Scrunchie- Harley Quinn
Pairing: Harley Quinn x Reader
Characters: Harley Quinn
Warnings: N/A
Request: N/A
Word Count: 429
Author: Aaron
The scattering of terrified footsteps sprinting in the opposite direction echoed throughout the forest as Harley launched a volley of grenades into the American speaking trees, you saw her moonlit silhouette fall to the floor in a slump as you jogged towards her to celebrate. Your good mooded victory trot quickly turned into a sprint as her groans of pain slipped from between her lips.
“Harley?” You fell to Harley’s side and lifted the bottom of her t-shirt to reveal a large bullet hole with thick blood oozing onto the dirt floor. “Don’t you worry, we’re going to get you out of here, alright?” Slowly she opened her eyes and lay with shallow breaths as you put as much of your body weight as you could over the wound
“Is it bad?” She asked faintly.
“It could be worse I guess, you’re still all in one piece, right?” She smiled softly and placed her hand lightly on top of yours. “You’ve come out of way worse than this Harley, just stick with me here. We have help on the way, first aid certified and everything. It’s no brain surgeon but it’s better than nothing I guess.” The blood began seeping from in between your fingers and Harley grew paler and paler, even more so than normal.
“Well shit, I don’t know about that y/n, this could be me done for. I always thought it would be something cool like fist fighting a polar bear or…” She stopped talking and took a few deep breaths as she fought to keep her eyes open.
“Harley for once can you stop talking shit and just save your breath? Do us all a favour and shut your cute mouth until we have some help here.” Harley smiled again as her neck rolled against the cold tree root it was rested upon.
“I’m sorry I don’t have some cool jewellery or some deep heartfelt momento to give you to remember me by.” She brought her blood covered hands up to her eyes. “They really did a number on me, huh?”
“I wont need anything to remember me by, alright? You’re going to be there harassing me and pissing me off just like every other day.” She reached her trembling hand to the top of her head, and with all the effort she could muster plucked one of the two scrunchies that sat on top of her head.
“You always moaned that I forgot your birthday, so take this.” She tossed the scrunchie into your lap. “And don’t say I never get you anything, alright?”
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Fellas, is it gay to "break up" with your crime fighting partner, realize you're utterly miserable without them, and come back together because your "talents complement one other"?
Birds Of Prey: Wolves (1997) #1
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౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Cevans Series Rec List
thought i’d make a list of all the best cevans (characters) series i have read!! i have lots more to add and will continue to update this list🫶🏻 i will also create a one shot fic rec list in the near future💖💘💞
Preying On You Tonight - @evansbby
“Steve is the cocky, brash and domineering alpha who makes your life at university a living hell every day. You’re the complete opposite - quiet, meek and reserved. You’re convinced Steve hates you, but what happens when he finds out you have a boyfriend? (a/b/o dynamics)”
Wicked Games - @evansbby
Ari is the campus fuckboy and you’re his little plaything. But he’s telling the truth when he says he’s going to make you his girlfriend soon, right?
What A World - @onsunnyside
S.H.I.E.L.D. had a lot of secrets, you just never expected one of them to be an actual person—a blue-eyed giant, wild manbeast at that. [tarzan!Steve Rogers x doctor!reader, nomad!steve, size difference]
Just Because I Won’t Die For You, Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Kill For You - @dbnightingale24
Lloyd Hansen is just another job for you. Your last job. However, when he decides that he wants to take you for a ride and have a good time, well...how’s a girl supposed to say no?
Closer To Heaven And Closer To You - @georgiapeach30513
When your boyfriend, Ransom wants to take a trip back home to the ranch to meet your family, you are unsure. Knowing that a rodeo is in town could only mean your ex, Frank Adler, was most likely riding for eight seconds, still trying to beat his best friend, Steve Rogers. All you wanted was a nice time, not old memories bothering your brain.
Just Like The Caged Bird - @georgiapeach30513
You are a widow who moves back to her husband's hometown after selling your in Georgia home. Moving in above your brother in law's garage. Sharing the space with his friend Bucky Barnes, but your other brother-in-law Andy causes problems, along with your overprotective brothers.
Pretty Petals - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
You go on a self-improvement retreat, but not all is as it seems. (multi-character)
His Koala Bear - @kinanabinks
you and steve have been best friends since you were 5. for the longest time, he has wanted so much more from you. and it's getting harder for him to stop himself from taking it.
Belong Here - @angrythingstarlight
Steve has been looking for his perfect girl and suddenly there you are stuck in this dingy restaurant. You don't belong here, you belong with him.
Finding Home - @navybrat817
Steve finds a home with you. (lumberjack Au)
Their Doll - @kaiparker-avengerssmut
y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.
No Better Than Beast’s - @lokislastlove
You’re an animal rights activist who sets out to put an end to animal testing… but it’s a risky mission. (Dark!Steve Rogers)
Doppelgänger - @boxofbonesfic
Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. (Dark!Ransom Drysdale + Dark!Lloyd Hansen)
Million Dollar Man - @chrisevansgoodgirl
your relationship with ransom and his insane family.
Brooklyn’s Sweetheart - @spacesnail3000
Bucky and Steve had always been meant to keep her safe and happy. As far as anyone else was concerned, that was their sole reason for being alive. Unfortunately, the things that kept her safe were not always the things that kept her happy. Lately, she was making it pretty damn hard for them to compromise.
Let It Snow - @spacesnail3000
She was his Omega, and Steve had a plan. She would love him. He knew she would.
Sweet Renegade - @cevansbrat0007
A new arrival in town leads to an unexpected complication in the form of a sexy as sin Bounty Hunter named Ari Levinson.
Evergreen, Evermore - @babyjakes
loving husbands jake and ari had always believed they were all each other could ever want or need. but one unusual summer, when their world is turned upside-down by an uncanny girl from down the street, they find that having someone to love, nurture, and care for together is the missing piece that finally completes their perfect family and lives.
A Huckleberry Is Nothing Without His Hummingbird - @dbnightingale24
Lloyd and Y/N have been amicably(ish) divorced for four years. However, when earth shattering trauma come their way, will they lean into what they truly want, or will the flames from past traumas still burn too bright?
Civil war- Brooklyn - @saiyanprincessswanie
Ten years ago the Readers world was turned upside down when her father was killed by Hydras Brock Rumlow. She believes the loves of her life Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes were also killed while trying to avenge her fathers death. Reader is now working for the FBI on a task force that is meant to take down Hydra. She volunteers to go undercover to take down Hydra. In doing so she not only puts herself in the cross hairs with Rumlow but she gets to meet the mystery men causing Hydra issues. Who are the Captain and Winter Soldier? What lengths will you go through to uncover the truth and seek revenge?
