer moves.

As the flames consume the last of Mrs Kim in thick and acrid smoke, the mold reaches the bones of Jillian Smith, and she blooms.

In a moment she is swollen, bloated, bursting into a cloud of violet spores that envelop the green and those who dwell there, embracing them in a rot that long since seeped into the soil of this blighted land."

Keith sighs as he finishes, "End recording."

@scp-832

[dokoni-mo]

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 7)

(A/N: this was origninally supposed to go up tomorrow, but it was another one of those cases where i was writing at night and this bad boy basically completed itself. Im very proud of this chapter and I hope yall like it just as much as I do!! It was really fun imagining all of the things and writing them down :))) as always, feel free to ask to be added to the taglist :)) and feel free to send me any asks of anything you wanna say/know. All previous chapters have been liked below :)) )

(P.S: i got kinda misty-eyed while writing this so be warned)

Chapter One: [x]

Chapter Two: [x]

Chapter Three: [x] 

Chapter Four: [x]

Chapter Five: [x]

Chapter Five and a Half: [x]

Chapter Six: [x]

WARNINGS: canon typical voilence, usage of weapons, cursing, mentions of being in the hospital, some angst, mentions of death, otherwise none!!

Key: (F/N) = first name, (L/N) = last name. 

Word Count: ~7900

~~~

The force that surrounded the room had told him that something here was undeniably wrong. It frustrated him that he couldn’t yet piece it together, and frustrated him further that the force wouldn’t tell him the answer. 

The look in your eyes when he accepted the king’s offer only fueled his sense of self-doubt and second-guessing. Even if you didn’t know it, your eyes told him that you had felt a sense of unease in the room as well, but weren’t able to pick up on it's source. Perhaps it was just your nerves. Perhaps it was just the nerves that he had left. 

Watching you be whisked away by those guards was one of the hardest sights he had to bear, but he had no idea as to why. He had wanted very desperately for you to stay by his side during that meeting, but the sense of your boredom was plaguing his mind, distracting him. He hated that he had put you in such a situation, and thought that it might be nice for you to be entertained for a short while. 

But, the force told a much different story. 

He pretended that the last glance you gave him over his shoulder didn’t shake him to his core and made his fists ball. His thoughts of worry were consuming him whole. He would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself, but deep down inside of him, he was scared. Scared that look was the last one he would ever get from you. Scared that look you gave him was the last time he would ever be able to see the life in your eyes. His fists were shaking in the sheer amount of strength he gripped them with. Self-loathing and worry filled his mind. 

He had lost so many in his life. 

Yet, for some odd reason that he could not place… 

He did not want to lose you too. 

In fact, deep, deep down inside of him… 

He knew that losing you would finally destroy him. 

It would shatter any semblance of humanity he had within him. 

Despite feeling this so strongly, he still had no idea why. 

You were just a mechanic from Endor… 

Why did he feel the need to see you every day? To speak to you every day? To keep you by his side? To protect you? 

He couldn’t begin to know. 

Once you were ushered out of the room and the doors closed behind you, the only noise that filled the space was the sound of his respirator, working to a T just like it always did. Almost too quickly, he reached out with the force, searching for the feeling of you. 

Sure enough, you were still there. Still alive and unharmed. Big shocker, since you had literally just left, but… 

He was… relieved. 

“Now, my Lord,” the King spoke, that idiotic smirk plasterd on his face, “where were we?” 

“We were discussing the terms of agreement to join the Empire.” Lord Vader spoke flatly, his mind still somewhere else. 

“Ah! Yes, of course!” the king responded. His voice was cheery. 

Too cheery. 

It was disgusting. Revolting. Yet Lord Vader had to push on, by order of his master.

Lord Vader sensed more guards enter the room without even having to turn his head. The muscles of his shoulders tensed as he felt their presence, causing his adrenaline to stir. 

Something was definitely off. But, he decided to ignore it. Surely they wouldn’t try anything. These creatures didn’t seem that idiotic as to try and go toe-to-toe with him. Yet still… his mind seemed to wander again and again to the thought of you. The thought of you somehow being in some sort of danger. Trying his best to attend to the matter at hand, he told himself that you were in good hands with the guards. But, why did it feel like a lie? Why did it feel wrong? He decided to explain these questions with only his nerves acting up, and nothing more. 

“So what exactly will be the, erm… benefits that my planet receives from the Empire, my Lord?” The king asked. Lord Vader barely even realized that he had said anything. 

“Your planet will become a base of empirical troops. They will replace your guards and police systems if you wish. Otherwise, they will be serving there strictly for the Empire. You will also be financially compensated for all the resources you give the Empire.” 

Maker, did Lord Vader hate conversing with potential allies like this. 

“Splendid!” the king exclaimed, clapping his clammy, wrinkled hands together. If Lord Vader hadn’t been wearing a mask, he would have rolled his eyes. 

The king then started to babble on and on about how he was so pleased with Lord Vader’s visit to his planet and how honored he was to be joining the Empire and blah blah blah blah blah. A wash of anger overcame Lord Vader as he was forced to listen to the old man blubber on and on and on. This is the part that he especially hated when mingling with potential Empire recruits. They always felt the need to suck up to him and to the Empire. Lord Vader wished that they would just cut to the chase and tell him how they really felt. 

Just like you did. All the time. 

Zoning out from the king’s still-ongoing rambles, Lord Vader’s mind began to drift again. His sense of worry was overtaking him once more, swallowing him whole. If he were not in that infernal, hellish suit that kept him alive, everyone would be able to see clear as day that he was not okay; that he was worried sick, that he was scared. However, the hard shell of his exterior, coupled with his large frame and tough aura made everyone think that there was no human within those layers of buttons, leather, and metal. There was no one capable of emotion or feeling within the depths of steel that covered the thing within. Granted, he was to appear this way to everyone by order of his master, and Lord Vader did obey his master’s command. However, deep down inside of him, for a very long amount of time, he hoped that someone could look at him and see a person, and not just the Empire’s most feared weapon. 

You had done that. 

And fuck was he worried about you. 

He couldn’t bear it any longer. He had to know that you were okay. That you were safe. 

Droning out the king’s still ongoing blubbering, Lord Vader focused all his attention on manipulating and bending the force around him. Focusing on your life force, he felt his shoulders tense as every fluid in his metal-clad body that was still left run cold. 

Your life force had diminished significantly. And, you were fading still.

His breathing hitched in his respirator. His fists were shaking in a flurry of passionate emotion.

No. 

No. 

No.

He would not allow this. 

Not caring at all about what the king had to say, Lord Vader cut him off mid-speech. 

“I wish for my mechanic to return to me at once.”

The king looked at Lord Vader like the sith had grown a second head as his majesty was silenced. The king swallowed thickly as he leaned his body to the other end of his hair, his hand wrapping around his chin as he rubbed it gingerly. 

There was no mistaking the emotion that glossed over his blue eyes. Lord Vader had seen it countless times before. 

Fear. 

Lord Vader’s anger was reaching a boiling point. 

“M-My Lord! But she has only just left! Surely you could allow her more time to-” the king tried to reason, only to be cut off again.

“I want her here now. Do not make me ask again.” 

No one made even the slightest movement after Lord Vader spoke. The air was silent except for the mechanical breathing coming from Lord Vader’s person. The aura that emanated from the room was crisp, full of anticipation. If one were to listen hard enough, one would potentially be able to hear the sweat dripping down the guard’s foreheads as they gripped their blasters tighter. A thick, yet undetectable to the untrained scent filled the air. Lord Vader knew the scent all too well. He had smelled it so often throughout the years. There was no mistaking it. 

Fear. 

Lord Vader’s anger filled every atom within his person. 

The king was the one to break the tension, clearing his throat. 

His tone was much lower than normal. Serious. 

“I’m… I’m afraid I can not do that-” 

Everything that happened next was so fast that everyone present had barely had any time to process it. Faster than lightning, Lord Vader had risen from his seated position, his chair launching back faster than a speeding blaster shot. Sensing the rage coming off of him, the guards in the room pointed their blasters at the sith lord and fired, the blue streaks of light illuminating the room in quick, pulsive flashes. Using the force to deflect away the bolts, Lord Vader took his saber off of his belt, igniting it in his grip.

Lord Vader deflected the bolts off of his lightsaber that continued to barrage him, sending them off in wild directions, striking a few guards and making them drop dead to the floor. White-hot, passionate rage burning inside him, Lord Vader swung his saber faster and stronger than he ever had before, the muscles in his arms rippling beneath his suit. A few other guards were caught in this flurry of anger and the brilliant crimson to match, their pieces now scattered on the floor. 

Sensing one last guard left alive, Lord Vader hurled his saber to the other side of the room, cutting the guard clean in half as well as a few decorations in its path. Watching the guard’s body fall dead to the ground, he sensed one last man trying to escape his fury. 

The king. 

His saber returning to his right hand, Lord Vader reached out his left hand to the king who was halfway out the door, beckoning the force to do the same. Bending to Lord Vader’s will, the force wrapped an invisible, large, strong hand around the king’s throat, immediately making him gasp for air. Feeling his feet leave the ground, the king was quickly and violently pulled by the force into Lord Vader’s grasp, his robotic hand wrapping tightly around his majesty’s royal throat. Darth Vader loomed oh so ominously above the king as he was held tightly in his grasp, the dark lord’s saber humming forebodingly in his other hand. The king was gasping and choking for air at this point, his eyes wide and filled to the brim with fear.

The king had thought he was staring death right in the face. 

And, he was. 

Desperately trying to get away, the king tried fruitlessly to kick at the sith, the soles of his boots leaving skids on the metal that adorned the dark lord’s body. Lord Vader didn’t care in the slightest. The only reason why he didn’t immediately kill that old man because only he knew the answer to what Lord Vader did care to know. 

The only thing that pumped through Lord Vader’s body at this point was burning, boiling, white-hot fury as he spoke to the king in his choke-hold, his voice oh so much more deep and constricting. 

“Where is she?” 

~~~

When you finally came-to, you instantly realized three things. 

One: your wrists were tied together, and there was a chain around your ankle.

Opening your eyes and feeling your body again, you had barely been able to feel these restraints at first. But as you began to stir, they became far more apparent. Grogginess lacing your mind, you were confused at first on why you weren’t able to rub your eyes. Looking down at your hands, you finally noticed the pair of metal restraints that were bound around your wrists, making you unable to move your hands freely. You were terribly puzzled at first, but quickly remembered that the guards had assaulted you, locking you in this room. Trying to move your feet, you felt a pull at your right ankle as you shifted and twisted. Looking down, you noticed a similar restraint to the one on your wrist keeping you chained to the floor, the chain only about one and a half foot long. 

Two: there was a pounding in your head. 

You were less challenged by coming up with an explanation to this one. Remembering the events prior to you blacking out, you figured that your pounding head was from when the guard struck you with the butt of his rifle. The aching feeling was in the same spot. Honing in on the sensation a moment longer, you noticed that it felt as if something was caked onto that side of your head. Your lips tightened into a line as you deduced what it was. 

Blood. 

Great. 

Three: you weren’t alone in that room anymore. 

Focusing your eyes to train on what was in front of your vision, you noticed three pairs of feet standing about five feet away from you, all adorned with pairs of boots. Recognizing them as no where near empirical standards, your brow furrowed. The symbol of the rebellion you saw… 

These were rebels. 

Not wanting to lie down on the cold ground any longer, you shifted your body so that you could roll onto your butt, and eventually sit on your knees. Your body sore from lying on that cold, hard ground for an unknown amount of time, you shot a glare upwards, hoping that it landed upon your rebel captors. 

Sure enough, it did, and you were greeted with two familiar faces, and one unknown one. The two you recognized were the guards who had brought you to this room. The one you didn’t know was smirking devilishly down at you, her hands on her hips as she looked at you like you were living filth. You were almost offended, but you remembered who exactly you worked for. You supposed that made her opinion more justifiable, since she was indeed a rebel. However, this did not stop you from glaring daggers right into her eyes, your lips in a slight scowl. 

“Well, look who finally decided to join the party!” the rebel woman said, crossing her arms over her chest. She was a bit of a more mature woman (about early to mid thirties), and had the medals on her coat to match her experience. You had no idea what rank she was. It was almost impossible to tell with rebel uniforms, since, well, they didn’t really have uniforms. You envied them for that. 

“It's not like I wanted to be here in the first place…” you mumbled out, your gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. 

Your quip must have angered the female rebel. She spoke through her teeth as she responded to you, her brow furrowing in frustration. 

“What did you say to me, empirical scum?” 

It was your turn to make your brow furrow, your wrists straining against the restraints. 

“What does it matter to you?! Let me go!” you bellowed, although you were almost certain that your demands were not going to be met. 

Your confirmation came seconds later after the woman let out a laugh. 

“No way, missy! We are nowhere near done with you yet.” 

You sighed quickly to yourself at this, your brow still furrowed in anger and frustration. 

