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A/N: Based on “Heart of Exile,” an amazing work of smutfic art by Nautilust [x] with more to come. Enjoy!
For once, you awaken before he does.
The fire in your cabin has long since dwindled to ashes, but Kratos’s sleeping body radiates heat beside you where his chest is pressed against your back. Through the barrel-chested rumble of his breathing, you recognize the sound of gentle rain pelting the rooftop of your cabin and wonder whether you ever woke up in Jötunheim feeling this content. You couldn’t ask for a better morning.
You roll over from the little-spoon position you fell asleep in, keen to get a better look at Kratos’s sleeping form while you have the chance. In the muted sunlight that manages to gleam in through the rain, you can see the lines that run deeply through his face: the ones that ray out like sunbeams from the corners of his eyes, the ones that form curved grooves above his nose, and the longer ones that frame his forehead. You expected them to be softened in his sleep, but the traces of Kratos’s default frown remain embedded in place. If anything, he looks more troubled than ever.
You remember the way he once scolded you for flaunting your body even in his dreams. Invading his dreams, by the sound of it. You’re surprised at how much that idea pleases you. Gazing down at Kratos’s closed eyes, you wonder if he’s seeing your body oiled or writhing or kneeled in supplication between his legs. Are you earning his punishment or his reward?
The slow rumble of his breath continues without a hitch, but the pattering rainfall begins to soften. “Heavy rain means lighter pain,” you think ruefully, recalling the old apothecarist’s rhyme about the healing herbs that spring up after a long night of showers. Some, like duskflower and butterlily, seem to double in growth with enough water from one day to the next. These are the herbs known for relaxing the body, easing pain stirred from within. Their leaves and sap are considered godsends for new mothers in the hours before childbirth. They are innocent enough herbs, incapable of being overdosed. The only side effects you recall are shortness of breath…and arousal.
Of course. Why didn’t you think of this sooner? Eager as you are to have Kratos lay true claim to your body, there has been no preventing the sting of unease at the thought of being stretched open to the point of pain. Or, worse yet, to the point of forfeit. Kratos would never forgive himself if intercourse proved to be too much for you. “I knew you were not ready,” he would say. “I tried to warn you, little Faye. It is more than one such as you can bear.”
But what if you have a little help?
Before you’re fully aware of your decision, you are already out of bed and lacing your boots. You know just where to start – in a nearby patch of forest that you once saw choked with butterlily. In a flash, you’re out the door.
It doesn’t take long to locate the ground you had in mind. The butterlily is still there and flourishing more than ever, as if it stands in living proof of the old rhyme. You pluck a few of its spiky petals, rubbing their silky oil between your fingers. You don’t need much – a small fistful is more than enough for a savory cup of butterlily tea, and you don’t plan on keeping a reserve of the stuff on hand. Just for the first time, you think defensively. Just to help me…adjust.
But as you turn homeward, a sudden recklessness steals over you. An impatience. You don’t want to wait until you get home, then go through the motions of boiling the water, steeping the petals, and blowing the surface of the drink until it’s cool enough to sip from. It’s just as well to chew the raw petals, as you recall. And the ones in your hand have already been washed by the rain…
So you pop them in your mouth, not thinking or caring about anything beyond the mountain of pure brawn waiting to welcome you back into bed.
***
But Kratos is still asleep when you steal through the front door. Thankfully, this means that he doesn’t catch you swiping a finger over your front teeth for any remaining traces of butterlily pollen.
No, your lover hasn’t budged an inch since you left him an hour ago. His arms are still outstretched toward your pillow, as if beckoning you, and you are all too happy to return to their warm safekeeping. If you’re lucky, you can still catch a long nap before the day begins in earnest…
Once again, you find yourself admiring his lined face just before you roll back onto your side. It’s difficult to envision him any other way. The thought of a young Kratos…it actually gives you pause. Especially a young, swaggering Kratos. From the way he’s hinted at his sexual history, you know he’s had a lion’s share of beautiful women. You know he hasn’t always been a lone, stoic ranger. And while you don’t necessarily mind that, in theory, you also don’t like to dwell on the mental image of all those women sheathing themselves on his cock.
Was the spartan Kratos as careful with his lovers as he is with you? Did he draw out their sexless pleasure over weeks in order to properly stretch them and mentally prepare them for the task, as he’s done with you? Somehow you don’t think so.