The Boston Brute - @time-for-a-lullaby
When you graduated from Northeastern University, you had your sights set on the West Coast. And then you were offered a position with the Boston Bruins Athletic Training Department. And then you met Chris. A 6′3″, ruggedly handsome hockey player dead set on making your life a living hell by pushing every button and getting on every nerve. Despite your obvious disdain for each other and the ‘No Fraternization’ clause in your employee contract, you’re drawn together in a passionate, fiery love affair that seems to burn everything in its wake.
Planet Evans Universe - @astranva
In which Chris was a nervous mess when he met his A+ list celebrity crush, highest-paid, and the most iconic actress, you, at Vanity Fair’s 2014 after party. (Following the life of overprotective!dad!Chris x wife!actress!reader!)
Don’t Speak - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (Dark!Andy Barber)
Cat and Mouse - @queen-of-the-avengers
You’re called the Vixen because you were HYDRA’s favorite creation. You’re very hard to catch, and once you are, it’s even harder to keep you.
Let’s Ride - @starryevermore
You’re a single mom and have just moved into a new town. You have no interest in looking for love, but the funny thing about love is, it waits for no one. (Biker!Ari Levinson)
Out Of The Darkness - @sunshinexsin
Sienna Jons has lived in Boston for three years now after graduating and is running her own salon in the city. With a small group of friends sticking by her side, she's content with her life. Enter Chris Evans, a known and feared mob boss in Boston’s underground crime world. Coming out of a long relationship ended in a bitter divorce, Chris isn’t looking for anything serious until Sienna crosses his path. Trying to win her over proves difficult for the man who seemingly has it all and Sienna is not willing to be with someone who causes such destruction in his own hometown. Sienna soon finds herself entangled in the crazy, violent world of the mob and struggles to find a way to either live with the hardened man Chris has always been or get away from him before her own life spirals out of control.
Murder He Wrote - @wiypt-writes
You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween. (Dark!Ransom Drysdale)
Poison Paradise - @the-iceni-bitch
Robert Pronge was sure he could settle for a fake domestic life as long as he could go on killing. Little did he know that you could give him everything he needed.
A Bun In The Oven - @witchywithwhiskey
the leaves are changing—green fading into golden yellow, burnt orange and radiant red—and the days are getting shorter and colder as autumn settles in. it's the perfect time of year for baked goods, fall foliage, book stores, and to curl up next to (and get under) our favorite man with a plan, steve rogers
Wilford’s Demands - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork
Wilford places you in Curtis’ care so he can impregnate you.
In The Balance - @goodgirlofglory
One unsuspecting evening, the stranger Steve Rogers appears bloodied and in need of aid at your doorstep. You immediately catch his eye, and he forces himself upon you within the hour. Several months of repeated visits from him results in your pregnancy, and the night you find out, Steve intereceps you on your way to an abortion clinic and kidnaps you to his mansion. Will you carry the child to term? Will you buckle under the pressure of capitivity? Will you escape the grasp Steve has on you, or will you submit to it and your own, conflicted desires?
Drowning Siren - @rogerswifesblog
The Avengers found an old abandoned HYDRA base, that had been cleared after HYDRAs existence had been exposed. At least they thought it was cleared. It was the biggest experimental lab they had ever seen, the closest base to the ocean, full with creatures-dead creatures. Some of them laid still on tables, stripped with metal cuffs, open and already rotting. It was an awful smell. But then they heard something beautiful. A melody, a beautiful voice singing unbelievably gentle sounds. Walking into the building full with ocean creatures, they had no idea their life was about to change.
Vampire Kings Religion - @marvelcriminalhoe
In a world where fantasy beings roam every corner, the humans are on the bottom. Looked at as weak and disgraceful. The vampires are the opposite. They rule the land, and all of the creatures that take part of it. the current ruler, King Steven, has ruled for more than 150 years, alone. After many nights, and long talks with his most trusted hands, he comes to the long awaited decision that he will finally, take a wife. All female creatures, are to be evaluated, so he can find his perfect match. Of course, no one expects for him to choose a human. Especially not one from the church. Especially not the daughter, of the leader, of the church. The same church that detests the mythical creatures, wishing for nothing more than for them to perish in fire. How could this union possibly end well?
Ride And Prejudice - @pagesoflauren
A take on Pride & Prejudice, certain circumstances in your life have led you to take refuge and work in a farm village, particularly on the ranch owned by Steve Rogers. He doesn’t take kindly to you, having bad perceptions about city folk. Your only reaction to that is the one you deem acceptable: get annoyed at every little thing he does whilst doing your best to annoy him and still keep your job.
Love On The Brain - @howardpotts
You’re just a student, living her normal daily life in New York. One night changes everything, without you even knowing. Steve Rogers slowly introduces you to his world full of money, drugs and voilence. But are you able to handle what he has to offer? (MobBoss!Steve Rogers)
Flamingo King - @onsunnyside
The sun is brutal this summer, especially in Flamingo Trailer Park, the land of big hearts and cheap tricks, you’ve been here for years unlike your “new” neighbour, Ari. He’s older, bigger, and intimidating, the local rockstar, and you, well, aren’t you just the sweetest girl in the whole damn city?
Make It A December To Remember - @imyourbratzdoll
AGE AND SIZE DIFFERENCE IS ADDED TO ALL! SANTA AND THE GRINCH ARE LARGER THAN THE READER! THE ELVES ARE THE SIZE OF HER PALM! (a chris evans xmas universe)
This Love Is Bad - @wildestdreamsblog
You were just trying to escape your past, and Ari was trying to chase his future.
Nowhere To Run - @sagechanoafterdark
On the last day that Steve spent in your small town before heading off to basic training for the army, he made sure it was one you wouldn’t ever forget. Years later when he appears in your town he seems like a changed man in more ways than one, but you’re ready to show him that you’ve never forgotten that day. (Dark!Steve Rogers+ Bucky Barnes)
Nice To Be Kneaded - @rogersideup
Almost every news station in the country was covering the chase for the missing superheroes post-raft-escape following the Civil War. Steve Rogers face had been plastered on the cover of every news paper, fliers stapled to street lamps, posted on bulletin boards in what felt like every coffee shop in the country. It had been just a few long months shy of a year, just long enough to grow out his hair and beard to make himself as unrecognizable as he could manage. Though he was still the poster boy of disorder within the states, he found himself in the scanty town of Greenwood in the house right next to yours.
Forever And Ever More - @syntheticavenger
Ransom Drysdale may be Boston’s most eligible Alpha who has his eyes set on you. With his inheritance hanging in the balance, he won’t take no for an answer, whether you like him or not.
Hackers Heart - @bakugousaysdie
steve rogers has always been america’s golden boy, leading earth’s mightiest heroes and serving his country. you have always been bad with boundaries, a little too curious, and an absolute disruption. you are an absolute menace,so it’s only right you fell in love with the most adored man in the country.