“I don’t know how many times you’ve heard this before, but I won't tell you anything.” you retorted back, a smirk tugging at your lips at your not-so-subtle teasing. Although you didn’t exactly classify yourself as loyal to the Empire, you were still no fool as to get you on it's bad side. Furthermore, it was moreso him you were loyal to… 

Him. 

Lord Vader. 

The thought of his name made your mind start to spiral. Did he know you were there? Where was he? Would he come for you? Would he even bother to even ask where you were? Would he care if you were captured by this lady and held as a prisoner for the rest of your years? The times you remembered sharing with him on that damned planet said yes… But you were still worried nonetheless. Still scared. Perhaps it was just you being scared of being taken prisoner, but your mind started to feel with fears and doubts the longer you sat there on the floor. Unable to hide your worry, your eyes kept darting to and from the door, hoping to see a familiar sith-lord standing in it's frame. 

Noticing your wandering eyes, the rebel woman reached out and gripped the back of your hair, forcing you to look up at her as you winced. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked, her voice feigning concern, “Hoping that monster will come and save you? Don’t be fucking ridiculous.” The woman spat at you, violently letting go of your hair as she re-crossed her arms. 

“He’s… y-you’ll never get away with this.” you panted out, your voice stammering. Your mind still racing, you could barely hide any of your fear. 

The rebel woman tsked as she rolled her eyes. 

“Psh. Please. We’ve already got half the job done. We got Vader alone with our finest, and there’s no way he could take them all on at once-” 

You breathed out a laugh before she could finish. 

“Maker, you really are that dumb…” 

Scowling down at you, the woman cleared her throat as she continued. 

“We didn’t expect Vader to bring someone like you along with him. We expected some pilot or officer that we could just kill off. That was the original plan for you, missy…” 

You kept your gaze trained straight in front of you as the woman started to pace around you. 

“And by all accounts, it still is. Unless, you give us what we want.” 

You pursed your lips before speaking, “Which is?” 

“Information,” the woman hissed, leaning down to get in your ear, “We know who you are, (F/N) (L/N). You’re his mechanic. You know things.” 

You let out a scoff, “Look, as you said, I’m just a mechanic, lady. It’s not like I’m going to know valuable secrets to the Empire. You’re embarrassing yourself.” 

The woman looked up at the guards and nodded to them at your answer. Quickly, the same guard who had knocked you unconscious moved his arms, revealing to you a long, silver stick with a ring of electricity around one end, filing the room with it's sound. You licked your lips at the sight of this, your eyes darting to the door again. 

Please… don’t leave me behind, you thought to yourself as sweat started to form on your brow. 

“Does that jog your memory, mechanic?” the woman hissed. 

“No, not really. Because I don’t know-” 

You were cut off by your own loud groan of pain as the guard pressed the electrical end of the stick to your shoulder, sending volts of electricity through your veins and nerves. It was agony. You now understood why stormtroopers who patrolled the prison blocks said they still heard the screams at night. 

Removing the stick from your shoulder, you let your head dangle down as you closed your eyes, your brow still furrowed. You refused to show these people just how terrified you were. 

“How about now? How about you try telling us the plans for that super-weapon we’ve been hearing rumors about, hm?” the rebel woman asked, staring down at you with unforgiving eyes.

“I already told you no.” you hissed back at her. Passionate rage flooding through you, you glared back up at the woman, daggers in your eyes as you spoke with your teeth bared. How dare they do this to you. How dare they chain you up like some animal. How dare they knock you out then shock you. How dare they speak to you in such a way. 

But, most of all… 

How dare they trick you into leaving his side. 

Your voice cracked as your words flew from your lips, your eyes threading to spill over in tears of frustration. 

You were done. 

You didn’t realize how crazy you were going from your worrisome thoughts and anxieties of no one coming to save you as the words spewed from your mouth with absolutely no filter. 

“Is this how you expect to get anything out of anyone? Shock me to death?! Yeah, sure, that’ll make ANYONE wanna talk. Look, I’m not lying to you. I really don’t know any fucking secrets that the Empire has. I just fucking work there. You really think that all of this is gonna work? Think again, bitch. You put all your “finest” in that room with Lord Vader to DIE. They’re all going to DIE. And for what? For you to die too? To bully around some mechanic for a few minutes? You’re rebels, right? Is this really the example you wanna set? Chaining up some fucking mechanic who’s just here on this NOWHERE planet as a representative? GROW THE FUCK UP! All of you are so stupid- DO YOU NOT SEE WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN?! LORD VADER WILL COME HERE ANY MINUTE NOW AND KILL YOU ALL. HE WILL, I KNOW HE WILL. H-HE’S GOING TO COME FOR ME! I KNOW HE WILL! I-” 

You didn’t even feel the hot tears running down your furiously contorted face as you screamed at the woman. You didn’t even realize how crazy you must have sounded. You didn’t even realize that they were telling you to shut up until you felt the electricity shoot though your veins again, making you yelp in agony. 

You didn’t even realize you were blacked out again until you hit the floor. 

~~~

As much as Lord Vader detested the king of that damn planet, he did have to give him credit for his resilience. 

No matter how much the dark lord demanded that the king fork over the information of your whereabouts, he wouldn’t do it. In fact, he didn’t really say anything. Lord Vader would choke the king in his grasp until his majesty was almost dead. Then, releasing the force around the king, Lord Vader would allow his majesty to drop to the floor for a brief moment to cough and choke at the dark lord’s feet, the king’s old, wrinkled hand clutching his throat. Once Lord Vader decided that he took in enough air, the sith would lift up the king and choke him once more. This continued on for a large amount of time. Lord Vader only grew more and more violent with each new choke hold. Every succeeding choke would be more tight and constricting than the last, and each succeeding throw to the ground would be rougher and rougher than the last. 

Throwing the king to the ground for what felt like the millionth time, Lord Vader was unable to hide his anger as he spoke, his voice as deep and menacing as the devil’s. 

“Your suffering could end very quickly, your majesty,” the dark lord rumbled, his grip upon his ignited saber growing tighter and tighter, “If you tell me the information I wish to know.” 

The king was coughing and wheezing at Lord Vader’s feet, his hand trying to massage his aching throat. His majesty could barely keep himself up upon his hand and knees as he looked up at the sith lord, his body weak and desperate for air. The king’s face was significantly reddened and his eyes were full of tears as he gazed upon the sith. 

He felt as if he were looking at the devil himself. 

“N…” the King began to rasp out, his throat dry and aching with the fury of the sith, “Over… my dead… body..!” 

Lord Vader tilted his head to the side inquisitively at this. The sith could definitely see that this cretin was willing to die for his worthless cause. 

Pitiful. 

Disgusting. 

Repulsive. 

It only added flame to the fire of Lord Vader’s fury. 

How dare this thing keep him from you. 

Lord Vader would not allow it. 

“Fortuneatly, your majesty…” Lord Vader began to say.

A bright flash of crimson filled the king’s gaze, followed by an excruciating pain. The king tried to scream, but his throat was so hoarse and broken that all that left it was a loud, strong rasp as he fell to the floor, rolling on his back to present himself to the heavens above, begging his maker above to save him. 

But no one came. 

Not even the maker himself would dare to oppose Lord Vader in that moment. 

After a moment of the king groaning in pain, Lord Vader finished his sentence. 

“You do not need all of your limbs to survive.” 

Opening his eyes and looking to the floor, the king confirmed his suspicions. There lied the king’s severed hand, cut off right in the middle of his forearm. 

It was horrific. 

But he had to endure. 

“I...I am-” the king stammered out, interrupted by his own coughs, “I am the king of this planet. I am king Chad Lothario Junichiro The Fifth. I will not be slighted by these attempts to-” 

The king was cut off again, but this time by another brilliant flash of crimson. With another twirl of his saber, Lord Vader severed the rest of his majesty’s arm, just below the dip of his shoulder. This earned another rasp of pain from the king, his face contorting as he saw the pieces of his arm littering the floor.

“Does that change your mind?” Lord Vader asked, feigning a sense of calm in his tone, masking out the boiling amount of rage that pounded through his body, making the sith lord see red. 

The king panted and gasped for a long moment before wheezing out his answer. 

“I… Y-Yes… just… no more, please…” 

Lord Vader felt a twang of satisfaction course through him, interrupting the currents of fury that crashed inside him. Deigniting his saber, he continued to bore his gaze down upon the king, unfazed by the pain he was in. 

He deserved it. 

He put you in harms way. 

Lord Vader would not allow it. 

“Good.” Lord Vader rumbled out with feigned pleasure, “Now speak. If you tell the truth, I will contemplate allowing you to keep the rest of your limbs.” 

The king nodded his head at a feverish pace, swallowing his saliva before speaking.

“I-I had my guards take her down the hallway… the last room at the end…” 

Lord Vader looked at the king for a long while. He could not sense any form of deceit coming from the king, so he trusted his intuition that the creature must be telling the truth. The dark’s lords fists balled once more as he thought of you in that room. Reaching out with the force, he honed in on your life force again. You were still alive, but not in good shape. Lord Vader’s breathing hitched as he pictured what could possibly be happening to you. 

You were alone. 

Scared. 

Helpless.

In pain. 

Everything Lord Vader wanted to shield you from. 

He was failing to do so. 

Lord Vader would not fail. 

Clipping his saber back onto his belt, the sith lord quickly turned on his heel and began to exit the room, his cape fluttering behind him from the speed. Reaching out with the force, Lord Vader hurled the doors open, startling the stormtroopers that were waiting outside. Poor boys. 

Reaching out once more with the force, Lord Vader manipulated it to latch an invisible hand upon the king’s ankle, the dark lord dragging his majesty behind him as he marched. 

Rumbling out a quick follow me, Lord Vader commanded the group of stromtroopers to follow beind him. Obeying his order, the men in white marched behind the sith, their blasters clutched tightly in their gloves. A few of them began to whisper amongst themselves, their blasters and helmets motioning to Lord Vader and the man he was dragging behind him. Ordinarily, the dark lord would have warned them off the consequences of not maintaining proper contact. 

But in that moment, he couldn’t care in the slightest. 

The only thing in the galaxy that Lord Vader cared about… 

The only thing in the universe that Lord Vader wished to pursue…

Was to get you safe. 

To return your small, fragile body to his side. To take you away from this awful place. To make sure you were safe. To take you back to his Star Destroyer. To return you to your station where you would never be harmed again. Where he could see you every day. Where he could speak to you every day. Where he could constantly know that you were safe. Where he could see you smile. Where he could hear you laugh. Where he could hold you in his arms without prying eyes… 

How he longed to deliver you to this fate. 

Looking at the door that obscured the sight of you from him, he was filled with an unprecedented, uncanny, unfathomable amount of rage, anger, and hate.

How dare they keep you from him. 

They would be destroyed, just like every person who tried to stop him. 

~~~

You didn’t stay blacked out for very long before you awoke again, the pain in your shoulder still throbbing. 

You slowly began to sit back up again as you heard the rebel woman’s voice again, causing you to frown. 

“Done with your nap, scum?” 

You scoffed, “Yes. Very refreshing.” 

The woman scowled and crossed her arms again, meeting your gaze as she looked down upon you. 

“Shut up. Now, are you gonna talk? Or do we have to encourage you some more?” 

You sighed, your brow furrowing, “I already told you, lady, I don’t-”

“LIAR.” the woman bellowed, cutting you off. She nodded to the guard with the shocker stick again, “Give her some more motivation.” 

You bit your lip and closed your eyes as you saw him draw closer, not wanting to give the rebels any satisfaction of seeing the fear on your face again. You felt your shoulders tense and your wrists strain against the bindings as you heard the shocker ignite. 

Was this it? 

Is this the final curtain? Your finishing bow. 

You didn’t know.

You didn’t want it to be. It was funny for you to admit it now, but there was still so much you wanted to do. You had never thought that you would think such a thing after joining the Empire, but so much had changed. You were happy. You were excited to greet each day. You were thrilled to fix things. You were overjoyed to repair broken TIE Advanced x1s. You were over the moon that you put on your uniform each day. Such a stark contrast to what life had been like before. 

He had changed that. 

You were oh so happy when it was you and him. You were finally able to truly connect with another soul. You were finally able to admit your deepest and darkest regrets and tell your oldest stories. You were finally able to converse with another human. You were finally happy. You were finally able to smile. You were finally able to laugh. 

All because of him. 

And now… you were scared. 

You were oh so frightened that you would never be able to experience anything with him ever gain. That you would never speak to him again. That you would never look at him again. That you would never be able to laugh with him again. That you would never be able to share a dance with him again. That you would never be able to tell stories with him again. 

That you would never be able to tell him… 

You felt a lump in your throat as the guard’s boots stomped closer to you, making you tighten your lips into a line. 

Your mind filled with images of him and nothing but him. 

Vader… you thought to yourself. 