And then, much more suddenly than you’d bargained for, the relaxing effects of the butterlily kick in. Any residual body aches that you’ve acquired are gone, vanished, as if you never sprained your ankle or fought for your life…or twisted in anguish from rope restraints.
Of course, there’s no denying that you enjoyed yourself. That you enjoyed every minute of being the sprawling, naked, defenseless target of Kratos’s anger and desire. Just your memories of the night are already affecting you. There’s the memory of Kratos’s amber eyes narrowing as he wolfishly circled your body in the cellar, and the memory of your desperation as you denied yourself orgasm after orgasm just to keep him happy…
Beside you, Kratos sleeps on, unaware of the growing wetness between your thighs. He hasn’t even touched you, yet your skin is practically buzzing. The butterlily at work, no doubt. You’ve only taken the herb a handful of times for particularly vicious muscle cramps, and always in the customary tea form. You might have anticipated more potency from the petals, but this is a different level.
To your dismay, touching yourself only seems to feed the flames.
Minutes later, you’re nothing more than a quivering mess of limbs. Even three, now four, of your own fingers buried up to the hilt inside you cannot extinguish them. You shift from one position to the next, stuffing your mouth with the bedclothes to keep quiet, eventually finding yourself sitting up with one arm planted firmly between your legs. Grinding against your own forearm like this, feeling your slick grow thicker, no closer to climaxing than before…
“Faye.”
You gasp through the fabric bunched in your mouth, your eyes fluttering open to meet Kratos’s waking golden ones. He sits up, his gaze steadily falling to fully register the sight of you: sweaty and pantless, grinding like an animal for the delicious friction between your folds and the tight muscle of your forearm. It’s obvious, what you’ve been up to. All you can do is flash him a guilty, half-lidded smile and hope for the best. But you barely register the look of pleasant surprise and amusement on Kratos’s face before they are smothered by something else – the part of him that owns you.
“Naughty girl, what does she think she’s doing?” he wonders aloud, snatching your pleasure-giving arm away. “Did she think she could chase her pleasure while daddy is sleeping and cannot see for himself? Filling her pink little mouní without his permission? How can she be his good little angel when she insists on defying him so?”
“Kratos!” you cry out. Your other hand flies down to take the other’s place between your thighs. Kratos may have only just woken up, but you’ve been at it for what feels like hours, and you can’t handle another drawn-out cat-and-mouse game. You’ll spontaneously combust by the time your master finally permits you to orgasm. But Kratos doesn’t know this. He sees only your greediness, your flagrant display of disobedience as if begging him to punish you, and he accordingly seizes your other hand to prevent you pleasuring yourself any further.
“No, no, no, no,” you blubber senselessly, struggling to break his grasp with all your might. It’s no use, of course. It’s like trying to free your hands from between two boulders; they belong to Kratos now, for as long as he deigns to keep them.
“Faye?” he asks, a wrinkle of confusion in his voice. He hasn’t felt the full brunt of your struggle like this before. Although it hardly seems to faze him more than usual, he must recognize the genuine panic in your flailing, because he releases you at once.
Without hesitation, your hands fly back into position. “Help me, Kratos. Please, please,” you moan, tears of frustration pooling in your eyes. “I need you to fill me. Nothing else will do. Mercy, Kratos.”
Much to your relief, the angry-daddy stormcloud softens rather than darkens. He is seemingly transfixed by the sight of your fingers entering yourself at such a frantic pace. Not to mention the dormant choke of a sob in your throat as you moan. In this moment, you are the very definition of a beggar. Surely he won’t be able to resist?
But just as his eyes have begun to cloud over with lust once more, he meets your gaze and frowns at what he sees in yours. “Faye? Are you...well?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” you insist.
“Do not lie to me, little Faye. You are…not yourself,” he says, still searching your face quizzically.
You blurt it out as quickly as you can, just to get it over with. “While you were sleeping, I gathered butterlily petals. To soften the pain of losing my….maidenhood.” You dart your eyes away, cheeks burning at the admission. “I didn’t want the pain to undo all of our progress. To risk it…stopping me.”
“Progress,” Kratos repeats with a trace of the old amusement in his voice. “I suppose that is one way to look at it.” But, just as before, the amusement fades. “I cannot take you like this, Faye. Not when you are…not in your right mind.”
All you can do is sputter at him for a moment. “I am in my right mind, Kratos. I know what I’m doing. This will help me receive you, agapiméni mou.” Instinctively, you let loose the Greek words for “my beloved,” and they roll off your tongue more fluently than either of you expected. Somehow you know not to try the daddy card at the moment. No, you’ll save that as a last resort.