Arranged - @time-for-a-lullaby
Living in this life, you’ve never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you’re dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life of abuse while being kept under lock and key, you’re pleasantly surprised when Chris is nothing like you expected. He’s the most feared man on the East Coast, only brought to his knees by one thing and one thing only. You.
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The Weight - Sukuna x Reader
Warnings: smut//not osha compliant. arranged marriage au. blood/cannibalism mention. biting/size kink. unprotected sex, creampies. afab reader
synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village
word count: 10.3k
a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol
jjk masterlist
As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.
Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.
Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek.
You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.
Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing.
Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came.
The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.
“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.
What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.
But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.
“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”
It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…
You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.
The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father.
“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards.
“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”
Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.
“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you.
“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”
“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”
A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”
The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.
The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.
If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match.
Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.
In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him.
The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.
“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”
“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”
“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”
Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?
You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.
Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking.
“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.
Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.
“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”
The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.
“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”
Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.
“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”
“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”
That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.
“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”
“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.
They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.
“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”
“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”
After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.
Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?
“You win.” She says.
“What?” You ask.
“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”
You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.
“I don't get it.” You say.
“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”
“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”
“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.
A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it?
Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?
You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.
From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.
Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood.
You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.
“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.
Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.
“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.
“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.
“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”
“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.
The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”
This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.
Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.
More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them.
The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!”
“What about you?!” You ask.
“Just get your father,” she says.
And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.
And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago.
In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters.
The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.
His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.
“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”
You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.
“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.
“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”
“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”
The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”
Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear.
You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear.
“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”
Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.
“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”
Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.
“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”
Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.
It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.
Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.
Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.
Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.
Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.
Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams.
Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.
“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”
With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.
Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders.
“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.
They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.
Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”
The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.
About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.
Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?
Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”
“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”
Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.
Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.
“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.
“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.
Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?
You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.
Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.
The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.
So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.
Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.
“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says.
Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.
“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”
That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.
“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,
“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”
Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.
This is it, you think, you are going to die.
In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.
“You are entertainment.” He says.
That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind.
What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.
You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.
Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this.
The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.
Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.
Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.
Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.
From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.
Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.
Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity.
Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?
Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you.
It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.
Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.
You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.
“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.
Is it so obvious?
“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.
“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.
You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.
“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.
His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore.
“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.”
“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.
A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things.
“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.
Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.
“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”
He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.
“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”
Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.
You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down?
Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.
Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.
You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.
You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.
“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.
You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after.
You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.
Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.
As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.
The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods.
Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long.
Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk.
You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.
You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire.
“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.
The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.
“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says.
You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse.
You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.
This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.
“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.
“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”
So he was human. At least at one point in time…
“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”
“You have it,” you say.
Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.
Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.
His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.
Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.
A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.
You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.
You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.
The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.
He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?
You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear.
His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.
You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough.
“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”
Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.
“You were human once?” You ask.
The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.
“I was. Once.” He says.
Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”
“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”
His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.
Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?
“You're sad. Why?” He questions.
“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”
You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.
This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.
“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.
You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living.
“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river.
The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.
“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.
“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.
The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff.
“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”
“I will,” you say.
No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you.
Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.
A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.
The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly.
Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.
Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.
When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.
Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours.
“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”
“I know,” you say.
She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.
“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.
“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”
Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.
“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.
“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”
She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.
“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.”
“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.
“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”
“Except for me.” You say.
Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.
“Does he treat you well?” She asks.
“Yes,” you say.
“Better than any human man?”
“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it.
“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”
“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”
“But do you love him?” She asks again.
“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.
It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.
That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse.
Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.
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Bundle of Joy -- Part 2
Here it is!
I was not expecting Bundle of Joy to get as much love as it did, so thank you all for your kind words! It's a long one.
Read Part One here and the Prequel One-Shot here
CW: blood, some NSFW-esque content, swearing, angry Sanemi, soft Sanemi. Description of birth.
Tag list: @animeblog123 @fujochann @bonten-boys @tom01ka @theawkwardblackbee @stuckinthewrongworld @harpy-space
🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸
Sanemi had been pissed when his crow had swooped over his head two days earlier, the little cretin squawking at him to head “Head East! Head East!” To kill a demon that had managed to evade capture by lower-ranked slayers.
Whether it had been by luck or divine intervention, Sanemi had not had a mission for nearly the entirety of Y/N’s final month of pregnancy, and he had been elated to devote every second of his days to her and her needs, as their child’s arrival drew nearer.
Truthfully, the Wind Pillar had never known bliss quite like what he felt when he woke up each morning with Y/N tucked securely in his arms, his hands resting on the generous swell of her pregnant belly as he eagerly awaited the powerful kick of their child that signaled all was well. He had never before experienced the utter ecstasy of feeling the silky warmth of his lover’s skin as he trailed his lips down from her neck to her breasts, heavy and tender, as she fought to quiet the breathy moans and sighs that left her throat under the ministrations of his tongue on her sensitive nipples. And it had been pure heaven to wrap his lips around that small bundle of nerves resting at the apex of her delicious thighs, as he lapped greedily from her core that seemed to perpetually drip with her honey thanks to the excess of pregnancy hormones.
And as much as he loved the intimate mornings with Y/N, he had never felt more peaceful than when he sat beside her on his engawa, her back leaning against his chest and his arms circled around her, as they both sipped tea and watched the sunset after he finished training for the day.
But all of that had come crashing to a screeching halt when his crow had brought him orders to dispense of some lowly demon that the piss-poor excuse of lower-ranked slayers couldn’t handle on their own. Pathetic.
As he prepared to leave, he pressed a soft kiss to the generous curve of Y/N’s heavily pregnant belly, before rising to kiss her once, twice on the lips, and again on her forehead, his lover reveling in his embrace.
“Don’t you have this kid until I’m back,” Sanemi had murmured against her lips, brushing his callused thumb over her cheeks.
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Because I can control that,” but she nestled her face deeper into his palm. “How ‘bout you get back here before I go into labor?”
“I’ll be back before you know it, gorgeous.” Sanemi winked at her, imparting her with a final kiss before disappearing in a swirl of wind.
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It had taken Sanemi a day and a half to track the demon into a swamp in the East. Sanemi had found its lair, littered with human bones, just as the demon rose from the brackish water, and lunged for him. The demon had not been particularly strong, but it was able to manipulate shadow, which is how Sanemi supposed it had managed to kill a large group of lower-ranked slayers. The familiar heat of the excitement of battle flooded his veins, as Sanemi – who had not had the opportunity to fight for nearly a month – relished the chance to let out some pent-up aggression.
The demon had tried to teleport itself between the shadows of the tree to attack Sanemi from behind, but he deftly avoided the demon’s claws, swinging his sworn clean through the demon’s arm. Sanemi grinned, enjoying the chance to toy with his prey.
“CAW!” the familiar screech of a crow sounded overhead, briefly startling both slayer and demon. “LABOR!” The crow cried; Sanemi only able to just make out the dark shape of the bird against the night sky. “GET TO KOCHO’S!”