You could feel the electricity emanating off of the stick. 

I hope… 

You think of me… 

When you fly again. 

I’ll be one of the stars. 

Please… 

Wave hi if you see me. 

A hot tear ran down your cheek, dampening the surface. 

I’m sure you’ll know which one I am. 

Bracing for impact, you tensed your shoulders as you squinted your eyes shut. 

Instead of being greeted with the sound of electricity being forced into your body, you were greeted by a much more startling one; one that made you shoot your eyes open and whip your head up to look at the door. 

Or, what used to be the door. It was now in wadded clumps on the floor. 

In the door’s place was a large plume of smoke. The smoke was quickly illuminated with thin streams of red. 

Blaster bolts. 

Were you dreaming?

The bolts scattered themselves across the room, ending their path in the walls around it. A few lucky bolts met their end in the chests of the two guards that had locked you in that room, making them drop dead to the floor. 

If they hadn’t taken you against your will, you would have been horrified. 

As the smoke settled, you were able to make out what was behind it. 

A quite large battalion of stromtroopers, their blasters aimed and hot from their recent barrage. 

And in the middle of them all, looming oh so much taller than the rest. 

Lord Vader. 

Your savior. 

You felt your heart swell with every emotion known to man as your eyes widened. 

You flexed your muscles as you began the motion to call to him and run to his side, forgetting you were chained to the floor. Thinking it over a moment longer, you decided to stay put. The symbol of the rebellion was now plastered so that Lord Vader could see it. 

You thought it best to let him deal with them on his own. At least for now. 

Somehow, the rebel woman had survived the onterouge of blaster bolts with only a hit to her shoulder, her hand now clutching the wound as she extended her free one to Lord Vader, a pistol within her grip and finger laced around the trigger. She glared right into Lord Vader’s mask as she tried to put on a brave face, but the panting in her breath revealed her true emotions. 

It was her who broke the tension. 

“Give me…” she said in between pants, “one good reason… as to not pull the trigger.” 

Lord Vader tilted his head to the side at this, saying nothing. He must have been amused. 

“I believe I have someone of importance to you, rebel.” Lord Vader eventually said, the sound of his voice like music to your ears. You could almost cry. You were so relieved that you were able to hear it again. 

The woman raised a brow in confusion. As if it were on cue, a stormtrooper with something in his grip stepped forward. Without any sense of care, he threw the object in his grasp down at the floor to the woman’s feet. Following it's path, your eyes widened as you were able to process what exactly it was. 

A severed hand, along with about half a forearm. 

Looking back up at the woman, you noticed how her glare had fallen off of her face, one of fear replacing it as her brown eyes widened. 

“Th… that’s…” 

“His majesty’s hand.” Lord Vader finished for the rebel woman, his voice flat. “If you wish for the rest of him to return to you, I suggest you return my mechanic to me at once. I assure you that your king is still alive.” 

The woman’s face contorted into a glare again, her pistol still pointed at the dark lord. 

“How do I know this isn’t a trick? How do I know?” 

Lord Vader paused a moment before speaking again. 

“You don’t.” 

The woman’s lips pursed as she contimplarted the deal, her pistol now shaking in her grasp. The tension in that room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. It was almost suffocating. You could barely breathe. 

After a long pause, the woman lowered her blaster as she spoke.

“Okay… I accept.” 

Lord Vader tilted his head again at this. 

“Good. Now, give her back to me. Now.” 

The woman’s face contorting into a scowl and your cheeks staining pink, she kept her eyes on Lord Vader as long as possible as she knelt down to you, breaking you out of your bonds. Instantly, a pair of stormtroopers stepped forward and helped you to your feet, your body weak from the shocks. Wrapping your arms around the men’s shoulders, you looked to Lord Vader as they helped you limp over to their side. Flashing him a warm smile of thank you, I knew you would come, you noticed as his gaze followed you until he saw that you were right next to him again. 

Where you should always be. 

“Now, give me back Jun- I-I mean- give me back his majesty…” the woman demanded, pointing her blaster back to the dark lord. 

After a momentary pause of gazing at you, Lord Vader turned to another trooper, giving the nod of approval. The trooper nodding back, he signaled his other troops the okay. Within moments, a pair of other troopers drug in a barely conscious king into the room by his collar, throwing him down to the woman’s feet. Instantly, she knelt down and cradled the king in her arms, mumbling to him how she was sorry and such. 

“We are done here now, rebel.” Lord Vader spoke after a moment, forcing the reunion to a halt. Turning on his heel, Lord Vader walked close to the two stormtroopers who were helping you to stand as he exited the room. 

He did so, however, not before giving his troops one last command. 

“Kill them.” 

The sound of the barrage of blaster bullets that filled the room behind you was oddly comforting. 

~~~

His return to the Super Star Destroyer was not at all what he had imagined it to be. Nor was it what he wanted it to be. 

The shock stick that those filthy rebels used on you must have been extra strength. It was taking you a much longer time to recover as compared to other shock victims. You were barely able to stand on your own without wobbling and getting off balance. This was all not to mention the deep gash that had carved itself into your forehead. 

Lord Vader made the executive decision for you to spend at least two nights in the medical bay.

I just need to sleep it off, you had tried to protest, I’m fine. 

He would not have it. 

It was odd to see Lord Vader inside of the normal medical bay used for troopers and officers. Of course, he had his own medical bay that he would waltz in to and out of as he pleased. This was mostly due to the sheer complexity and amount of medical procedures that he needed to maintain homeostasis with his suit.

It was also due to him keeping his pride in tact by only letting as few people as possible know he was even capable of being injured. 

So, it was no shock that the nurse Lord Vader talked to was practically shaking in her boots. 

“I wish to see Miss (F/N) (L/N).” he said flatly to the nurse, paying no mind to how close she looked to shitting a brick right then and right there for everyone to see. 

“Y...Y-Yes, my Lord. R-Right this way…” she stammered out, gulping silently as she led the Dark Lord down the halls of the medical bay. She only stopped her scurrying once she led him to a door marked (L/N), (F/N). Pleased with her, Lord Vader dismissed her to carry on with her work, to which she practically ran back to her station. If he were anyone else in the galaxy, Lord Vader would have been offended. 

Reaching out his large hand to the panel adjacent to the doorframe, he pressed the glowing white button in the center. The door to your room then slid into the wall that encompassed it, allowing him in.

The sound of his respirator was much louder inside of the tiny room, the noise able to echo off the walls much faster. The room was very plain, with only the necessary equipment inside of it. The only other noise that emanated in the room was the occasional beep of the machine that was hooked up to you, signalling that you, indeed, still had a heartbeat. 

Lord Vader had hoped to converse with you upon his arrival. He was almost saddened to find out that he couldn’t. You were currently asleep upon the small bed in the center of the room, your lips parted slightly and your eyes closed. There was a bachata patch secured around the spot on your head where the gash had lain itself, as well as one on your shoulder where the shock stick had been pressed into you. Additionally, there were a plethora of sensors strapped to the flesh that ran up and down your arms. 

Lord Vader wanted to wake you. He wanted to coax you out of your sleep so that he could see your eyes, so that he could hear you talk. But, he knew better. He was to let you rest if you were to return to proper health. 

Yet, he was… disheartened. A phantom pain clenched his heart for a brief moment. 

Overtaken by the feeling, Lord Vader stepped closer to your bedside, his mask pointed right at your face as he watched you in your sleep. You looked so peaceful. He was grateful you had finally been able to rest. Reaching out his leather-bound hand, Lord Vader brushed a lock of hair out of your face as gently as he could, careful with the amount of force he used. Continuing the motion, the dark lord brushed the back of his mid-finger knuckles against the surface of your cheek, taking his time with trailing them down the surface. 

Maker above… 

You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

But yet… 

Seeing you there in that cold, hard bed, with all the patches and wires coming off of your frame.... Hearing the beep of the machine behind him signal your heartbeat… Feeling how small your life force had been… 

It allowed an old friend to visit Lord Vader. 

Regret. 

If only he hadn’t brought you to that planet, none of this would’ve happened. Sure, you would be by yourself for a few days, but you would still be healthy. You would still be able to work. You would still be able to talk to him. You would still be able to smile. But no. He made you go on this trip. He made you attend those meetings and gatherings. He was the one who allowed you to slip into the hands of those rebels. 

Clenching his fist, another friend came to visit Lord Vader. 

Self-loathing. 

What in the galaxy was he thinking? He should have never taken you to that planet. All he wanted to do was to bring you someplace just as beautiful as you were. He wanted to see the look in your eyes and your smile as you got to see green for the first time in who-knows-how-long.

That’s all he wanted.

But not at all what he got. 

Lord Vader was speechless. He wanted to say something to your sleeping form, but couldn’t even begin to formulate the words of what he wanted to say. There were so many things he wanted to say to you, but every attempt he made to string them together seemed more idiotic than the last. So many feelings were bubbling inside of the sith lord, many of which he coudln’t describe. 

He didn’t know how to tell you about any of them. 

Yet… 

Watching your chest rise and fall… 

Watching your eyelashes flutter in your sleep… 

Watching your fingertips twitch…

He knew one thing. 

And oh how it pained him. 

He knew what he must do… 

To keep you safe. 

~~~

The nurses had said that you were asleep for about 18 hours when you finally woke up.

You were surprised, you didn’t think that it was possible to sleep that long of a time. Yet, there you were, doing the impossible. If it were under different circumstances, you would have almost been impressed. 

The nurses had removed the sensors from your arms as you sat up that afternoon, allowing you to move more freely as you ate the meal they gave you. Of course, it was rations. But, after being on that damned planet for so long and eating their food, rations had suddenly seemed to be the finest cuisine in the galaxy. 

You were watching a holovid of a news briefing when a knock came to your door, your cheeks puffed from your freshly taken bite. Hearing the door woosh open, you quickly chewed and swallowed the food so that you could talk to whoever had just entered without being rude. 

To say the absolute least, you were surprised to see a familiar face standing before you, datapad in hand just like before. 

The officer who gave you the assignment of Lord Vader’s mechanic. 

Was he a messenger for Lord Vader now? You were puzzled. 

“I am glad to see that you are finally awake, Miss (L/N).” the officer spoke, his eyes darting between you and the datapad. 

“Thank you, sir…” you mumbled back out in response. 

You paused a moment in contemplation before you continued on. 

“Sir,” you said, “If you don’t mind… could you please tell Lord Vader of my condition? I will be able to return to my station very soon, and-” 

“I’m afraid that will not be necessary, Miss (L/N).” the officer said, cutting you off. 

Your brow furrowed in confusion. 

“What? Sir, I… I don’t understand.” 

The old officer poked his datapad a few times before folding his hands behind his back, speaking out his response to you. 

You had thought that you were dreaming or hallucinating at the officer’s explanation. Your blood was cold, and your heart had felt like it stopped beating. 

It had to be a lie. 