“Angel,” he groans. “Why must you torment this old man? Do you live to sabotage me? Do not deny it.”
“I don’t,” you croon back at him. “And I will never stop. I want all of you, and I will not leave you alone until I have my fill. Se agapó, I love you.”
Kratos groans aloud at your words. And for a moment, it looks as though you’ve won your little conquest. The way he’s eying your hands, still working feverishly in the slick between your legs, you know his resolve is sufficiently wavered.
And then, with a heavy sigh, he leaves the bed.
“NO! Kratos, please! No, no, no…” you cry out in anguish.
“Enough,” he snarls. “I will not condone this behavior, girl. You are free to tire yourself out if you wish, or you may draw yourself a cold bath and come to your senses. The decision is yours.” And with that, he turns his back to you and busies himself about the cabin. Unbelievably, as you lay here with your legs sprawled open in a crass invitation, Kratos is making breakfast. He seems determined to ignore both you and the formidable bulge you’ve stirred in the cloth wrapping around his loins.
Of course, two can play at that game. You decide to make a show of it – openly moaning, groaning, and grasping your breasts. You try anything you can think of that has caught Kratos’s breath or stopped him in his tracks before. But now, none of it seems to work on him. Probably because none of it feels genuine. Not when the true object of your desire is standing beyond arm’s reach, refusing to coax these noises out of you himself. You know exactly what you’re missing, and no amount of kittenish noises or honeyed words is apparently going to break him into providing it.
Running out of options, you fling yourself out of bed and march to the cabinet in your dining room. Kratos’s eyes follow you with interest as you root around in drawer after drawer. “What do you need?” he asks, but you pettily decide to ignore him in return.
Besides, even you aren’t exactly sure what you’re searching for until you find it: the dense, grooved hand pipe gifted to you from an expert glassblower in Midgard -- one of the men whose lives you saved. It was the only way he could afford to express his generosity, he said. It’s only now, as you admire the dense, twisting knob of glass, that you truly appreciate the trinket.
Still ignoring Kratos’s open amusement, you give the pipe a thorough rinse and flounce back to bed. Only then do you position yourself with your back arched and legs spread apart as far as your body will allow. From behind you, Kratos moans and admonishes you under his breath, but you ignore that too.
It’s too easy to collect the generous pool of slick between your thighs, using the smaller end of the glass knob to trace the moisture in slow circles around your entrance. You release muffled, genuine moans into a pillow in the process, so much so that you don’t hear Kratos stop whatever he’s doing and take a seat behind you.
“So, you have chosen to tire yourself out.” Despite yourself, you crane your neck to see Kratos sprawled in a dining chair behind you, his arms outstretched behind his head as though settling in to enjoy a live performance at the theater. “Very well. I will enjoy watching my precious angel writhe in vain,” he says smugly.
How can he possibly be enjoying himself when you’re in this sorry state? His careless words fill you with the same recklessness that led you to chew the butterlily petals instead of preparing them more carefully. Acting on another sudden impulse, you shift your grasp on the glass knob, raising it higher to trace the ring of your asshole instead.
Kratos draws in his surprised breath with a hiss. “Faye,” he says warningly.
“Help me, Kratos,” you whisper.
For a moment it looks as though Kratos is going to throw something. You’ve never seen him so furious and helpless at the same time. “You know I cannot,” he says at last, with defeat in his voice.
“Then I will help myself,” you purr in response. And with that, you prod this tight new entrance with the slickened tip of the glass knob.
“FAYE.” His shout fills the small space of the cabin, but he doesn’t make a move to stop you. He seems fascinated now as well as angry, his eyes glued to your hand and the makeshift toy you use to tease your virgin kólos.
“Why are you doing this?” Kratos moans.
“Because you won’t.” You look him in the eye as you press the knob in, just barely, and you are rewarded with another one of Kratos’s low hisses. The sensation isn’t a pleasurable one per se, but it fills you with a sense of violation that is only intensified under his possessive stare. “Remind me, my love…what is the spartan way of making love?” you croon at him. “To ‘chase your pleasure deep in my ass’?”
“And shave your slave head,” he retorts, but his heart isn’t in it.
“Are you enjoying this hole of yours too, little Faye?” he demands in the next instant, his voice gruffer. “Will you come begging for me to stretch this one for you as well?”