Sanemi’s stomach flipped. Now? Y/N chose to go into labor now?
“Sorry, demon!” Sanemi’s gravelly voice boomed, a wide grin forming on his face as he swung his sword again, this time amputating the demon’s other arm as it howled in pain. “Gotta run! My girl’s havin’ my baby!”
Sanemi rammed his blade through the demon’s neck and wrenched it harshly to the side, the demon’s head falling with a pathetic thump! on the forest floor. Sheathing his weapon, Sanemi launched himself through the trees, using his wind breathing to gain momentum as he hurtled his way toward the Butterfly Mansion.
Sanemi arrived at Kocho’s estate in record time, having only taken a few hours to speed as fast as the wind could carry him, to get to Y/N’s side. When Sanemi arrived, the grounds of Kocho’s estate were abuzz as Kakushi and Butterfly Mansion girls darted around, gathering supplies. As he made his way inside the medical wing of the Mansion, he wondered whether some incident with a demon had occurred, given the urgency with which people moved.
“Lady Kocho said she needs more towels and fresh water, quickly!” A tiny, pigtailed girl dressed in the Mansion’s sterile linens cried to another, her small arms full of bloodied towels.
Shit, Sanemi thought, his eyebrows rising. Nasty battle.
“Y/L/N-san must be bleeding a whole lot!” The other girl tearfully responded, her voice trembling.
The pig-tailed girl nodded. “If the baby doesn’t come soon…” The girl’s mouth kept moving, but Sanemi could hear nothing over the ringing in his ears.
There had not been a battle – it was Y/N. Sanemi whirled around, looking at the towels the girl carted away.
They were saturated in blood. Y/N’s blood.
Sanemi’s legs began moving of their own accord, his arm reaching out to snag the young girl by the back of her collar as she choked out a tiny, terrified scream.
“Where.” Was all he said, his arms shaking, eyes wild.
The girl gulped, lifting a trembling hand to point to her right, towards the back wing of the hospital. “The last room around the corner!” She squeaked.
Sanemi set her down and stormed towards the Eastern Wing of the Manor, not caring whom he barreled over in his haste.
You’d better be okay, Y/N. Sanemi thought, his fists balled as he willed himself to move faster. You and that baby had better be healthy.
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Sanemi Shinazugawa never believed himself to be a good person.
He could not possibly be good, because his life was marked by his failure when it had mattered most. He had been unable to protect his mother from becoming a demon, or from her killing almost all of his siblings. He had been unable to save Masachika. He had failed to prevent Genya from joining the Demon Slayer Corps, a veritable death sentence for most.
So it had been easy for him to withdraw, to shut himself off from everything – and everyone -- else. Sanemi could not fail anyone if he cared for nothing. People would still die, but it would not be because of his failures. He had been content to live his life, forever disconnected from the world around him.
But then, everything changed because he met her, and she became everything.
Y/N had been the most precious surprise of his life. He had not paid her much mind as she had worked her way up through the Demon Slayer Corps, only really becoming familiar with her once she became Kinoe. He had been impressed by her skill, having not seen Lunar Breathing in action before the pair had been sent on a mission together, and she had used her eighth form – Lunar Eclipse – to shield him from the backlash of a demon’s attack. The move had cost her a rather deep gash to her side, and at one point, Sanemi had feared her insides would end up on the ground before the Kakushi arrived and whisked her away to Kocho’s Manor. Rather than cry or moan, Y/N had instead cracked jokes, trying to goad him into comparing battle wounds. Sanemi, in between cursing Y/N for her recklessness (because why should she risk her skin to save his?), had been beside himself, knowing that he lacked the general first-aid skills to at least staunch Y/N’s bleeding. It was only later, as Sanemi watched Y/N pant and try to talk herself through the pain as the Kakushi stitched her back together, that he realized that she had done it for his benefit – to keep him calm.
That she showed care for him before herself – that she had wanted to make sure that he did not spiral – had cracked something in the armor he had built around his heart.
Because until Y/N, Sanemi had not been able to remember the last time anyone put him first.
After she recovered, Sanemi had insisted on training Y/N on decent defense techniques, so that she would never again have to struggle to keep her internal organs inside her body where they belonged. He had reasoned at the time that she was the first slayer in years he had seen show true potential – true gumption.
Seeing her beautiful smile more frequently hadn’t been a bad thing, either.
Then Y/N had become a Hashira – his equal – and still sought him out for training. Sanemi had not dared let himself hope that her continued presence on his estate’s training grounds had anything other to do than with her desire to get stronger.
Yet there she had been that day, the day he could no longer hold himself back, grinning like she had won their spar. She had looked so smug, so infuriatingly beautiful, that he had not been able to stop himself from tasting her, just once. And then she kissed him back, and the first swipe of her tongue against his had turned him into a man starved, a man who could not resist taking more from her that she had been only too willing to give.
How foolish he had been to believe his desire for her could ever be sated.
Before long, he found himself anxiously checking the minutes as they ticked down to their next rendezvous, found himself worrying about her well-being. When she cried on the anniversary of her family’s death, Sanemi had felt as though his heart would crack in two, and he had not stopped himself from reaching for her to comfort her, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. It was then when he realized he would do anything to see her smile again, that Sanemi had known he was a goner.
By some miracle, she had chosen him, too. She had chosen to stay by him even when he tried to push her away when he thought he was so undeserving of any kindness from her. He had been convinced she could hear the cries of his loved ones as they echoed in his head after he would jolt awake, would hear them scream of his failures, but instead, she had stayed with him, offering him nothing but solace and warmth, and he had not been able to resist her.
And she loved him. She loved him, and though it went against everything in him, and contradicted every measure of self-preservation he had built up over the years, he loved her, too. He loved her so much, it hurt him for her to be away, when he could not feel the reassuring warmth of her body next to his, or when he could not smell the floral honey of her perfume. Sanemi knew that he could scarcely breathe when she was not near, knew that his soul had become inextricably bound to hers.
And though Sanemi had survived a great deal of loss in his life, he knew with certainty that he would not survive losing Y/N.
—————————————————————————
Sanemi’s teeth gnashed together as he sped up, finally rounding the final corner before the last room. His arm was outstretched, ready to punch the door to the birthing room open, but before he could do so, he smashed into something solid. He stepped back, sputtering, the instinct to destroy every obstacle, every threat that stood between himself and Y/N making his blood roar.
“Woah there, Shinazugawa.” It was Uzui, standing in front of the doorway, arms folded. “Sorry, you’re not allowed in there.”
Sanemi blinked, not understanding Uzui’s presence here, where his Y/N was giving birth to his child. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He demanded, moving to shove the Sound Pillar aside.
Uzui stood firm. “Kocho said you’re not to be let in there, and I’m following her orders.” His tone patronizing.