“I’m afraid your time serving as Lord Vader’s mechanic is over, Miss (L/N). He has reassigned you. He has stated that you have completed your work on his TIE, and is no longer in need of your service. You are to return to Endor to your original station the day after tomorrow. I must say that I am impressed, Miss (L/N). I have never heard of someone completing such a task in such a short amount of time. I am certain that Endor will be quite pleased to have you return. You will be granted a small amount of severance for your time here, and will be respected immensely upon your arrival to Endor. I am certain your life there will be far better than the one you have experienced here on the Super Star Destroyer.” 

~~~

TAGS: @spaghetti-666 , @soullesstaco , @arsonistvoyager , @robin-obsessed , @glitter-rian , @captainrexstan , @easterncryptid , @deviatedwinter , @roseangel013bf , @danicalifxrnia , @dartheldur , @finest-trashbag , @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii , @elongatedmusk-rat​ , @shads121 , @muffinbeliever , @sakuramadae​ , @padme-parker , @khapikat222  , @the-official-memester , @rens-angel , @obiwankenobiness , @yvette1703 , @breakfastpizzagalaxy , @missmannequin​ , @clearnostolgia​ , @scarletsinsandsnowwithetragedies​ 

#darth vader #darth vader x reader #fanfiction #anakin x you #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars fanfic

[absoluteindulgence]

Vacay Away

A/N: OKAY SO LET ME START BY SAYING, THIS FIC IS 2 1/2 MONTHS LATE. I originally wanted to post this for Black History Month. But I'm black all year so better late than never! Also, I apologize to all those waiting for me to upload, I've been consumed by Sims 4 and even made Mirio in-game lmao. If you have not finished MHA Season 4, there's a mild spoiler. Lastly, this is smut, so read at your own horniness risk.

Pairings: Mirio Togata X Black/POC!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Cursing

Word Count: 5.1K

As new graduates, the world was bright and shiny, like an apple ripe enough to bite. You decided after all the hell you and Mirio went through this year; it would be enough to graduate and offer Mirio a well-deserved rest. Too many nights went on with sweat induced nightmares with tears flooding from his despairing blue eyes; Reliving the horrors of fighting Chisaki, losing his quirk and his mentor who always showed him promise until his last breath.

Although you were at another agency during the ordeal, you always kept in contact with Tamaki and Nejire. At first, Tamaki didn't want to share any information, because he knew how it would tear you apart, but after he saw where your loyalty stood, he had to. You spent the rest of your days taking care of Mirio. By his side as soon as you knew his whereabouts. Staying in the hospital overnight, even going home to get a spare change of clothes, just to come back. You watched as he vented what it felt like for him. Not a single bone in your body blamed Eri; she was a child after all.

You still trained with him and even accompanied him on his internship. You knew he was capable of hand-to-hand, but what mattered was the villains with quirks that were life-threatening. Eventually, you laughed with each hospital visit and became well acquainted with the staff. After graduating with just above average grades, the two of you felt a sigh of relief: no more pity parties and sad looks. You two had to get away from it all.

And so, the voyage outside of Tokyo began. Originally you were going to celebrate by staying over at one another's home, but that wasn't fun enough for you; you wanted to feel free. Not just for yourself, for Mirio. He deserved to feel like himself even though he said he wouldn't cry over spilled milk anymore. You wanted to be by his side.

And so the bustle outside the city proved to be challenging. It took more buses than trains to leave. And even then had to take the abstract route to get outside of the town and into the country. Your breathing was more steady with the air being exceedingly more lucid, camping out to watch the stars shine, even being cheesy, mentioning the shapes found in the midnight sky. And the impromptu sexy times would be something you two take to your graves.

When you finally got close to the hot spring you were planning to surprise Mirio with, you admitted into the closest hotel. Luckily, the staff knew who you two were and gave you a week free, along with benefits like the perks of free food and massages. Unsure if that was related to filling a quota for the month or if they loved LeMillion as much as management said they did.

You two were starting to look like people who lived in the forest, eating off the land. So, of course, you were going to take advantage of the salon there as well. But you knew better than to go in expecting them to know what to do with your hair. You had your hair products tucked away neatly in your oversized backpack and had even taught Mirio how to handle your naps. He liked playing with your hair because he found it therapeutic and saw it as another way to bond with you.

Mirio's face of content made you beam with hope into his recovery. You were pushing yourself to get him out of his rut. You weren't sure if he knew how much you still worried about what happened. But you wanted to make up for the time that you weren't able to be by his side during the life-changing experience, apart from blaming yourself, because he told you what had been plaguing him.

As his partner, you did your best to assert the situation and go based on logic instead of emotion. But the look on his face, knowing that he let Eri out of his sight, spoke louder than any words. Having obtained Eri, and getting to spend time with her to build morale, was challenging at first as she was hesitant when looking at you. At first, she thought you were dirty due to Chisaki's influence.

After realizing that's just how your skin looks, she apologized profusely — not wanting to hurt your feelings and be accepted by you. You worked your way into taking care of her, although not great with kids. And since she was a particular but essential case, you wanted to make your imprint on her memory. She began to ask you questions about yourself and Mirio. At times asking the dreaded ones related to sex since she was around Deku and his friend Bakugou. You kept calm but wanted to dropkick the self-proclaimed hero with murder in his name. Aizawa made sure to scold him and tell him not to slip up on the foul language around Eri again.

As you entered your hotel room, you dropped off all the luggage you brought — yearning for the chance to feel warm running water. Mirio's breath lightly fanned over you as he rubbed your shoulders for you. He insisted on carrying your belongings before the trip, but you ran ahead of him with all your things. Even though your bags were more substantial than his one.

"See Sunshine; I told you to let me carry them. And now you're rolling your shoulders to relieve the tension." It was clear that he was smiling, with every grip on your muscles.

Your moans were soft, reassuring he hit your tense areas, "And yet I didn't complain at all like you thought I would."

"Because I was watching you." His light chuckles tickled the back of your neck, "And you're too stubborn sometimes."

You giggled under his touch, eyeing your heap of bags near the king-sized bed, slowly undressing. Slipping out of your boyfriend's gentle hold, you placed your dirty clothes in a laundry bag you brought. You needed to take a shower soon; you were getting antsy and anticipating fresh water from a showerhead instead of a stream. The life of hiking in the wild could only be so good for so long. Especially with your hair not getting enough moisture in the fresh air.

Fully nude, you turn to look at Mirio with a playful smile, "Oh, you think so?"

You were pulling your hair out of its messy afro bun while Mirio ogled your hair defying gravity as it did, it left a pleasant grin on his face. You gave him a quick peck on the lips before you searched through the bags. Looking for your tried-and-true skin and hair care products that were placed throughout your belongings. Speeding into the bathroom, you turned on the cold, metal dial to hot water. Awaiting the warm water, you tried your best to detangle your hair, barely succeeding.

Assuming the water warmed up enough, you step into the shower and let the water run through your hair and down your body. An exhale leaves your body as you peaceably scrub your skin of scum. You inhale the smell of your favorite soap, and your mind clears with a serene smile. After lathering and rinsing yourself off, you gently detangle your hair, working the shampoo through it.

The door to the ugly white bathroom swings open slowly, enters your buff boyfriend. Undressing to get in with you, he yawns as he wraps his arms around you. You hastily scoff and turn to him, his sleepy smile says it all. Mirio pulls you closer as he kisses your neck.

"You took too long to get out, Sunshine."

"Because I'm at war, right now."

"Is that right? Well, you could have asked for my help."

Mirio lightly patted your curly locks, patting them down and occasionally scratching your scalp. The feel of his fingertips was enough to make you doze and lose balance. Catching you with his free hand and pulling you closer to his defined chest. With a little giggle, you smile and gaze into his eyes, looking at the water dripping off his hair.

"You know, I just finished cleansing my body, and now I'm getting back to square one."

Humming a tune, "Is that so?" he replied lazily with his chin resting atop your head, "I'm sorry, Sunflower."

You turn your body around to cross your arms over his broad, muscle-bound shoulders, sketching out the scars littering his body, some light scratches others with a firm texture. Your eyes lingered all over him as you slowly caressed the back of his head, placing kisses all along his collarbone and neck. Stopping at his jawline, Mirio cups your ass with his strong hands.

He leans down to reach your ear, "If you start, I'll finish."

You raise up your head innocently to look at him, eyes armored with honesty and lust. Pushing your luck, you lather him in soap and rubbing his chest in circular motions, moving lower to his abs. Pretending to graze his cock, then lather his shoulders down to the wrists and giving eye contact through the whole ordeal. Your lips curve into a sweet smile that causes him to groan.

The motions are simple yet affect him like the ripples from a waterfall. You lightly graze his collarbone with kisses as his muscles tense, placing your hands low to his sides, tracing his adonis belt. A light sigh leaves his thin lips, instantaneously, he picks you up, pushing your tiny frame against the cold wall. The chilliness gives you goosebumps all over, erecting your nipples — Mirio's grip firm around you and his breath heavy on your wet shoulder.

"See, you're pushing it, Princess." His chuckle fanning over your ear.

A tiny snicker escaped as he pressed his lips close to yours, smothering you in kisses, eliminating any free space between you two. His cock stood at attention, the tip tickling your flower. His soft, thin lips left no part of your neck and collarbone untouched. Your nectar seeped onto his thumper as you whimpered with impatience.

"Fill me up, baby."

"Be patient, my Sunflower," He hooked his arms under your thighs, positioned himself to kneel under you while gently sliding you down where your inner thighs touched his cheeks.

Facing your pretty essence, he bulldozes his tongue into your bud. The instant tremor to your clit as your legs quiver as his tongue swivels and explores every part of you. The jolts in your legs leave your voice hoarse as moans break out from your lips. His obligation to pleasure you is selfish and greedy as if his way of controlling you is to give you what you want. Your body rolls as his grasp around your plump thighs tighten, keeping you in place.

Your soft whimpers leave him to groan against your tingling golden arches, "You taste so good, baby." He gives a quick love bite to your shaking thighs, still balancing you against the cold wall as you thrust into him enthusiastically.

His body tenses under yours as he pulls your body close from your ass. He takes hold of your soft cheeks and does a solid lick to your clit, making you quiver. So deliberate with his actions as he purposefully teased you close into edging. You start to whine uncontrollably and grab hold onto his hair to push him closer to you. Resulting in a chuckle that reverberates through your bud, your cry is sensual as you let go of him and hold onto your breasts, playing with your nipples.

"Fuck, you look so hot." Mirio looks at you from between your legs, his blue eyes peering into your glowing, erotic ones. "I'll give you what you want Sunflower, but do me a favor: Don't hold back. I don't care who hears, let them know who you belong to."

You stare back at him flustered, the fault of hot water, or the excitement your powerful boyfriend brings to your flesh cavern. Your nod is subtle, but he catches it quickly, sparking him to make you lose your mind as Mirio dives back in. Without haste, his tongue thrashes around, promising with each taste of you he'll leave you screaming out his name.

The morning after, your body felt tight near your thighs, wishing you washed your hair instead of getting thrown off. Looking a mess, but filled with leftover pleasure. Your voice was loud since you lived to the expectations Mirio requested. Clearing your throat did nothing for you, either. You tried sitting up in the king-size bed but was wrapped in a firm bear hug and a kiss to your fuzzy mane.

"Where are you going, Princess?" His morning voice groaned into your ear.

"Nowhere now with your thick arms around me."

"Because there's no reason to stay up, right? This is where the trip ends, and I'm happy with this."

Mirio snuggles closer to you, your heart flutters, and your smile stretches wide and goofy-like. You're happy that he's in a state of happiness, you can feel the radiation more than usual. "Well, actually, this isn't where the trip ends; I have one more surprise for you."

His messy blond, bed head shuffles behind you; he rotates your waists to stare at you, "What are you talking about, Sunshine?" He tries to rest his shoulder on the pillow while the other hand lays tenderly.

"Get dressed, and I'll show you exactly what I mean."

There was an exception in getting ready; you took your time fixing your hair into a comfortable style deciding whether to leave it in or out, Mirio being a sweetheart asked you to keep it simple to avoid what may come of the day. After leaving the room, you made your way to the massage rooms. The masseuse present was fair and gentle. Making small talk with you, one of them mentioned a noise complaint from an older man. He was complaining about his hotel neighbors yelling about mangoes and cereal in the middle of the night.

"I believe it was the third floor he resided in," The masseuse cooly responded while working the muscles in your calves.

A shock shoots through your body as the dots connect, you try to hide your face further into the cushion. Mirio laughed out loud, "I guess he was hungry but had to wait till the morning, you know?"

"I guess so." 

 The rest of the massage went well, laughing here and there. It was the most relaxed you had been in a while. You remembered to check in on Mirio since he wasn't used to massages and was prone to outbursts of laughter since he's so ticklish. After the massage, he pulled you into a bear hug and smothered you in kisses, declaring, "I wish it were you that touched me like that."

With more trekking, you reached your final destination. Mirio blissfully bounced about, continuously looking at you and back at the environment. "Hot springs? Oh, babe!"

He was so excited; he couldn't form any other words other than how much he loved you. He pulled you close, littering your face with kisses and tight hugs. Couldn't even break his grasp or stop him from being excited, Mirio treasured the way he would love loud, concretely when targeted to you. His smile was just as infectious as your boyfriend made a scene in front of the entrance. Older couples passed by with sweet looks, whispering to themselves, 'the enchantment of young love.'