“Just enough to catch your cum, daddy,” you answer hoarsely.
At this, Kratos goes tight-lipped and closes his eyes. Slowly, still keeping his eyes closed, he rises from his seat. Yes! you think desperately. Any moment now he will come to your bed to satisfy this longing at your very core, if only to slake his own lust…surely…
But you’ve made another miscalculation. Because in the next instant, Kratos is striding across the cabin, away from you, tightening his loin wrappings as he approaches the door. You can’t help noticing the way he doggedly avoids looking you in the process.
“I will return when you have regained control over yourself,” he says tightly, before wrenching the door closed behind him.
***
You have no idea how much time has passed since Kratos left. It’s been several hours, at least, but beyond that you’d only be guessing. By now you’ve touched and penetrated yourself in every position, every angle, without enjoying any one of them more than the last. You’ve never been so simultaneously exhausted yet thrumming with energy.
And humiliated. You didn’t think Kratos could be capable of turning his back on you during such a lewd act of desperation. A small part of you – the part of you that is apparently intoxicated with butterlily pollen – is reproachful. You can’t imagine refusing Kratos anything, yet he listened to your most slatternly begging and still turned you away. Cast you aside.
And yet…
More than once you imagine the sound of a turning doorknob and whirl around to greet him in relief – only to be met with a firmly closed front door and no Kratos in sight.
What did you expect, Faye?
Not this.
Your solitude begins to stir up new, poisonous thoughts. How many other women has Kratos refused? Have any of them succeeded in tempting him where you failed? Were their bodies more intoxicating, their faces more charming, their voices sweeter?
This time, when the front door finally does open, you don’t even hear it. You’re lying in bed with the bedclothes pulled tight over you and your abject humiliation.
The next thing you know, the covers have been wrenched aside. You yelp in surprise, instinctively aiming a kick at the figure looming over you, but Kratos easily catches your ankle before it can land.
“Faye!” he thunders at the sight of you.
He sounds more tormented than ever, but now the torment in his voice is tinged with pity. You are well aware of how you must look: naked and trembling, with both dry and wet slick coating you from the waist down. A sheen of sweat clings to your body as if you really are in the throes of childbirth. As you look up at him, you feel a drop of sweat pass your temple.
“My angel,” he says, looking stricken. “I should never have left you in this condition. I did not know…”
“How potent butterlily can be?” you rasp. “Neither did I.”
Even as Kratos runs the back of his hand along your forehead and fetches you drinking water with a cool cloth for your flushed face, those poisonous questions about Kratos’s past are still drilling away at you. Why does he refuse the woman he claims to love when he did not refuse so many others before me?
When he kneels at your bedside from the floor, you can’t help noticing the preventative distance this forces between his body and yours.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Kratos says, noticing the growing shadows behind your eyes.
You purse your lips. “You don’t want to hear it.”
“I do wish to hear it,” he replies with a loving clutch around your chin, “or I would not have asked, child.”
“Fine,” you snap. The sound of pure bitterness, coming from you, seems to shock Kratos. “You want to know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking about how easily you abandoned me after I bared myself to you in every way I know.”
His hand falls quickly from your chin. “You are mistaken,” Kratos says gruffly. He remains silent for a long moment, evidently searching for words. His amber eyes are steady but pained when they finally meet yours. “Faye, there is…much you do not understand,” he says at last. “In this condition of yours, I cannot trust myself to take you without causing injury. Nor, as you must agree, can I trust a woman whose judgment is clouded by medicine. You may not feel your bones and muscles protesting until it is too late.” His eyes suddenly darkening, he adds, “You cannot understand the torture I have suffered today.”
“The torture you suffered?” you cry in outrage.
“Yes, Faye, I have suffered.” Kratos suddenly grips you by the wrist, his eyes flashing the darkest shade of gold. “On this day, I have wrestled with every instinct I possess. There is not a man alive who has wrestled against stronger instincts than the ones you inflame in me.”
Almost imperceptibly, his grip tightens. “No drowning man has longed for air…no starving man has longed for bread…more than I have longed to enter you on this day.”
Your breath catches in your throat. “Kratos,” you murmur, without anything else to say. You’re flushing in all the places he can’t see.
“So you see, little Faye, I have already claimed your maidenhood in my thoughts hundreds of times. I have already imagined your little mouní spilling my cum on every surface of this cabin,” he growls.