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed as he glared at his fellow Hashira, his fists clenched. “You do know I’m the fuckin’ father, don’t you?” He snarled, his anger rising and mixing with the panic he felt the longer he was kept away from Y/N.
“We do now,” Uzui said coldly.
A hand wrapped itself around Sanemi’s forearm, clenching it tight. “And we were instructed to keep you out until we knew it was safe for you to be in there.” Tomioka’s monotonous voice came from beside him, causing Sanemi to tense as the Water Hashira wrenched him back from Uzui.
“Safe? Are you fucking kidding me?” Sanemi shook Tomioka’s grip from his arm with a sneer, as he looked between the two Hashira in disbelief. “What the fuck does she need protecting from? That’s my fuckin’ baby she’s having!”
Tomioka’s face remained infuriatingly impassive. “Look, Shinazugawa, Kocho just wants to make sure Y/N is comfortable having you in there, and until she says so, you need to stay out.” The Water Hashira’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, the threat clear. “We do not want this to turn violent.”
Sanemi was shaking with rage, in part because he could infer the accusation that neither of them had the stones to say to his face, but mostly because every second out there was another second he wasn’t with Y/N, who was bleeding, who needed him.
Before Sanemi could snap back, an agonized wail ripped through the walls.
“NE-MI.” Y/N cried out, her voice cracking from the strain.
The combination of the pain and desperation in Y/N’s voice, paired with the severity of the situation caused something in Sanemi’s chest to audibly snap, a strange calm flooding through him. Both Uzui and Tomioka exchanged a look at Y/N’s use of Shinazugawa’s nickname and turned to face the trembling Wind Pillar.
Sanemi’s hand fell to his own blade, the veins in his arms threatening to burst through his skin. “I’m going to give you one second to get the fuck out of my way, or I’ll turn this hall into fuckin’ rubble.” His voice was low but deadly, a murderous glint shining in his eyes.
Uzui opened his mouth to respond, but the hesitation gave Sanemi the opening he needed to slip past both Hashira and push through the entryway into the birthing room.
“Dammit!” Uzui snarled, stumbling to grab onto the back of Shinuzagawa’s collar to yank him back into the hall, but it was too late.
Sanemi did not announce himself when he breezed into the birthing room Shinobu and the girls had crafted. The smell of blood had been overwhelming, and it had sent every hair on Sanemi’s body standing as he took in the sight of the woman he loved, sweating and pale on the floor, covered in the sticky, dark substance, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she struggled to take even shallow breaths.
Shinobu stepped back from her place between Y/N’s legs, ready to throw the Wind Pillar out herself, or at the very least order him to stand back and let her do her job. She drew short, however, when she saw Y/N, who stretched out a trembling hand desperately towards the man, relief flooding her tired, pained eyes.
“‘Nemi,” she whimpered, tears of exhaustion spilling over her cheeks.
Nemi paid neither Shinobu nor the other girls on hand any mind, instead focusing solely on Y/N and her swollen belly. Shinobu watched in dumb silence as Shinuzagawa knelt behind Y/N’s head, positioning one leg at each of her shoulders. Wordlessly, he slid his arms under her, sliding down to grip gently around her lower rib cage so that he could lift her upper torso enough to work himself beneath her. He settled her upper body in between his legs, her back pressed against his front, and wrapped his arms around her, locking her against his chest.
Shinobu felt so foolish for having doubted the Wind Pillar, especially as she witnessed Y/N— who was no doubt in incomprehensible pain — visibly relax in his embrace.
Shinazugawa peppered Y/N’s forehead and the side of her neck in comforting kisses. “‘M sorry it took so long, sweetheart, but I’m here.” He cooed in a voice so gentle, Shinobu had wondered whether she was truly looking at the Wind Pillar at all, and not some strange doppelganger.
Y/N, panting and sweating from the toll of her labor, just nodded. “I waited, ‘Nemi. I waited for you. I love you.” Her head lolled back against Shinuzagawa’s scarred chest, seeming as though she was on the verge of falling unconscious.
Shinuzagawa squeezed her lightly. “I know. And you’re doing so fuckin’ well, baby. So fuckin’ well. You’ve just got to try for a little bit longer, sweetheart. You’re almost there.” He murmured into her ear, pressing more kisses onto her face and the top of her head. Shinazugawa finally looked up at Kocho, his eyes narrowed, and his face expectant.
Shinobu shook off the surprise she felt, kneeling back down at Y/N’s feet. “The baby has gotten turned around in the birthing canal,” she began to explain, checking once more between Y/N’s legs. “I can try to rotate the child, but at this point, I’m worried both Y/N and the child are in too much distress. She could bleed out before I have the chance." Shinobu’s face tightened. “Or else I’ll have cut her open to get the child out.”
Y/N moaned, her head rolling to slump at her other shoulder, and Sanemi’s grip around her tightened. “What’s the other option?” He demanded.
Shinobu thought for a moment. “If Y/N can use total concentration breathing to push right as I rotate the baby, then she might be able to deliver naturally.” Shinobu met Sanemi’s eyes. “That would also keep her from bleeding out.” Shinobu’s gaze dropped to her friend’s face. “But she hasn’t used Total Concentration in months – I told her not to, since there was a risk her body wouldn’t know if something went wrong during the pregnancy.”
Sanemi nodded once, focusing his gaze back down on his semi-conscious lover. He brushed his lips against her temple, and her ear, slightly jostling her into opening her eyes.
“Did you hear that, baby? You just need to use Total Concentration when Kocho says, and then our kid will be here.” Sanemi smiled gently at Y/N, kissing her head once more. “But you’ve gotta help Kocho out, sweet girl. Can you do that for me?”
The blood loss had made Y/N’s eyes bleary, and unfocused as she tried to force her eyelids back open. Slowly, Y/N lifted her gaze to Shinobu, her head twitching slightly downwards in a nod.
Kocho ordered Aoi to hand her a long, sinister-looking tool that she referred to as forceps. Sanemi’s stomach dropped, realizing how Kocho would be using the tool to turn the child stuck in Y/N’s womb. Y/N must have seen it too, for she began to tremble beneath Sanemi, whimpering slightly and shaking her head.
“Shh, shh Y/N, baby.” Sanemi soothed, pressing his lips to her sweaty temple. “Eyes on me, okay? We’ll use Total Concentration together.” He promised, moving so that Y/N could see him better. Her exhausted eyes drifted up to meet his own, and she nodded, her grip around Sanemi’s forearm tightening.
“We’re ready.” Kocho said, face determined as she waited for Y/N to begin using the breathing form.
Weakly, Y/N sat a little taller against Sanemi’s chest, shifting so that she could grip his forearms with both hands.
“If I hurt you… ‘M sorry.” She breathed, looking up at her lover so tenderly, so apologetic that Sanemi had to restrain himself from crumbling.