Management provided a private unisex bath usually reserved for a group of four or less that pass by. Mirio separated from you with a quick peck to the cheek and sprinted into the changing room for something more comfortable for the water. Women mainly littered the hot spring except that not a lot of people occupied the space today. Leaving the worry of interruptions or disturbances to diminish. You were the first to leave the changing room, wrapped in your bathrobe given to you by staff, and you brought your favorite towel for whenever you would go to the beach or spa.

You walked into the unisex area, finding the way into the pool of warmth. As you found your spot, you took off the towel revealing your nude body. Sinking slowly into the hot water, the sensation of heat traveled throughout your being. You took your time getting used to the pool of warmth, making gracious moves to familiarize yourself with the temperature and size of the domain. Momentarily wrapped into a warm blanket of water before you could be covered in the embrace of your sunny beau.

As you looked around, the space was stunning; a subtle but luxurious set up outdoors littered with banzai and bamboo trees all around the wooden barriers. The stones around the water resembled ashy grey marbled crystals, exquisitely scattered. Swishing in the water, you laid onto a pile of smoother rocks. The rocks were gracious to your back as you rested against them. As you reached comfort, the blond-haired man entered the serene environment. His beam caught your attention as he admired you from outside the water. Your smile allured him as your fingers motioned for him to come closer. Not wasting any time, Mirio recklessly dived into the steamy water.

Face colored in horror as he sloshed his way to you, still smiling. Mirio used his body to cloak yours as he grabbed your ass, sneaking a kiss to your cheek. "Who knew you could make the water look so good, Sunflower."

"Since we took that long shower last night, you don't remember?"

"Perhaps, but every shower you take is noteworthy."

You giggled softly in his embrace as he chuckled in response. Hearing his laugh was too divine, while the smile on his face is sickly sweet. He pulled you by your waist, eliminating the space in between you and his muscular figure. He feels warmer than the pool of water you are standing in. You look up to allow him to peck your lips, his index finger traces your jawline, thumb tickling your neck with subtlety. The touch is simple but intensifies the pleasure forming between your legs. He pays attention to your face, knowing it's hard for you to hide your need for him.

"Are you that anxious to be touched?" His question was hiding a seductive undertone. He peers into your eyes while holding your waist with his other hand, pulling you into his thighs, not shying away from how you're making him feel. His hardon grazes against you, "Can't say you're alone in that, my love."

He trails his hands down your body, kneading his fingers into your inner thighs, rubbing any tension he knows the masseuse didn't work out. The motions are gentle but firm as he hums a little tune. It's corrective in further easing your mind. Mirio came closer to your ear with his hums, placing sensual kisses on the sensitive spots of your neck. Freeing one hand, he takes your breast in his grasp, lightly pressing into it. The grip is just how you like it as he pulls his lips away from your neck and hunches over to meet your nipple with his tongue. The first flick leads to a sharp breath of air. He sucks in your supple flesh circulating your sensitive nerves.

Drowning in the feeling of him touching you, it's reminiscent of the first time you became intimate, and your body is over the moon. His other hand cups your free breast as he smothers them in the kisses they deserved when he wasn't able to see you and had to heal. Mirio's sensuality builds within as he's already beading precum from his love throbber. The eagerness to touch you as he feels your heart beating out your chest eggs him further, challenging himself to grab both with one hand as he rubs your inner thigh in circular motions.

Too anxious to neglect or half-ass any part of your body, he brushes against your dripping essence, still rubbing circular motions into your thighs, pulling his right hand back close to your face, "I know I'm keeping you in suspense, Sunshine. But I can't control how much you're affecting me right now."

Staring into his eyes, you saw a light that was once dimmed, almost dying to a burning lustful glaze. Nearly intimidating as his hands roamed all of you since he could no longer pay attention to just specific parts of your body, he made a swift move to lift you. No longer on your feet, your legs rest at his sides as he pulls you close. Your legs wrap tightly around him as he places kisses between your nipples, breasts, and neck. Airy moans leave your lips that only he could hear, purposefully grazing his ear with your sweet sounds. Heightening his sense and forming goosebumps on the traps of his neck and ongoing down his arms. A deep grunt escapes from Mirio's thin lips as he balances himself with you.

You rub the back of his neck, a trigger that always sets him off. He breathes in through his nose controlling his urges. Whether the reason is the way you would tip-toe to do it, the feel of your hands caressing him or the glow within your eyes that makes him grip you carefully. No way would he drop you, but you could feel his urge to melt. While preparing you for what's been on his mind since entering the luxury hot spring, he prods you with his cock. Pressing into your bud to tease, almost tickling. Still breathing down the side of his neck, you whimper, "Mir, please..."

"Nice try my sunshine, I'm just feeling how ready you are for me, I'll give you exactly what you want."

Deliberately and poise is the impact Mirio places into the junction of your thighs. Your arms wrapped around his shoulder blades, daring to bite at his shoulder to make contact quicker. His thrust made the perfect adjustment to your sopping core. You are gasping harshly into a sensual moan, as he licks the side of your neck behind your ear. The sensation makes you shiver close to him.

"Damn, Sunshine, you're sucking me in. I feel so connected to you."

"I agree, baby. Now, are you gonna move?"

A low chuckle escapes as he grins, "You're so greedy."

His thrusts are scarce as he relishes your inner muscles squeezing onto him tightly, refusing to let him go. Without warning, Mirio thrusts deeply within you. You grip onto him tightly as he licks the sensitive spots on your neck. The thrusts match how quick his hips roll into you, stretching your flower out with ease. The muscle memory of him coming into play as the sensuality leads to chill all throughout your body and hardening your nipples.

Mirio's passionate grunts reverberate through your ears, sending the shock waves straight to your silk igloo. The divinity in hearing them makes your moans louder and higher in pitch. He holds onto your frame like he'll lose you all while hitting your cervix, insanely intoxicating. Your legs tremble as you feel your body ready to give out.

"I hope you're not trying to cum just yet, my Sunflower." Pushing his cock further into you with each bounce, fucking you speechless. "I haven't even fucked you into every nook and cranny here."

His voice in your ear made your pussy turn into a waterfall. The sloshing rampage in your pink pearl wouldn't stop as Mirio kept a pace matching each broken moan coming from you. Your thighs were a clear indication when the coil within you read itself to be snapped. There was no letting up and stopping yourself from crying out his name or how hard the pounding jogged your brain.

With his rod expanding within you by another inch, you knew he was close. Readjusting his hands to grip your thighs, not before a playful smack to your ass. You wasted no time hooking one of your arms behind his neck before he pounded your flower. Too delicious to feel anything but pleasure, reaching your peak, you take soft nibbles into his shoulder in hopes for the coil to pop and overrun you into oblivion. Your body shivers within his hold as your cup begins to overflow. You grasp desperately to Mirio as he maneuvers your body to bounce on top of him, continuously smacking your ass.

You jolt from each smack as you tighten around Mirio's love rod, making less than unintelligible noises. His smirk is hidden from you, but you know it's there as his voice reaches a level of cockiness, "I feel how close you are, Princess."

No time to respond with a smartass remark, you're too enveloped in the sensations given. Short of breath, eyes closed tight as your chest tightens, the pressure rises until it's too much to bear, alluding to the build-up of your cream canal. The coil pulled so tightly finally snaps, as your body unravels within your buff boyfriend's arms. The orgasm hits and sticks, achieving the takeover of your nerves and sinking your body low into Mirio as he finishes inside of you, spreading both your cheeks to gain control.

His growl fluttered your pussy as he filled you with his seed, his hands imprinting your pert ass as the force of his thrusts stopped his touch from being gentle at the moment. You wince from the impact of his tense fingers against your supple skin, knowing a bruise will linger soon. You let out a deep gasp as you stare at your boyfriend. He regains composure quickly while holding you, making a noble face, with a goofy smile as he stares back. You shy from him as his face is too angelic compared to what you just finished doing.

"Hey babe, could you let me down?"

"Of course, Beautiful."

He rests your feet back into the warm, soothing water. You cup his face gently, pushing him into the corner where your towels and bathrobes laid. Your legs wobble as you push him back onto your robes, eager to drop to your knees. The water rushes through your thighs, tickling you, sensationalizing your clit in the process. There's no other way to stop it than to stand, and yet as you're steady in crouch form, your mouth envelops onto Mirio's love rod. A sharp gasp escapes and a fist clenches as he restrains himself from pushing your head down.

His gasps are loud with each soul-suck you perform, even yelling out your name at times. Surely some neighbors are above and below, but there are not enough hands in the world to cover your lover's mouth. He stares intently at you as his throbber expands with each slurp you provide. You return his gaze, his face is overly flushed as he calls out to you, fiercely.

"Fuck, you look amazing, babe. Your eyes are so beautiful." The passion he feels within achieving all the pressure you put and knowingly feel like he's curling his toes underwater. He's so close you can feel his balls twitch, even his growl is becoming more prominent. You push to get him to finish in your mouth, and yet he advances beforehand, raising your mouth off his cock and turning your body around to lift you and rest your tush onto his wide thighs.

"Not so fast my Sunflower, I'm not ready to blast off." Mirio easily controls your body, keeping your frame close to his throbber near your slit, dripping with essence, causing him to slip in with ease. You gasp in unison as your rosebud tightened around him, "Damn, there you go sucking me in."

"At this rate, I have to make you scream and shout to the whole world." Wasting no time, Mirio planted your face down, ass up into your robes while still inside you leaving little time to react.

Without warning, he propelled deep into your dripping flower. The impact indeed rough was enticing as he bent over close to your ear, breath huffing as he kissed your neck. Jittery to your sweet spot being acknowledged, he stands to smack your ass listening to the echo through the resort. It's enough to rattle you into oblivion. His hips roll fiercely into you as if the spanking was the sound to begin a race: Whether it was against himself or you was the mystery.

On the verge of tears, you felt your body surge with mighty ripples of water controlled by earthquakes. A well-acquainted feeling, and yet it was estranged. You murmured how close you were, and Mirio's grunts shook you to your core, tightening around him. He groaned rather harshly as he smacked your ass again, loading you up with all of him. The coil within you once again burned, binding brashly.

"Babe, I can't hold back," Your legs tense as each of your moans shudders out your full lips, "You feel so fucking good."

The master of positions, he places you onto the flat surface of the hot tub. His intent to drive you mad working as his hands lay firmly at your sides, to rub into your thick, soft ass. He holds you from behind, drilling his love rod into you deep. Your pussy clenches to him with unfailing devotion, as your final moans end your build-up. You stretch your hands out to grab Mirio's wrist as he deeply grunts for the last time as he finishes inside of you again. His cock twitches with ferocity as he clenches your hips. His breaths graze the back of the neck roughly, you stand slowly to gather feeling back in your legs.

Your body tries to adjust to the position as you stretch as high into the sky as possible. But your thighs hysterically give out, and you stumble into the embrace of Mirio. He's holding you from behind with a tired, yet satisfied smile. It's enough to release a light chuckle as sweat drips from his now messy hair. You lean back onto his chest with a huge exhale.

"Did I go overboard, Sunshine?" He crossed his arms around your waist.

"Not at all, you went above and beyond. I can stand now, but when we get back to the room, I think I might pass out."

A hearty laugh erupted from your blonde beau, loud enough to echo, and you could have sworn you saw a tear from his cobalt eyes. The vibration of his laughter traveled to his chest, feeling like the ground under your feet would crumble, jumping your heart rate. 

"I'm sorry for laughing, Princess, but I just think you're so funny."

"What did I say that made you laugh?"

"The fact that you thought you would be sleeping when we're back at the room."

#mirio x reader #togata mirio x reader #mirio imagines #bnha Mirio #mha x reader #smut #mha smut #bnha smut #absoluteindulgence stories

[littledreamybeth]

What a feeling

PLEASE READ AUTHORS NOTE: I really tried to write a good story here, but I’m so bad at creating smut. Some things may not make much sense to you because I didn’t explain or depict them properly. I’m sorry for that- I really am. I consider to stop writing because my writing  doesn’t seem to be good anymore... at least in my eyes... It’s hard for me to describe things in a language which is not my mother tongue... I’d like to thank you for reading my stories so far, and for supporting me. I won’t be writing anything for a while, but my work is still going to be up. Just don’t steal them, and give me credits if you repost it somewhere... Thank you...

This work was inspired by “What a feeling”- One Direction, the title of this story is dedicated to my favorite song of all time. I had to think of a scenario like this at Harry’s part.

Harry observed her from the other side of the room. Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his naked torso, he just watched the half bare girl sitting on top of his bed. Her legs were bent to her chest, a thoughtful look lingering in her eyes. A few minutes ago, they were making out, resulting his shirt being pulled over his head and thrown onto the ground whilst she was completely freed from her dress. He knew what she was thinking about. She considered whether she should or should not have sex with him.

They had been dating for a few months, and never had Harry urged her to have sexual intercourse. He’d been told that she had negative experiences with her ex-boyfriends on this topic, because she was never ready for sex. And who would stay with a girl who wasn’t ready for more? Sometimes, it was even thought that she was asexual, which was not true. Harry was not like her former boyfriends- he actually gave her time as much as needed.