“Kratos, please,” you keen, hardly knowing what for. “I’m in agony. You promised you would…”
“And I will, my angel.” Kratos seems to be examining your eyes, and you desperately hope that whatever mania possessed them earlier has passed.
As the silence lengthens, you find yourself grappling with the same unbidden thoughts as before. All of the women he’s given himself to, probably without a second thought, and here you are, still a virgin, despite your best efforts –
“Your mind is somewhere else,” Kratos says accusingly. “Do not hold back from me. Tell me what you are thinking.”
You can feel your eyes pooling again. The sight of it seems to alarm Kratos, but you press on before he can interrupt. “I want to know,” you say, close to tears, “why you have given yourself fully to hundreds of women – or thousands of women, gods only know – but I am still unworthy of receiving you.”
Kratos makes a sound as if you’ve struck him over the head. “‘Unworthy,’” he repeats, his voice strained. “My angel cannot possibly think such a thing of herself…to think that she is unworthy of this old man…”
You dry your eyes with the edge of the bedclothes, waiting for him to continue.
“Faye,” he says gruffly, “There is nothing in the nine realms I desire more than to have you…and keep you safe. But these things, they are not the same.” He looks away, as if ashamed.
Enough of this, you think.
“Kratos, look at me. You know how long we both have wanted this. How many times have we played pretend? As if impaling me on your fingers is the same as the real thing?” At this, he gives a low growl. “And how many times,” you press on, “have you promised yourself to me, always at some distant point in the future? Each time has been harder than the last, Kratos. But now…I am ready.”
You smile impishly, hoping to defuse the tension with some of your usual playfulness.
"Think of it. What better time could there possibly be?" you demand, appealing to his sense of logic. "For once, there are no grave injuries or children or tyrannical monsters to dance around. Not to mention that my pussy," you add slyly, "is more prepared to take a beating from daddy than it's ever been."
Kratos's reaction is immediate. You see his jaw clench at the same time that his mouth curves into a predatory grin. With these features combined, the expression on his face sends downright shivers down your spine.
Quick as a trip wire, you find yourself manhandled into Kratos's lap so that his rock-like stomach is pressed against your back. Grasping you firmly around the throat, Kratos buries his lips in the hair above your ear. "Listen to me, little Faye. I will not repeat myself, so you will repeat after me."
"Yes, daddy," you breathe.
He answers to this with the lightest tweak of your nipples, both at once, drawing a delicious moan from deep in your throat.
"You will cry mercy at the slightest sign of discomfort."
"I will cry mercy at the slightest sign of discomfort," you parrot back to him, now close to tears with relief. After this long day of denial, it's almost too good to be true.
"You will obey me without question."
"I will obey you without question," you repeat petulantly.
"You will be patient, without chasing your pleasure carelessly."
Sullenly, you repeat the lines.
And finally:
"You will be a brave girl for daddy."
You moan, desperate to show him how very brave you’re going to be. "I will be a brave girl for daddy,” you whisper.
"Will you, now," Kratos says with a spark of pleasure. "We shall see."
feel free to edit or elaborate as you please .
( add ‘ reverse ‘ to your message if you’d like to see how my muse would perform the action ) .
otherwise , send in one of these for my muse’s reaction to …
[ lit ] your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine .
[ order ] your muse ordering for mine at a restaurant or bar .
[ guide ] your muse putting a hand on mine’s back to lead them .
[ pay ] your muse paying for mine at a store , bar , restaurant , etc . ( you can specify where or for what . )
[ open ] your muse opening a door for mine .
[ dry ] your muse drying mine off with a towel after a shower , bath , swimming , etc .
[ instruct ] your muse giving mine instructions / telling them what to do .
[ groom ] your muse adjusting mine’s appearance , such as straightening a tie , fixing their hair , or buttoning their shirt for them , etc .
[ direct ] your muse taking mine by the chin and telling them to look yours in the eye .
[ disagree ] your muse sternly telling mine ‘ no ‘ .
[ rest ] your muse resting their arm over mine’s shoulder / s .
[ clean ] your muse cleaning a smudge of something off mine’s cheek , forehead , etc . feel free to specify what and how .
[ answer ] your muse answering a question meant for mine .
[ coat ] your muse holds mine’s coat out for them while they put it on .
[ pilot ] your muse taking mine by the arm , hand , shoulder , etc . to lead them .
[ stare ] your muse staring mine down .