Of course she was more worried about him and his comfort when she was the one bleeding out on Kocho’s floor.
Sanemi shook his head. “Just breathe, baby. One…two…” He counted down.
Y/N took a deep breath, her lungs screaming as they expanded beyond their normal capacity for the first time in months. In tandem with her inhale, Kocho pushed the cold, silver instrument into Y/N, the latter wincing at the sensation of the foreign object.
“I’ve got it!” Kocho said, sweat beading on her forehead. “Push now, Y/N!”
Beneath his arms, Sanemi felt every muscle of Y/N’s body contract as she pushed with all her might, her body curling in with the force of her exhale. The grip Y/N had on Sanemi’s forearms threatened to crush his bones, but Sanemi grit his teeth, holding Y/N steady.
“Almost there, one more time!” Kocho panted.
Y/N repeated her breathing, but on the exhale, a scream tore from her throat as she forced herself to push harder than she ever had, her nails breaking the skin of Sanemi’s arms.
Y/N collapsed against Sanemi’s chest, too exhausted to move once more. All was quiet for a moment; the air was still.
Until a new cry filled the room, small, yet loud, and so, so strong.
A wide smile broke out across the Insect Pillar’s face. “You did it. You did it, Y/N.”
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There were two things that Sanemi Shinazugawa knew with certainty: first, he had never known what happiness was.
Not true happiness, anyways. He thought he had known it, when he was a boy and his old man had finally kicked it, leaving him and his siblings and mother free from his abuse.
He had thought he had reached peak happiness again the first time Y/N fell asleep on his chest after a particularly rigorous romp, as he folded his arms behind his head, fascinated to watch her sleep, content and safe against his scarred torso.
Hell, he even thought he had known true joy when the little man in the nearby village began making ohagi just the way he liked it and sold it to him at a fraction of the cost he charged civilians. civilians.
Those had no doubt been happy times, but nothing, nothing compared to this.
As he tentatively reached out a finger, Sanemi realized that happiness, true happiness, was his daughter’s sleeping face, her little cherub cheeks impossibly soft against the callused roughness of his touch. Happiness was Y/N’s teary smile as she nuzzled against the soft mop of downy hair on their daughter’s head, as she whispered how perfect she was.
Second, Sanemi knew he was not good. While Sanemi had always known Y/N was a good person — the best person he had ever known, really — he had never considered that he could be labeled as anything close to “good.” He was too scarred, too hardened to be capable of doing anything remotely good in the world.
Yet as he stared down at his daughter, sleeping soundly in her mother’s arms, Sanemi couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there had been some good in him after all.
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By the time the Sound and Flame Hashira had been permitted back inside the birthing room (Rengoku having returned some hours earlier after realizing the futility of trying to catch up with Sanemi), both could only stand over the Lunar and Wind Pillars and gawk as they beheld the small bundle fitted snugly in Y/N’s arms.
They could only gawk at Shinazugawa, who was still on the floor with his arms wrapped around Y/N, resting between his legs, as he ran a hand over the sleeping infant’s head with such care that they felt as though they were hallucinating the scene all together. Because Sanemi Shinazugawa had never treated anything so gently in his time with the Demon Slayer Corps as he treated the woman and baby daughter in his arms.
“Let me get this straight,” Y/N said loftily from below them, her eyes not leaving her daughter’s face. “You thought Sanemi was, what? A danger? A threat?”
Uzui laughed, nervously. “Not at all! We just wanted to be sure that he… you know… was supposed to be here.”
Y/N finally looked up at the reddening Sound Hashira, a mix of annoyance and amusement dancing in her eyes. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to interpret the insinuation that I could not hold my own against a man.” She smiled sweetly, but the threat was clear.
Kocho spoke up from the other side of the room. “I accept full responsibility for that decision, Y/N.” She said, only slightly sheepish in her admission. Kocho had remained in the room to monitor Y/N post-birth, to ensure that the Lunar Hashira maintained her Total Concentration Breathing so that her body could continue to heal itself after the trauma of her delivery. “I was…concerned based on some observations I had made earlier in the pregnancy, and I only meant to ensure your safety.”
Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “Concerns?” she questioned.
Shinobu shifted her weight to her other leg, the only sign of her discomfort. “Both I and Aoi had observed some…marks on your body during your checkups, early on.” Light pink dusted the Insect Pillar’s cheeks. “I was concerned you had been harmed.”
Y/N paused for a moment, trying to imagine what it was Shinobu could have possibly seen during her first few appointments that would have indicated she had been in any kind of trouble.
The only marks Y/N ever had on her skin that did not come from her battles with demons had been those left behind after she and Sanemi-.
Oh.
Oh.
Y/N flushed deeply, ducking her head back down to look at her daughter, a curtain of hair concealing her face and her embarrassment. Behind her, Sanemi snorted as he too realized what Shinobu had implied.
Shinobu cleared her throat. “But I understand now that those were just marks…incidental to your everyday life.”
Y/N briefly wondered why the blood loss hadn’t killed her, why it hadn’t at least knocked her out, so she did not have to witness the details of hers and Sanemi’s intimate life be on display in front of not one, but three of their comrades.
Meanwhile, Sanemi remained behind her, content and at peace to be with his girl and their child, if not a little smug at the revelation.
Y/N’s embarrassment was saved by a sudden piercing cry.
“I think she might be hungry, Y/N.” Shinobu said, crossing the room to peer down at the small bundle wrapped in Y/N’s arms.
“Of course she is, she’s a growing girl!” Y/N glowed, returning her gaze to her daughter, brushing her fingertip ever so lightly over her tiny nose.
Sanemi looked up, for the first time, at the Flame and Sound Hashira who were still gaping down at him and Y/N, his eyes half-lidded in bliss, a wide grin on his face.
“Fuck off.” was all he said, turning his attention back to his girls.
The other Hashira took their cue, and filed out of the birthing room, giving the new family some well-deserved privacy.
When he was sure they were alone, Sanemi brushed Y/N’s hair over one of her shoulders, helping her loosen her kimono to bare her full breasts.
Once their daughter had latched, Y//N rested her head back against her lover’s chest, content to just bask in the utter bliss she felt at having her child in her arms and her heart pressed against her.
Sanemi slid a hand across Y/N’s throat to to her jaw, tilting her head towards him so that he could press a long kiss to her forehead, thumb stroking her face. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, reveling in the comfort and warmth of the moment.
Sanemi pulled his lips away from Y/N’s head. “Hey,” he murmured, keeping his hands beneath her jaw to tilt her face up so she could meet his eyes, unfathomable tenderness and something else she couldn’t name reflected in the lavender pools she loved.
“Don’t ever fuckin’ scare me like that again.” He whispered, the grip on her jaw tightening ever so slightly.
Y/N looked at him, incredulously. “You’ve helped me hold my organs inside my body after a fight, but that’s what scared you?” She asked, teasingly.