Tonight, however, was different. She was ready- or maybe not? Harry sighed, walking towards her and kneeling in front of her.

“Hey,” he murmured, his left hand cupping her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “You’re uncertain. I can see it in your eyes.” The other hand was placed on top of her leg, trailing up and down in comfort. He wanted to make sure this is truly what she wanted. Even though he craved to be physically interlocked with her more than anything in that moment, he’d still understood if she decided against succumbing to him. It takes a lot of courage surrendering to someone and giving yourself in to them-especially if it’s your first time. You lose your virginity only once, and one terrible experience may scar you for the rest of your life. So, he could completely comprehend her worry. Another thing, which he knew was plaguing her, was that he was already experienced while she wasn’t. She was new to all of this. For fucks sake, she didn’t even blow anyone ever in her life. She was just so pure. Pure and perfect. Harry was sure she was tormenting herself into believing that he wouldn’t like it, which is not true at all. Much more, he would love to be the one being enclosed with her body and honored because she chose him to lose her v-card, and not a prick who wouldn’t care about anything but his dick in his pants anyway. Harry would make sure she was taken care of. Thoroughly taken care of.

“I promise, there is nothing that you have to be scared of, love. We’ll do it at your pace, okay? The only thing you have to do is telling me when you feel uncomfortable, and I’ll stop instantly.” He intertwined their hands, bringing hers in front of his mouth, then plastering soft kisses on top of her knuckles. “But you have to tell me. Say something. Use your words. Otherwise I cannot tell what you want. And don’t overthink too much. This is all about you, not me.”

The curve of her lips went slightly up, forming a shy smile. “I know,” she stated. “I trust you, Harry. I entrust myself to you…”

Hearing those words out of her sweet lips was what he had been waiting for. But before he took some action, he again inquired whether she was hundred percent sure, only earning an approving nod from Y/N. He beamed a happy, toothy smile at her.

“Come here, beautiful girl.” His order was gentle, yet very firm- enough to cause goose bumps on her skin. He carefully pushed her down onto the mattress and slowly lowered himself onto her body, hovering only a few centimeters above her fragile frame. The warmth that radiated off his body was so overwhelming- it became very hard to breathe. That’s probably how others felt in his presence. Breathless, because Harry is so insanely beautiful, god really must have taken his time to carve his handsome face. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, her tongue wetted her lower lip while she felt her heart beating rapidly as if she was running a marathon. She gave in to the sensation that his close proximity brought along. The feeling of his fingers sliding down her right cheek and his minty breath fanning against her lips caused excitement to grow in the pit of her stomach- and a little bit down below. She tried to conceal it by pressing her legs together, but Harry noticed and slid between them, pushing his crotch intentionally against her clothed one, eliciting a short gasp out of her throat. If this short act was enough to make her legs tremble, then Y/N couldn’t envision how it was going to feel when he would thrust in and out of her.

She jumped slightly in her position when she heard his raspy voice inside her ear.  

“Look at me before I kiss you…”

That’s what she did. She opened her lids and locked gazes with his deep green eyes. They stared at her lustfully, enamored with her beauty, and Y/N could only imagine how hard it must be for him to control his patience. The more she looked at him, the more she drowned in his captivating eyes. She saw herself in them. She saw herself running through a grass field on a hot summer’s day, dressed in a stunning dress, her hair flipping with the wind while she let everything behind her- her worries, her fears, her problems- basically every negativity that consumed her. She saw herself in a forest, listening to the sounds that nature provided her. The murmurs of a stream, the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves on the trees, the smell of fresh air; all of this gave her the feeling of safety and protection. That’s how she felt with Harry now. She knew she was in good hands. And she could confirm she was ready.

“Remember what I’ve told you, alright?” Harry reminded her. “You can even push me out of the bed for all I care. But please, don’t kick me in the knob. I want to produce children after all.”

Y/N had to laugh at his statement. She really appreciated his efforts to lighten up the mood.

“My beautiful, Y/N,” the young man whispered against her soft lips. “My beautiful, gorgeous, adorable Y/N.” Upon that, he finally kissed her.

First, it was gentle. He wanted to test her waters, looking for how much she was willing to give him. She was shy and he respected that. But on the other hand, he also wanted to help her overcoming the shyness. He knew that she had more in her than she was revealing to the world. He wanted that part of her to break through, fighting her way onto the surface.

While he used one arm to support himself on his elbow, the other hand wandered up from her bare side to her chest. He cupped one breast and gave it a gentle squeeze through her bra. The sudden jolts of pleasure caused Y/N to moan in ecstasy. Harry took this opportunity to let his tongue slip past her lips, exploring the already familiar territory. They never went further than just kissing, as embarrassing as it might sound. Tonight would be the first time they would be taking their relationship to the next level.

Harry chuckled when he poked her sides and she flinched, letting out a squeak.

He disconnected their lips, giving her time to explore his body. The young woman accepted his invitation. With her fingers, she carefully stroked his well-toned belly, tracing the outline of his butterfly tattoo. His muscles tensed under her soft touch. She even tickled his belly button which Harry found just cute. Everything about her was adorable. However, she halted over the hem of his tight jeans. One tug was indication enough to understand that she wanted it off his legs. So, he got up, unbuttoned his jeans and pushed it down his ankles, leaving him almost completely bare. The only thing that he had to get rid of was his boxers. Y/N’s irises enlarged when they saw the outline of his erection- he was, well… huge. A blush in a deep shade of red adorned the apple of her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure whether she could take in all of him, and that’s were the overthinking started again.

Harry took notice of the uncertainty plastered on her face. Joining her again on the bed, he hoisted her up and placed her on his lap. He brushed her fingers through her hair. “Listen Y/N, I want you, I really do, and I know you want me, too. But we don’t have to do this right now. We can always save it for later, there is no need to rush. Don’t feel like it’s your obligation to satisfy my needs- it is not. I’ll be waiting for you no matter how long it’ll take.”

Her heart could literally burst into flames at his words. How many men out there were just as considerate and understanding as Harry Styles, and not only thinking about themselves? Probably not too many.

Y/N lowered her head for a second, then looked at him determined. “I want to make love to you, Harry… It’s just…” she sighed. “I’m very nervous.”

“I know that, my love. Do you think I’m not nervous? I’m the one with a dick after all, and I don’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t forgive myself if I did, because I want this to be the best experience you’ve ever had. If we do this, there is no return. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

The young woman passionately crushed her lips against his. “I know I won’t, because it’s with you.”

He offered her a smile, warming her insides.

His hands found their way to her back, about to unclasp her bra, when he saw the quick panic flashing through her eyes- not because she was scared, but because it was unfamiliar and unexpected. Being undressed by someone else other than her was something she needed to get used to after tonight. Harry instantly stopped. “Relax, love. You’re safe with me.” He brought his lips to her neck, sucking and marking her skin. Y/N closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling.

After they got rid of her bra (together actually, because he thought that it would make her feel more comfortable), his big hands began to massage her bare breasts, his thumbs brushing over her sensitive nipples, which hardened immediately at the contact.  

“How does it feel?” Harry inquired while continuing to give her breasts some attention.

“’s nice,” she answered, shivering when Harry pinched her nipples.

Guiding her back onto the mattress, he climbed on top of her again.

His lips were worshipping every part of her body. There was no inch he left untouched. She was a goddess- a pure, innocent goddess. She felt so soft. He treated her like fine china- cautiously and carefully; he didn’t want to demand more than she could endure.

At one point, he grinded his clothed crotch against hers a second time to get her worked and loosened up a little bit. The sounds emitting from her mouth was like music in his ears.

“Let’s get us free from these,” he suggested, pointing at their underpants.

His fingers rimmed the waistband of his boxers, pulling it down his legs. And there it sprung free- his beast, pointing directly at his abs. Y/N didn’t exaggerate when she claimed he was huge- because it was true. The tip was swollen and slightly red, leaking a bit of precum.

Harry caught her eyes staring at his ‘best friend’.

“Do you- do you want to hold it?” he asked.

She averted her gaze and looked at him. “I…” She cleared her throat, blushing. “I can try.”

“You don’t have to, love. Really.”

“No, I want to know how it feels.”

Without his request, she wrapped her fingers around the hard, pulsating flesh. It felt heavy in her hand. Harry flinched, hissing at her touch, and a deep groan reverberated through the walls as she glided her hand up and down his shaft. He supported himself on her shoulders while Y/N played around with him. She liked how desperately he called her name, how his eyes fluttered shut and the way he licked over and sunk his teeth in his lower lip. She was about to wrap her mouth around the base as Harry stopped her abruptly.

“What are you doing there?”

A frown adorned her forehead. “I- I wanted to… y’know…”

“Not today, sweet girl,” the curly-haired man laughed. “We will have plenty of time for that later. But for now, it’s all about you.”

He asked her to stretch out her legs so he could free her from the last material that covered her body. Y/N had never felt so vulnerable in her life as in that moment, however, one loving gaze from him was enough to flush her worries away. She watched him as he opened a cupboard and grabbed a condom. He opened the foil with his teeth, pulling out the condom and wrapping it around his member.

“Are you ready?”

“I am.”

He pulled her against him for another kiss. While their tongues were busy with dominating each other, Harry sneaked his hand down to her vagina, his fingers teasing her entrance. He first inserted one digit, pumping in and out of her, then adding another one. She moaned out in pleasure, opening her legs for more.

“Harry, please!” she cried.

The young man didn’t need to be told twice. He lined his member at the entrance of her wet core, and slowly yet gently eased his way in- inch by inch. The pain that followed through his intrusion was inevitable- whilst the wetness. Y/N’s body tensed, nails digging deep into the skin of his biceps as she tried to accommodate not only to the stretch of her walls but also the burning that came along with it. She couldn’t help a few tears from running down her cheeks. A little wail was heard once Harry was fully in. Harry kissed away her tears, giving her enough time to calm down and adjust to his size. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll take care of you… You gonna feel great, my love.”

Every cell in her body was on fire, vibrating. Despite the pain, she felt full and complete. Their bodies fitted together perfectly as if god had only created them for each other.

When the pain subsided a little bit, she allowed him to finally move. The young man complied. His thrusts were tender and slow, paying attention to not hurting her. Y/n was overwhelmed with different emotions. Everything crushed onto her at once. Her heart was beating so hard against her chest that she felt it was going to explode. Harry buried his face in the crook of her neck, and Y/N could feel his warm breath against her skin. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer.

Pain formed into pleasure, his thrusts became quicker and harder. Her legs enveloped his middle, widening for more access. He hit the right spots that let her see stars before her eyes so easily, spots that made her scream out his name. She felt beautiful and loved.

After a while, something was building up in her stomach, and she could feel her orgasm approaching. The way she already clenched around him indicated that she was very close to her high. He fastened his pace with the intention to make cum as fast as possible. He wasn’t chasing after his one- like he stressed before, it was all about her.  

A whimper left her lips, she knew she couldn’t hold back anymore. “Harry…”

“Let go, darling…” he encouraged her, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Words cannot describe fully what that moment of relief felt like. She could sense it reaching every fiber of her body. Her legs trembled and her toes curled, mouth agape as tears pooled her eyes. Harry thrusted her through her peek, until his movements became sloppy.

Shortly after finding his own release, Harry collapsed on top of her, resting his head on her chest. He didn’t pull out of her yet- he wanted to linger a little bit more in her warmth. His arms engulfed her middle. Their entire bodies were covered with sweat, but they could care less about it. Y/N was still dazed from the aftershock of her orgasm. She was basically on cloud nine. Everything that happened just minutes ago seemed like a dream. She always knew how she wanted her first time to be, but Harry had given her an experience that had surpassed her wildest imagination. She couldn’t be happier in this moment. A content sigh escaped her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around Harry’s shoulders, letting her one hand glide through his long, damp, brown locks. After a while, she heard a giggle rumbling his chest. She tilted her head in confusion.

“What wrong?”

Harry, steadying himself on his elbows, brought their lips back together, kissing her feverishly. When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“I think I can consider myself a king now...”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #harry styles fics #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles smut #harry styles preference #harry styles preferences #harry styles prompt #harry styles prompts #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff imagines #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 31

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

we're fighting our fear of the silence

we're running through walls where they stand

Christmas’ Bar was the closest and safest place to her current position. Ducking inside, Riza took refuge, completely shaken by her encounter. She didn’t even remember walking there. The last ten minutes felt like a complete blur. The only thought that had run through her head was ‘escape’. There was no processing of events and conversation. That single word sounded in time with her hurried footsteps as she put as much distance between herself and the university as possible.