[ placement ] your muse telling mine to sit down .
[ teach ] your muse taking control of mine’s hand , arm , hips , etc . to make sure they do something correctly .
[ patience ] your muse telling mine to be patient .
[ tears ] your muse wiping away mine’s tears .
[ swat ] your muse swatting mine’s hand away from something they’re not supposed to touch .
[ jewelry ] your muse clasping a piece of jewelry for mine , such as a necklace , or earrings .
[ enough ] your muse commanding mine to stop talking .
[ retrieve ] your muse requesting or ordering mine to retrieve them something .
[ invite ] your muse inviting mine to sit on their lap .
[ lean ] your muse inviting mine to lean into their side while they’re sitting or laying together .
[ calm ] your muse telling mine to ‘ just breathe ‘ .
[ scold ] your muse scolding mine for something .
[ comfort ] your muse pulling mine into a reassuring hug .
[ approval ] your muse complimenting mine on a choice they’ve made .
[ beckon ] your muse beckoning mine to them without speaking .
[ laces ] your muse lacing , tying , or zipping something for mine , such as shoes , a dress , or a jacket , etc .
[ stay ] your muse telling mine to stay in the car .
[ defend ] your muse defending mine’s reputation , dignity , or safety for them .
[ feed ] your muse feeding mine something , feel free to specify what .
[ volume ] your muse demanding mine speak louder .
[ read ] your muse reading something to mine .
[ refill ] your muse refilling mine’s glass for them .
[ possessive ] your muse resting their hand on mine’s leg or the small of their back while they’re sitting beside each other .
So, I’m back -- years later -- with a new line-up of muses.
After losing steam with Larxene, I really struggled to decide on a new muse. So, screw it. I’m going multi-muse, and I’ll be around as long as there are submissions and threads for me to reply to.
Blog is under construction, but I will have character pages with headcanon up soon!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Axel shrugged at the question. No, he had not lost his damn mind. He’d simply dealt with more troubling, inconsequential royals than he could count, and knew how they all behaved. This family was full of sadistic brats, but none besides the King and Queen themselves ever seemed to make any drastic moves. Sure, he knew Larxene was infamous for throwing punches and dealing out some deep cuts, but it was nothing he wouldn’t survive. He’d survived much worse - the twins had both pooped on him at least twice each, and from that, he would never recover.
“Haven’t forgotten who you are, Princess,” he said the word in a cutting tone, “you’ve yelled your title at every bartender who’s knocked you out on your ass tonight, so I think I’ve got it memorized by now.”
He stumbled back as she pulled his hair back out of frustration, clearly reminding her which of them held dominance in the situation. He merely rolled his eyes once he regained his composure, unseen to her, but a necessary action nonetheless. He reached up and rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck where she had tugged his hair as soon as she released him, turning to face her again with a frown. He knew very well that she was appraising him, and, well… he thought he was flattered, even though it was clear she probably also wanted him sent to the guillotine for mouthing off to her.
“I was just this morning re-assigned to you from the infant twins. It would be pretty unbecoming to have a harem member as a babysitter, I suppose. I don’t know if the higher ups have any intention of changing that,” he was scornful as he spoke. He’d been born into this stupid cycle of caring for the hierarchy, and had no say in where he was positioned in all actuality, but he hoped to remain outside of the harem for at least a bit longer. He knew some of them - they had no respect for anyone, including themselves. Mindless, spineless whores who had become almost as self-obsessed as the royals themselves.
But they hadn’t always been that way. That was the scariest part. Luckily he didn’t much look like those men: he was too skinny, his hair too long, unruly and impossible to tame, quite a bit taller than most, so he’d never really worried about being placed in the group. He was known for being a very good assassin and a good caretaker - though two polar opposites, the main thing they had in common is that he was good at keeping his enemies close.
“Axel’s the name. Doubt you’ll remember it, since it’s not branded on me.”
It was the first time someone had uttered her title - Princess - with an emotion other than fear. Rather, he seemed...amused? Disgusted? Larxene couldn’t make sense of it, even with her head clear of alcohol. Did he realize what he was saying? Had she, Larxene, become so laughable that her own servants dared to speak to her with profanity, to taunt her in public?
Despair added to her feeling of outrage. If only she had a drink, she wouldn’t have to feel either. What she wouldn’t give for a tumbler of whiskey...of anything...
She paced back and forth in front of the redhead, thinking.