Sanemi grimaced. “That’s different. This time, I couldn’t do anything to help — either of you.”
Y/N reached a hand up over her to gently cup Sanemi’s face. The Wind Hashira closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, his hands holding her tighter to him.
“I love you.” He murmured as he nuzzled her palm. “So fucking much.”
Y/N had known, of course, for a long time that he loved her. Sanemi was always a man of action rather than words, and he had shown her, on plenty of occasions, how he felt about her.
But hearing him say it still brought tears to her eyes. Y/N moved her hand from Sanemi’s face to grab around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her so that she could kiss him, soft and sweet.
When their lips finally broke apart, Sanemi huffed, slightly annoyed.
“So are you going to marry me now, or not?”
Y/N smiled against his skin. “Yes, you impatient man. I will marry you.”
--------------------------------------------------------
“I still don’t get it.” Uzui loudly complained. “How does that happen?”
The other Hashira watched from afar as Shinazugawa and Y/L/N walked up the steps into the Master’s mansion, the Wind Pillar’s arm securely wrapped around the Lunar Hashira’s waist as she carried a small bundle bearing the small, wiggly, and loud infant that she had given birth to a few weeks prior.
“I thought the diagram Y/L/N drew for you was pretty instructive, Uzui.” Iguro said, teasing malice lighting his eyes.
“I would have thought that three wives would have made you more knowledgeable, Uzui!” Rengoku said, half seriously. “But to think, you did not know how babies were made!”
“That’s not what I meant.” Uzui sputtered, a vein throbbing in his forehead.
“I can’t believe none of you noticed that he practically tripped over himself to demand that he take the night shifts watching over her.” Kanroji giggled. “I thought he was going to tear Tomioka’s head off for even trying to volunteer!”
“I thought he was just some weird night-owl!” Uzui indignantly. “Or that he liked watching people sleep!”
Rengoku chortled. “I do not think there was a whole lot of sleeping going on between them, Uzui!”
Uzui groaned, and the other Hashira laughed. Only Kocho remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the backs of her comrades as they awaited entry into the Master’s mansion.
A few weeks ago, Kocho would never have used the word “gentle” to describe Sanemi Shinazugawa. She would have preferred to use “abrasive,” or even at times, “hostile.”
But all that changed the moment she had witnessed the Wind Pillar tend to his beloved Lunar Hashira and their small daughter, and Kocho had realized that Shinazugawa, deep down, was not as brash as his exterior.
None of the Hashira were whole; all of them were a little broken by their trauma. But Shinazugawa was also gentle and kind, and perhaps that was what had drawn him to Y/N in the first place. Perhaps that was all it took; someone to bring out that softness in him, to chip away at the tough facade.
But Kocho kept these musings to herself, and smiled, as the little family disappeared inside the Master’s mansion.
🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸
Mostly fluff, I know, but I hope it was worth it. Soft Sanemi is everything to me.
Thank you for reading!
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Shrike: Angel Learns a Lesson
[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” I did my best for an ace x ace relationship, based on personal experience. Both parties are moderately sex favorable. Silly one shot inspired by my brain saying ‘what if a Stolas-esque bleep fest was extremely clinical’]
[One shot, 1106 words, no warnings needed]
—————
“Okay toots, you an’ me gotta talk,” Angel Dust found you reading in the hotel parlor. The lanky spider demon had been itching to talk to you one on one since you moved into the hotel. You’d moved into Alastor’s suite, happy to finally have your husband back after his seven year ‘sabbatical.’ That meant you were mostly in the Radio Demon’s company. Angel had learned not to ask him about sex the hard way.
You looked much more approachable. You had the air of a delicate bird. A little shorter than Vaggie, you had the perfect amount of curves for an hourglass figure. The shimmering flapper dress you wore showed that off nicely. Even though your arms and legs were vividly red for ⅔ of their length, they weren’t too alarming. Even your talons looked delicate. The black mask across your eyes was striking but offset by the fluffy silver hair framing your face. Your wings didn’t have a sharpness like a bird of prey and were proportioned more like a songbird.
All in all, you looked sweet, cheerful, and non-threatening.
So on a day that Alastor was out while you remained at the hotel, Angel Dust got the perfect opportunity to get some of the goods about tall, dark, and spooky. “Oh! Angel! What can I help you with?”
“I gotta know sweet cheeks, what do you an’ Al get up to?” You made an inquiring noise as you tilted your head to one side. Even that motion was bird-like. The porn star stared at you, unsure if you were pranking him. But the silence stretched on and he realized you actually didn’t understand. “Wha…how…you…” he didn’t know how to talk about sex with someone who didn’t understand innuendo. “How do you and Smiles have sex?”
That just confused you more. “Angel, ma petite araignée, I thought you worked in the sex industry. Surely you know the mechanics.” You paused. “Though I suppose I wouldn’t put it past that lousy moth to keep you in the dark.”
“I know how banging works! Jeez, I can’t do this sober.” He ordered drinks from a Husk that was trying not to laugh. He drank one, got a refill and brought one back for you as well. “A’right. You and Alastor are both as thick as two short planks about anything sexy, so I wanna know how you guys ever do anything in bed. Besides sleeping,” he hastened to add.
“Ooooooooh, okay! Sure, I don’t mind talking. But you gotta explain all those innuendos we don’t understand, got it cher?”
“You got it toots. Now spill, start with how often you do the deed.”
You sipped your whiskey as you thought back over the last century. “Mm, anywhere from one to four times a year? It varies, but infrequently is a good way to put it.”
“You only have sex once a year?!”
“I didn’t say that. It’s usually just for the night but intercourse occurs more than once when we feel up to it. Multiple times usually,” you clarified with a chuckle.
“Okay, makes sense, ya got me there. So it’s just when you’re both in the mood then?”
“I suppose you could put it that way. It’s an enjoyable activity, just not something we need to do. Or want to do as much as most.”
“A’right, we got the scheduling figured out. I gotta know technique. Positions, toys, he into kinky shit? You into kinky shit?” He leaned on the couch back, thrilled that he got you talking.
“Well [redacted] is our usual position. We’ve tried [beep], [bleep], [what], [why]. Oh and [really?] but that was uncomfortable for Alastor. [redacted] and [redacted] were fun but we were so worn out the next day. I like [beeeeeeeeeeep] to mix things up. I don’t know if they count as kinky but [oh god], [nope], [beepbeep], [thats a thing?], [redacted], [please stop], [srsly], and [wow] are all things we’ve attempted over the years. I like some [bleeping all this] and [this too] personally while he enjoys [hide your eyes], [nope], [double nope]. Oh, I almost forgot [holy shit], we gave that a try before his sabbatical.” Angel and Husk both looked at you in disbelief as your list grew. Then you continued.