After returning to the present and escaping the fear plaguing her mind, Riza realised with dismay she’d continued walking in the wrong direction. Still, landmarks were recognisable, and she’d found herself outside of Chris’. Once inside the door, she gave herself a shake, gripping the lapels of the jacket tightly. Her envelope was getting crushed underneath her elbow, but Riza didn’t care.

Her entrance had unintentionally been a loud one, causing some heads to turn curiously. Once they noticed a heavily pregnant woman in the doorway, they turned away, uninterested, returning to their conversations. Luckily, it was mid evening and wasn’t too busy with a military crowd just yet.

Chris was behind the bar, eyeing Riza sharply. With a jerk of her head, she motioned for Riza towards what they’d jokingly dubbed the “Ladies Bar”, where she met up with Rebecca and Sheska for their nights out. It was empty when Riza entered, which she was grateful for. Since it was unused, it was colder, threatening to make Riza’s teeth chatter. Given her currently shaking hands, it wasn’t too hard a leap for her body to make in the chill of the room.

“What happened?” Chris’ question was forceful, her eyes scanning Riza’s face frantically, but with a contradicting calm expression. She was all business. Those dark eyes settled on the cut upon Riza’s cheek.

Not receiving an answer right away, Chris gently but firmly tugged the envelope from Riza’s grip. Without a word, she turned away and walked behind the bar. Stooping low, Chris retrieved a handful of tissues.

“I, uh,” Riza blinked, looking around the room as she still tried to process what had occurred. She clutched at her jacket tighter, trying to stop her frame from shaking. The digits were beginning to cramp with the pressure but Riza didn’t notice.

Tell him we say hello and nothing else. We will be watching.

The threat in that warning hovered over her head uncomfortably. She wanted to tell Chris everything. She trusted Chris completely but the sight of the shadows on the wall drew Riza up short.

We will be watching.

Riza remembered the elongating shadows in front of her, that massive eye peering at her.

“Can you talk?” Chris' voice was so low Riza didn’t even hear her. A hand squeezed her shoulder tightly, drawing Riza back to the present. “Riza, can you talk?” Chris asked again, the question spoken slowly and carefully.

There was a minute shake of Riza’s head.

Nodding in understanding, Chris motioned for Riza to take a seat on the chair behind her. Doing so, Riza shook out her aching fingers and absentmindedly rubbed her sore wrists. Feeling dried blood, Riza looked down at it, noting how they were heavily marked but there was only a tiny cut on her left wrist.

“Are you hurt?”

Riza shook her head. “Just this.”

“All right.”

Gently, Chris lifted a paper towel to her cheek and wiped away the blood. She patched Riza up carefully, silent throughout the whole process. The alcohol wipe stung her cheek, making Riza grit her teeth to ride out the pain, while also keeping her lunch in her stomach. The smell of the cleaning alcohol flooded her nostrils, making her stomach roll with nausea.

“All done,” Chris announced, straightening in her chair. The weight of the plaster on her cheek felt heavy. Uncomfortable. Chris stood to dispose of the soiled towels and wipes. “I’ll go and call Roy to come and pick you up.”

Riza paused. She didn’t want him to worry. On the other hand, she really didn’t want to walk home by herself tonight. Not after beginning to fear her own shadow for very legitimate reasons.

We will be watching.

Nodding in agreement, Riza hid her shudder.

Roy took one look at her and froze on the threshold of the door. His hand gripped it tightly as his gaze roved over her form. His small, expectant smile died on his lips as he spotted the plaster on her cheek. She must have still looked agitated because he strode over to her with long and purposeful steps. Riza rose from her chair and Roy crushed her into his arms.

She finally felt safe. Like she was at home.

“What happened?” His voice was low in her ear. It was threatening, but not to her. It was to whoever had marked her skin and left her unnerved.

Shaking her head, Riza pleaded with her eyes for him to drop it. “I’m fine,” she answered instead.

A hand lifted, grasping her chin with the gentlest of touches, turning her head left and right. He gazed upon her injured skin, his lips pressing into such a thin line, they almost disappeared. There was that fire back in his eyes again. It was the same fury she’d seen when Bradley appeared at their front door.

“Roy, I’m fine,” she urged, gripping his wrist insistently.

That was another mistake, because he looked down, seeing the marks on them too. His head jerked back to face her, eyes burning like an inferno. They widened considerably as he breathed out heavily, like a bull gearing up to charge.

To try and soothe him, Riza wrapped her arms around his back as best she could with her stomach, clutching at him tightly. “I’m all right.”

“This isn’t over,” he murmured almost unintelligibly into her hair. “I swear my life on it.”

“It is for tonight,” she fought him, her tone firm. “I just want to go home.”

Silence filled the room for a long stretch of time. It felt impossibly long, dragging out as Riza silently begged him to listen to her. She didn’t think he’d deny her such a request, but he was ready to fight someone on her behalf. She needed him to agree with her for his own sake too.

“All right.” The fight was still in him. His tone was firm and authoritative, like she’d heard him use while on the phone while working from home. “Let’s go home.” His eyes still burned with that fire and Riza didn’t doubt he’d tear the world apart to find out who or what had harmed her.

Even she was still at a loss for what happened. Chris was entirely trustworthy but until she was home, Riza wouldn’t feel safe discussing what had happened. She shuddered again. In an instant, Roy’s arm was around her shoulder as they walked, holding onto her impossibly tightly. Riza appreciated and needed his comfort and support.

Riza tried to drag up enthusiasm for her daughter as she chatted away in the backseat of their car. All she could manage were half smiles and poor excuses for laughs as terror threatened to consume her. Selim had no issue coming after her. Would they target Mia? She almost panicked in the passenger seat but dug her nails harshly into her palms to stave it off. Roy glanced over at her, noticing the state of her hands, but could offer her no words, not with Mia oblivious in the back seat. Instead, he reached across at a set of traffic lights, his palm face-up and resting upon her thigh. Slipping her hand into it slowly, Roy latched on and gave her fingers a tight squeeze. Slowly, he smoothed out her palm and ran his thumb over the marks her fingernails had made on her palm.

Regrettably, he had to remove it once the lights turned green, but it had been enough for the moment. It had calmed her. Letting out a breath, Riza tried her best to relax back into her seat and pay more attention to what Mia was saying.

*          *          *

Why Roy was called suddenly out of their home with Mia that evening was not discussed until they were alone in their bedroom. Mia had gone up to bed and once alone, Roy started to press, however Riza just shook her head and kept her mouth shut about the incident. She didn’t know where it was safe yet and it terrified her.

We will be watching.

Was she still safe in her own home? Every shadow was a threat to her now, and a reminder. There was no way to escape light.

They went about their evening like normal, but Riza knew Roy was watching her. Every creak, though there were not many, made her jump and Roy noticed. After the first instance, he watched her even more closely. Trying to help, he waved away her attempts to try and clean up after dinner, but Riza needed to be busy. She needed a task, something to focus on. So, she’d taken Mia up to bed and lay with her for a while, listening to her daughter’s deep and even breathing once she was asleep.

Journeying back downstairs she found Roy in their dining room, hunched over the table. He cursed, bringing his thumb to his mouth to suck on it. Shaking out his wrist, he hissed in pain as his other, uninjured hand, returned to what was on the surface, hidden from her view.

“What are you doing?”

Riza’s head cocked to try and look around Roy, but he spun in place quickly, moving his body in front of it. A fake smile was plastered across his face, making him look pained rather than reassuring.

She lifted a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s nothing, honestly –”

“Liar.”

In mock hurt, Roy huffed, but still didn’t move out of the way. Her curiosity only increased.

“It was supposed to be a surprise, but the generic picture frame has defeated me,” he sighed, taking a step to the left.

Against the glass lay her certification, face down, and looking slightly crumpled thanks to her careless actions earlier in the evening.

“I figured putting it in the frame right away would smooth it out a little.”

Reaching over, Roy slipped the back of the frame in place, but not secure, and flipped it over carefully. Inside a golden border lay her certification from the university.

“Congratulations, Riza.”

As she stared down at it, tears threatening to collect in the corner of her eyes, Roy pressed a kiss to her temple as a hand rose to rest upon her shoulder.

“I… Thank you,” she breathed, a slow smile spreading across her face as she turned to look at him. She swallowed past the lump in her throat as she took in the way his eyes crinkled with his joy.

“You’re more than welcome. Let me just…” Quickly, the frame was flipped, and Roy secured the back in place. His actions were precise and careful, trying to avoid hurting himself on the sharp metal pieces that held the back of the frame in place.

It stood, without incident, proudly on her table. A culmination of all her work in the last six years. All on a simple piece of paper, presented properly in beautiful swirls of ink and shining gold leaf, printed with her name in the centre.

“There,” Roy announced proudly. “Now you just need to decide where you want to hang it.”

“On the wall?”

“Of course. It’s being shown off somewhere,” he added. “It’s not going to be hidden away.”

“What about next to your State Alchemist certification?”

Roy grimaced. “But that’s in my office.”

“Okay…” Riza didn’t know where to put it.

“You’ll need an office soon, won’t you?” Roy’s head cocked in thought. “You’ll need somewhere to work from if you’re a teacher. You’re own space. Why don’t we convert the storage space downstairs by the kitchen into one?”

“I can use the dining table,” Riza reassured him. “There’s more than enough room there.”

“But if you’re working, you’ll need some peace and quiet from the kids, right? So you would be better with an office of your own.”

“We’ll see.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to cause trouble,” he teased, a cheeky smile on his face.

“I am not,” Riza grumped, but even she heard the poor lie.

Right now, she was in no state to be reorganising furniture and moving boxes that were in their storage space. If she was to get an office of her own, she would want to help with the conversion and not leave Roy to do it all by himself. In the same vein, luckily, they’d had the nursery set up for their new little one months ago. It had been an easy one. They just needed to get Mia’s old crib back from Chris, where they’d stored it after it outgrew their old apartment. The walls were a seafoam green colour when they moved in and neither parent saw a need to change it. It had just been Mia’s playroom initially, however once the news had broken that Riza was pregnant, it was quickly repurposed. Mia had barely even used it anyway, preferring to play in the living room with her parent’s company.

“We’ll leave it for now,” Roy relented. “But give it a thought. I want you to have your own space. For now, we can hang it in the living room for all to see,” he beamed.

Rolling her eyes, Riza still nodded and agreed with him. If it meant more to Roy than her, she wouldn’t take it away from him.

“Thank you.” Riza patted the hand on her shoulder gently.

“For what?”

“For that,” she gestured towards the frame, “and for…”

The dread that had followed her earlier returned, unwelcome, as she remembered what had occurred that night. Her cheek stung for a second.

“For distracting me,” she finally finished.

Understanding dawned on Roy, and he nodded, his expression grim. Riza realised that she hated herself for mentioning it, because gone was his happy and proud smile. In its place was a look that was both thoughtful and displeased. His eyes moved to her covered cheek.

“Any time for you, Riza. You know that,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Once in the safety of their bedroom, her safe haven, Riza bared herself to Roy, ready to reveal as much as she could about all that occurred that night. How she’d do it, Riza wasn’t entirely sure, but she needed to. She couldn’t leave him in the dark, and it would be important to the case he was building against them.

Roy was in bed already, observing her move around the room to gather what she needed to change. He didn’t even try to hide his watchful gaze anymore. He’d been eyeing her closely, protectively, as she undressed and as much as it irritated Riza, she understood his reasons why.

As Riza shrugged out of her blouse, she heard Roy shift on the bed. It creaked as he stood up and Riza heard footsteps.

The shirt bunched around her wrists and Riza let it hang there. There was no escaping Roy seeing the marks now. They circled around her neck and wrists, a reminder of Selim’s – or “Pride’s” – message.

“Is this what happened tonight?” His voice was low and there was a hint of his anger bleeding through it. If she turned, Riza knew she’d see it in his eyes, so she didn’t turn to look at him.

Their happy evening, the reveal of her framed certification, felt like a lifetime ago in that moment.

Nodding, Riza’s head tipped to look down. Unseeing, her gaze settled on her stomach as her fringe framed her vision.

The fingers against her skin were impossibly gentle as they skimmed over the pink marks. They were fading but not quick enough. Riza swallowed. They were meant to last, to haunt her. A message in themselves.

“And the cheek too?”

Riza nodded again.

Roy’s feet appeared in her view, toes hidden by her extended stomach. One of his hands lifted hers, gentle tugging the blouse off one wrist. He did the same with the other, tossing the shirt into the laundry pile. On the collar Riza spotted a dot of dried blood. The brown stood out alarmingly against the soft cream of the fabric. Walking behind her, he unclasped her bra and did the same thing. Riza shivered in the cool air of the room, but he quickly eased her pyjama top over her head, tugging it on and over her exposed skin. Smoothing it out made her shiver, but this one was welcome. His touch warmed her, a reminder that she was safe and at home.

Snaking her arms through the shirt, Riza finally glanced up at him. His smile was kind and gentle.

“Let’s go to bed,” he offered, grasping her hand tightly and giving it a squeeze.

As soon as her head hit the pillow Roy snuggled in as close as he could. Their heads were bent, both looking at her stomach as they rested together. Riza’s hands covered her stomach protectively, joined by one of Roy’s.

“Can you talk about it?”

Riza tensed. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Do you want to?” The hand on her stomach lifted to caress her cheekbone, the thumb running gently over the plaster covering it for good measure. It relaxed her tensed muscles somewhat.

She nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Take all the time you need, Riza.”

His eyes were understanding but there was a pain in them too. He wanted to help, to ease her suffering, but he didn’t know how. Riza knew exactly how he felt, remembering just how hard it had been on her when Roy hadn’t opened up about Ishval in the beginning, and the eventual fall out of it. Riza experienced a strong sense of déjà vu, knowing what she had to do, even if the thought did scare her.