Why hadn’t they assigned him to the harem? Over the seasons, Larxene had rotated her way through every man there. She found most of them to be boring, lazy, sloppy. The only words they spoke were “yes ma’am” or “no ma’am.” But this one...if the royal family trusted his strength enough to protect the beloved twins, he was probably strong enough to please her.
“Axel,” she repeated to herself. In her pampered, one-track mind, Larxene was already gifting the servant to herself as a consolation prize. If she couldn’t get her hands on any alcohol, she could still get her fill in another way.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I brand your name on you?” she scoffed. Mine would look so much better.”
[ disagree ] your muse sternly telling mine ‘ no ‘ .
When it came to mission worlds, Agrabah had never been Larxene’s first choice. Especially when her partner was the Painfully Silent Hero, who hadn’t volunteered a word since their arrival. Larxene chose to follow suit (for once), keeping her mouth shut as sand seeped its way into her boots.
The two of them were supposed to be combing through the city to make sure little Roxas and the Puppet had done their job properly the day before. Thirty minutes in, Larxene hadn’t set eyes on a single Heartless. Won’t the Superior would be proud, she thought with a yawn.
Once they’d come full circle around the city, Larxene raised a hand to summon their corridor home. That’s when she noticed Lexaeus moving onward ahead of her, as if he were intent on double-checking the place before calling it quits.
With a look of mingled surprise and annoyance, Larxene raced forward to head him off. Even before she opened her mouth, her message was crystal-clear.
Send ♖ for my muse to respond to: being inappropriately touched by your muse under a dinner table
Continued from [x]
The second Larxene had found herself crowded into the seat next to Axel’s, she’d known nothing good would come of it. She was usually careful to keep a respectable distance from him in public, knowing full well how easily their body language could escalate...not to mention her present mood. Before the others had taken their first bite of food, Larxene’s hand was already straying into Axel’s lap.
Of course, Larxene was no idiot. She wasn’t naive enough to think they could get away with anything. Sooner or later, she’d have to let up on the discreet petting -- though it was fun to redouble her efforts every time her poor dining companion tried to thwart them. She was just about to give Axel’s budding hard-on a victory squeeze and be done with it, actually, when he raised the stakes.
“Chardonnay?” she snorted in reply. “Goodness, Axel, I didn’t know you were such a hard drinker.” She could see the obstacle, though - the bottle was too far to reach while keeping her grip on his inner thigh.
“Oh, but I’m sure Vexen would be glad to share.” The scientist had just finished pouring himself a glass, and without waiting for his whiny protest, Larxene plucked it from his hand and set it in front of Axel. “Here you are,” she said innocently. Under the table, she gave his dick a brutal squeeze through the leather.
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“I told you not to get too close to me.”
“From the day we met, I knew I’d hurt you eventually.”
“I wish you never had trusted me.”
“I told you to leave, but you didn’t. I gave you the chance!”
“We were never friends. I’m so sorry.”
“I did something terrible.”
“It was inevitable, but I regretted it every step of the way.”
“I’m mainly sorry that somewhere along the way, I started to care about you.”
“I guess this is a lesson in not trusting people, right?”
“How long?…Since the beginning.”
“I wish I could just make a wish and become a better person.”
“None if it was real, but I wish it was.”
“Do you think I liked hurting you?”
“I hurt people. It’s all I’m good at.”
“I did it because I had to, not because I ever wanted to.”
“I -did- care about you, I just had no other choice.”
“You should have walked away when you had the chance.”
“If we had never met, it would have saved us both some grief.”
“I know it hurts, but I’m still glad we had the chance to know each other.”
“Hurting you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
“I didn’t want it to be like this, but I had no control!”
“I guess I’ve just never been a trustworthy person.”
“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to forgive me either.”
“So? Aren’t you going to say something?”
“If I tell you what I did, we’ll probably never see one another again.”
“When were you going to tell me about this?”
“Why me? Of all people, why me?”
“You planned this all from the beginning?”
“I wanted so badly to think you were different.”
“How could you lead me along like that?”
“None of what we had was ever real, was it?”
“So, our friendship didn’t mean anything to you?”
“I would have done anything for you, but you’ve ruined all of that.”
“All of the things I sacrificed for you didn’t mean a thing?”
“I wish I had known when we met that you were such a vile person.”
“If I could go back, I would just walk away.”
“I forgive you, but I’m not going to forget what you did.”
“No. I don’t accept your apology.”
“After all your lies, how do I know you mean it when you say you’re sorry?”
“I hope you realized what you did was cruel.”
“I still care about you.”
“Just tell me that your feelings towards me were genuine.”
“What on earth is worth betraying someone who loves you?”
“If you want to regain my trust, you have to earn it.”
“Don’t just say you’re sorry. Show me that you’re sorry.”
“Calm down, calm down. It’s me! You’re not where you think you are, you’re safe with me at home.”
“You need to snap out of it, it’s a flashback. Nobody is going to hurt you anymore, trust me!”
“Help! I need help! Call the police, please. Help me! Don’t let him/her find me! I escaped, but he/she’s after me!”
“Listen, listen. You are going to be okay. He/she is locked away for good, alright?”
”It’s a very strange idea that someone will spend the rest of their life in prison because of what they did to me.”
”I don’t want her/him to go to prison. She/he did it because she/he loved me.”
“Can you please tell me what happened while you were… gone?”
”I never stopped thinking about you.”
”The police told me it would be best to assume you were dead, because of what might be happening to you otherwise… But I could never convince myself.”
“We kept your bedroom the way it always was… I understand if you’d want it changed, but I want you to know that we never lost hope that you’d come back home.”
“Is that– Is that really you? Oh my god! I can’t believe it’s you!”
“How do you feel after your first night home?”
“The police will need to ask you about what happened… but maybe you want to tell us first? You haven’t said a thing since we got you back!”
“We have imagined the worst things that could have happened to you. Please just tell us so we can try to move on and help you.”
“Shh, it was a nightmare. You’re in your own bedroom.”
“If you want to start living your old life, you’re going to have to start putting what happened to you behind you.”
“I can never be who I used to be! I was gone for years! And you expect me to go through some therapy and have my old life back?! That’s never going to happen!”
”Were you scared all the time? Or… or did you get used to it?”
”I’m not even sure what I’d rather hear, that you were always afraid or that you actually liked it there.”
“Nothing happened. I just ran away. I was sick of being here. I just made it up to sound interesting.”
“Will you please come out of your bedroom… I know you’re probably not comfortable with the amount of space after what you’re used to, but please try…”
“I’m here for you. I’ll keep you safe. I’m not going to lose you a second time.”
“Shh, it’s okay! It’s normal to have flashbacks, but you have to try to focus on me now.”
“You can’t go back there! Are you insane? Why do you want to?!”
“Yes” would have been the truthful answer to the servant’s question. Of course, he wasn’t outfitted for the harem - he was still wearing a shirt, for one thing. But he was also peering at Larxene in a way that she enjoyed. She hadn’t left much to the imagination, dress-wise. Her corset top was cinched as tightly as her own hands had allowed, not to mention knotted in the front - a vulgar fashion she’d managed to hide under a fur wrap. Her skirt, too, was gauzy to the point of being see-through. She couldn’t help but enjoy the attention, until....
“Sick of me? Have you lost your damn mind?” Larxene demanded with a scowl. “You have no right to speak to me like that. Or have you forgotten exactly who I am?”
She refused to believe that her reputation had fallen so far. She was Princess Larxene, for fuck’s sake. Even if she was the laughingstock of the royal family, she was still royalty. The sound of stuttered apologies was like background noise. Larxene couldn’t make sense of his boldness.
Without warning, she charged forward with a hand raised. But instead of striking, Larxene whirled behind the servant and lifted the spiky red hair above his neck. She couldn’t resist putting him in his place, handling him shamelessly, like a trinket - though she had to perch on her tiptoes to search for any trace of henna ink on his skin. “You aren’t numbered,” she said roughly. “So you can’t be from the harem.” Satisfied, she let go of his hair and stepped back to get a better look at his figure. Sobriety was one thing for Larxene. Abstinence, on the other hand...
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“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” (i totally owe u replies which i'm getting to but like im a ho for larxel ask memes)
cute shippy starters >> Open!
By the time the words had left her companion’s mouth, Larxene was already unpeeling the leather gloves from her hands.
“What’s the matter, Axel? Afraid you’ll get zapped?” she taunted. Right on cue - a fork of lightning erupted in the distance, just beyond Oogie Boogie’s manor. “Then again, you are like a walking lightning rod. I can’t say I’d blame you.”
With that, Larxene tossed her hood back. The raindrops made gentle pinpricks against her face before trickling down into her coat. “C’mon,” she goaded. “What’s not to like?”