Tell him we say hello and nothing else.

“I ran into Fuhrer Bradley tonight.”

Roy’s entire body froze. The hand on her cheek stilled and his eyes widened considerably. She could already see the anger forming as his gaze hardened. Muscles growing visibly taut, Riza thought he might jump out the bed any second.

“He was at the university with his family,” Riza continued. She reached up, removing his hand from her face so she could entwine their fingers together, anchoring herself. It kept the fear of her encounter at bay. “I met Mrs. Bradley and their son, Selim. They told me to say hello,” Riza swallowed.

“Did that bas –”

“Remember Scar?”

Roy’s head cocked, bewildered at the sudden change in conversation. It startled him out of his angered thoughts, bringing him back to her, so Riza tapped her finger on his palm twice, hoping he’d get her signal.

“And how the Elric brothers went up against him?”

Slowly, Roy nodded. His expression changed as he listened intently.

“Friends of mine were also involved, Lucy and Iain. I met up with them this evening too,” she lied.

If shadows were no longer safe and someone was ‘watching’ them, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“At the University?”

Riza shook her head. “I saw them on the way there. They’re stationed out East still, but were in town, so it was nice to run into them. Mary still works at the university, though.”

“Oh, the one with the dark hair… Obsessed with cats?”

Riza elbowed him gently but was glad he was playing along. Anything to ease the tension over them as she tried to get her message across.

“That’s Ida. Married to Sugar. They have five, I think.”

“If you like cats, you like cats,” Roy shrugged.

“True. I wonder if Havoc has managed to get a cat yet. He was always indifferent towards our dog. I wonder if cats are more his thing?”

“Maybe. I’ll ask next time I give him a call.”

“It would be nice to send over some presents if he did get a furry friend,” Riza added. “I think he said Oscar was a good name for a pet. Or Mike.”

“He’s as poor at naming things as you,” Roy snorted.

“I didn’t name our dog,” Riza reminded him. “That was our daughter.” Carefully, Riza edited herself so that she avoided their names so not to endanger the coded message.

“Okay, okay,” Roy relented in surrender. “Point taken.”

“Uri, your friend from the academy, was the worst from what I remember.”

“Oh yeah, what did he call his dog again?” Roy’s head cocked to the side as he pretended to cast his mind back.

“Nora,” Riza smiled.

“Oh, that poor dog.”

“He could at least have gone with something generic for a pet, like Charlie. But Uri wanted to call it after his grandmother.”

“That’s kind of sweet though, in a way,” Roy reasoned.

“I think Lucy was planning to do the same as Uri, but… Imagine calling your dog Stirling. I would have a hard time calling after it at the dog park with a name like that.”

Riza tapped her finger twice against his palm.

Chuckling, Roy nodded in agreement. “I hear you,” he replied. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered distractedly, but Roy did lean over to kiss her cheek before leaving the bed and entering the bathroom.

“Okay.” Riza cuddled into the warmth he’d left behind, waiting, and listening for his reaction.

“Oh…” She heard him murmur and Riza cringed. Now that he knew the truth, he may be even angrier than before. There was a pause, then the sound of Roy rummaging through a drawer, followed by a snap. A sound akin to a candle burning reached Riza, but quickly turned muted and disappeared.

In the doorway Roy stood, wide eyed, completely shocked. The light from their bathroom silhouetted his frame, but she saw the raw emotion on his face.

He looked terrified.

Riza offered him one nod, confirming his thoughts.

Turning the light out, he hurried over and jumped back into bed. Riza was drawn against him and she didn’t protest now that he knew exactly who she’d had a run in with tonight.

A homunculus.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispered into her ear ever so quietly. His arms gave her a tight squeeze.

Riza clutched at him in return. “Me too.”

“The marks will fade,” he added, running a hand gently across her neck and then her wrist. “I’m sorry you have to bear them, though.”

“It’s not because of you.”

He shot her a pained look.

“There’s no way you get to blame this on yourself,” Riza warned. “Don’t you dare.”

“It’s hard not to,” Roy admitted so quietly, his voice catching. Eyes dropped away from her, expression bitter at his inability to look out for her like they’d agreed to.

“It’s nothing I will ever hold against you, Roy Mustang,” Riza announced passionately, grasping his hand tightly in hers. It made him look up and meet her eyes sadly. “You didn’t plan this. No one could have.” She gave his hand another squeeze, more gently this time. “We’ll just have to be more careful in future.”

“You shouldn’t have to be though.”

Riza shook her head. “That’s the world we live in right now.”

“It’s not the world I want.”

“That’s why we’re working, right?” Offering him a reassuring smile, Riza curled up against him as best she could. Inhaling deeply, she took in the smell of him, of home. “I’m right here,” she whispered.

It was quiet, then Roy shifted, readjusting his grip. “I know,” he nodded, sounding defeated, but also relieved. “I know you are. I’m so thankful you are.”

Wrapped as tightly in his arms as she was now, Riza wasn’t going anywhere for the rest of the night, and that was okay with her.

#royai #royai fanfic #royai fic #royai au #the way it was #emma writes

[kadeu]

Accepted — Al-Farsi Leila

♥   Leili Al-Farsi aka. Leila Mori looks like Ivana Alawi (actor) ♥   She was born December 25, 1814; making her 206 but she appears to be 25 ♥   This Succubi is Heterosexual and a Jack of Hearts ♥   She is the owner of The Secret Room

Biography

The Al-Farsi Family is a family greatly known for their secrecy. A reclusive family whose only presence is felt through the various charities that the family was connected to. It was rumored that the Al-Farsis were wealthy enough to become Kings, if only they would stop their habit of excessive spending for the poor. However, this was the only way the family stayed relevant over the past century. As what the rumors circulated, the Al-Farsis remained a neutral family in the years of peace within Kadeu. Their founding matriarch was a woman whose roots were traced from the City of Umibe. She had come to Kadeu for a better life and found work in The Red Dragon. Gradually, she rosed up the ranks and became the brothel’s owner in less than a decade. Her name was Lamia Mori. She was the great-grandmother of Leila Al-Farsi, or so what the family introduced her to be.

The truth was that the matriarch Lamia Mori and the great-granddaughter, Leila Al-Farsi, was one and the same woman. She was a succubus who have crossed over from the Demon Realm more than a century ago and has skillfully hidden herself undetected in the public eye, all the while feigning to be a human. However, something had changed when the succubus decided to clothe herself in the finest of tulles and satins and adorn her body with glistening jewels. That same day, her own father appeared before her. It was then that she knew of her mother’s death. Her father spared no expense on sharing his bare intentions. First, he found her current abode quite atrocious and second, he abhors the fact that her own daughter had decided to cowardly hide in the facade of a human instead of being proud of her demonic origins.

But Leila still remembers the day she was forcefully thrown out of the Demon Realm by her very own clan. It was the very reason why she could not bear to go back. It was her forty second birthday, way past her puberty and still no signs of her ‘awakening.’ It well-known in the Demon Realm that the younger a concubi would stop aging, the earlier would be its awakening and the stronger that concubi would be. Records had reported that these were the cases for those born with concubi parents. But Lamia was a daughter of a succubus and an arch demon and little had been known of the children of this kind of union. It was a pride for her father that Lamia stopped aging by the age of 24. To her clan, this was a promising sign that she would become one of the strongest concubi due to her lineage. They have made plans specially catered to her education, with the goal of making her the perfect hidden weapon of the family.

Great joy and merriment occurred on her thirty fifth birthday. Her clan had invited others to witness her awakening. However, none of that happened. No stubby spiked tail, no primal feeding ensued. Lamia caused her clan to lose face that night, but they still had patiently waited for her awakening. A year turned to two, then three yet there was still no sign of that stubborn tail. This frustrated Lamia to the core. If only she was born as a demon instead of a concubi, her mother would have been the grand consort of the clan but alas she was anything but. Without even much of an opportunity to say her farewells, Lamia was thrown off to a realm far too different than what she was familiar of. That was when she found herself at the depths of the sea of Umibe. A sudden change happened with her as she crossed over the portal, Lamia found herself growing a stubby spiked tail. How she hated her tail for years after, if only it had grown sooner. Little did she know, this was the least of her problems.

A rude awakening soon followed, enraging Lamia down to her very core. She learned of the poor treatment of the townsfolk towards concubi the hard way, through her own fault. Lamia once let her guard down and her origins as a succubus spread throughout the city like wildfire overnight. By morning, she lost the reputation she painstakingly established over a couple of years. She hated the smell of potent distrust, hated it even more that she had to feed off on those disgusting emotion. In a fit of rage, she openly hunted at The Docks until she was fully satiated. During this primal hunt, Lamia learned that aside from lust, fear became her most favorite meal. The next morning, reports on spoilt goods and missing sailors grazed the covers of the newspapers and rumors blamed such incident on the succubus whom no citizen has seen ever again.

Her overfeeding was proven to be useful nonetheless as the succubus was able to traverse the 10-mile distance from the City of Umibe to Kadeu in just a little over two hours. She must admit that the air in Kadeu was much fresher compared to the City of Umibe. Here, Lamia could easily feed without many complications as she could freely feed off in the streets. She noticed that on her inner left wrist, the once prominent 1 symbol that mystically appeared after she crossed over from the Demon Realm now became a 3. Lamia learned upon further coaxing from her clientele that the more she gathers her wealth and store it in the Zuihuo Bank, the more she would rise in the rank and this was the window of opportunity for her to have a new life. A life where she could live in peace, where the scent of distrust is absent and only pure lust and greed filled the air. The scent of greed was something Lamia had not thought of to be served in this place. The more she consumed it, the more she was influenced by it. Soon, the news of a lucky sex-worker on the streets reached the ears of the warden of The Red Dragon. There were not many blatant sex-workers brave enough to flaunt themselves on the streets, especially near his establishment, he wanted to have that worker for himself.

It was then that Lamia Mori was known as the Lady Mori of The Red Dragon. The mystical tattoo on her inner left wrist became a 5 and later a 7 as she became a high-end sex-worker for the brothel. By then, she had skillfully hidden her identity as a succubus. But this was not enough, not when the brothel was rumored to be auctioned off as its previous owner had plummeted down to bankruptcy and a deadly combo of gambling and drugs. This was the window of opportunity that Lamia was waiting for. In the depths of the night, a woman was found standing at the gates of the abode of the previous owner. Nobody knew what had transpired that night, but the fact remains that the Al-Farsi family had purchased the brothel.

With the change of ownership comes the influx of patrons. The title “Lady Mori” was bestowed for a decade to a favored sex-worker of the brothel, paying homage to the first Lady Mori who was said to have been favored by a patron and was gifted of the brothel itself, earning her favor. The first Lady Mori was the same consort of the Al-Farsi family that had graced society of her presence just a few months after the family purchased the brothel. Little did the society knew that the head of the Al-Farsi family was Lamia Mori. The man whom she claims to be her ‘husband,’ the man rumored to be the patron who was enamored by her beauty was no other than the previous warden of The Red Dragon himself.

It had been several decades since Lady Mori, now known as Madam Al-Farsi, had graced society herself. However, the tales of her glory days was still known in Kadeu. She once loved to throw charity balls for various causes she could think of, to a point that she had almost endangered her family’s status as a facecard. The last time she was seen was the day she announced her pregnancy. It was said that she had died during childbirth. And news of the family could only be seen in the papers, not a shadow of their beings was in sight. One recurring fact that always appeared in the paper though, the women married to the Al-Farsis had always died of childbirth. This was rumored to be a curse plaguing the entire family.

But the rumors of the curse did not stop the family finding a new bride. The 3rd generation head of the Al-Farsi, known by many as Khalil Al-Farsi, was one whose beauty once rivaled the family’s founding monarch, Lamia Mori herself. He was the great source of pride of the family as he had single-handedly beaten their once rival strip club, The Golden Faerie. Although not a brothel itself, the strip club also caters to all ranks like The Red Dragon. Thus, the news of its upgrade followed by the new that it would now only be catering to ranks 7 and above had delighted the family.

Following the good fortune that The Red Dragon had received in the past few months was the tragic death of Khalil Al-Farsi. The scene of finding the child she once raised to be the family heir was now dead pushed Leila to seek vengeance for him. To distract the ton from his death, Leila spread the news of her debut in society. Gossip columns in the newspapers were filled with testimonies of the once loyal patrons who were too old to frequent the brothel and those who have seen Madam Al-Farsi in her glory days both of whom confirmed that the next of kin of the Al-Farsi looks just like the madam. And with this, the curiosity of the ton followed wondering of the beauty that daughter of Khalil Al-Farsi holds. A satirical laugh could be heard across the mansion. Indeed, she picked the ripe time to reintroduce herself to society as Leila Al-Farsi.

Personality

Leila is a socialite which led to her being hyperaware of the rankings. She made it a self-priority to maintain a facecard rank for survival as she had witnessed the dark side of the lowranks and abhors to be in that same situation twice. Thus, she maintains strong relations amongst the highranks, at the same time, she is kind to lowranks, even to a point of offering them jobs in her brothel to keep them off the streets. She made it her mission to get sex workers off the streets and into her brothel, in return, she asks for their utmost loyalty, which had become her unknown weakness in the long run. Using the excuse of finding a husband, Leila is at a stage seeking revenge for her father, Khalil Al-Farsi. The culprit behind his death is still at large.

Congratulations Tamara your app has been accepted and your first plot drop will be sent to you soon.

Please follow and welcome @leilamori to Kadeu!

#follow; #accepted; #lsrp #hearts