“As for toys…[don’t wanna know], [redacted], [dang girl], and [bleepbleepBLEEP] all see some use. I guess [redacted] also counts. We tried [no thanks] but I hated it. We’ve both agreed we never want to try [ew] or [gross]. [How even?] has been fun. Alastor has indulged me with [no more please] a few times. Of course I reciprocate with some [BEEPBLEEP] if he asks. But really it’s mostly [redacted] for us. I’m sure we’re terribly boring compared to what you’ve been up to, ma petite araignée.”
Angel blinked at you in a daze. He held his drink loosely in his hand before downing it in a desperate gulp. Husk was once again pulling his ears down in extreme embarrassment. “I wouldn’t say that toots.”
You brushed his mop of hair from his face. The poor thing looked dazed. “Angel, cher, I think you’ve had enough to drink for tonight. Husk, do you have any water for him?”
“Getting to know the guests my dear?” Alastor manifested from the shadows, making Angel jump and you smile.
“More the other way around darling.”
“So long as everyone is behaving themselves. I wanted to know if you’d like to go out to dinner tonight? I’ve come across a little place that claims to have authentic Cajun cuisine.”
“Mais oui! Although I’m surprised you’re willing to try after what happened to the last restaurant.”
“You cannot dump black pepper into sausage and rice and call it jambalaya. It’s a sin and a disgrace and the place deserved to burn for it.”
“Right you are, Alastor. Am I dressed well enough or shall I go change?” You stood up and twirled for his inspection.
“Hmm, lovely as always my dear.” He held out his arm for you. “Until later chums!”
“We’ll be back! Make sure you get some rest Angel,” you called as Alastor led you out.
Once the two of you were gone, Angel slumped over Husk’s bar. “I didn’t imagine that right? You heard her too, right?”
“Oooh yeah. I kept saying not to ask, but you just had to know.”
“Yeah well I learned my lesson. I’m gonna need another drink after that.”
“Nah, I think Y/N was right about you having enough for now.” Husk pushed a glass of water over to him, garnished with a lemon slice.
“Asshole.” Angel did drink the water though.
A/N: This is absolutely drawn from my being married for 10+ years and still not understanding innuendos. Doesn’t matter how many times we’ve done it, that’s not how I’m wired. I’m going with “you can’t be embarrassed if you don’t care” as to why Shrike is so frank with Angel btw. It’s as embarrassing as picking out her shoes for the day. Also when you’re approaching triple digits in how long you’ve been with a partner, I figure you’ve tried everything under the sun and beyond, purely out of curiosity. My count has roughly 600 instances from 150 evenings over their life- and death-time. Feel free to mad libs her bleeped portions, I honestly only filled in a third of them in my brain, and the canonicity is dubious anyway.
@edgyboi10000 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @deafsignifcantother @whitewolfsoldat @ch3sire-blu3
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Bunk Up
Summary: Arthur invites you on a hunting trip, but you foolishly forget your tent. No harm done, you can bunk up with him, right?
Rating: nsfw, smut
Warnings/Content: a deer gets killed (camp's gotta eat), female masturbation, dry humping, fingering, p in v, breeding kink if you squint, unprotected sex, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).
Word count: 3,132
Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.
…………......................………………………………….
Why in god's green earth had you agreed to go on this hunting trip again?
Oh yeah, because you have a hard-on for Arthur Morgan… figuratively, that is.
It'd be alright if you could just tell him your feelings, but you'd prided yourself on liking more respectable, more rich men in the past; that's the easiest way to make a living, at the end of the day. You'd originally intended to go for the gang leader, but that man is oblivious and stubborn as hell, not to mention not actually rich, much to your displeasure.
Then Arthur had introduced himself to you. His stupid snarky remarks and silly outfits and disgustingly beautiful eyes all seemed to merge together into this gorgeous man that loomed in front of you and had your knees almost buckling.
Even worse, he'd noticed the way your demeanour changed and how your body seemed to crumble under the weight of his soft eyes.
“Hey! Are you even listenin’ to me?” His gruff voice breaks you from your trance.
“ ‘course I am, I always listen to your wise words, Mr Morgan.” You remark, looking up at him from the position you'd had your eyes trained on seconds ago. “Yeah, sure.” You feel his rough fingertips turn your chin back towards the deer in front of you, a gesture that makes heat rise in your cheeks all the way to the tips of your ears.
“Take the shot, you got a perfect shot there, can't miss it.”
The cold varnished wood cools your warm cheeks as you bring it close to your face and grit your teeth.
“Always shoot on empty lungs.” His whisper sends shivers down your spine before you take the shot, a loud crack echoing through the trees as a clatter of birds ascends into the sky.
“You did good! That was perfect.” A soft grunt leaves his throat as he gets up and checks the prey. “Think Pearson will make a good meal outta this,” his eyes then meet yours. “Good girl.” he tips his hat to you.
Damn Arthur Morgan, with that shit eating grin that makes your stomach flutter.
“You know I ain't one for pickin’ on people–” Arthur starts, shoveling chunks of peaches in his mouth, “but I don't think I've ever seen someone forget their tent on a huntin’ trip.”
“Ok, for one, you're always picking on people, ‘specially if you don't like ‘em. And for two… just– shut the hell up.” You pull your coat tighter around your body to shield yourself from the cold rain drizzling down your neck, the soft fur bringing you some warmth and comfort to your otherwise shaking body.
“Easy girl, don't be gettin’ mad at me now. Besides, it means you get to share a tent with me, ain't that a dream?” A simple grumble from you makes the man chuckle lowly. “I won't take that personally.”
It was a dream, and you hated admitting that.
Luckily, you'd remembered your bed roll, so at least you didn't have to snuggle up under the cotton sheets with your rugged partner… but, admittedly, a small part of you is disappointed at that.
You try to forget about those thoughts that are festering in the back of your mind and making you squeeze your legs together, but as the cold seeps into your bones and makes yourself huddle further into the sheets, you find yourself backing up against the warm body behind you.
The soft rustle of trees keeps you awake, at least that's what you tell yourself at first, not wanting to give into those filthy images of the cowboy flashing behind your eyelids.
Soon, all too soon for your liking, you find yourself panting. It's barely audible, but it's enough to make yourself embarrassed and look back at the outlaw peacefully sleeping behind you, unaware of the pictures you have playing on loop in your head. It makes you bite your lip; the thought of touching yourself right next to the man you've been meaning to tell your feelings to for months.
Quietly and carefully, you slide your hand over your body and between your legs, rubbing your already damp cunt over the fabric of your underwear. The feeling makes you grit your teeth much like earlier, and a small noise sneaks past your lips. You look back at Arthur again to see his chest still rising and falling slowly… fuck it, what's the worst that could happen?
Your hand slips into your underwear before you're even registering it. It's too cold to take the blanket off, or even your underwear for that matter, so you just run your fingers through your wet folds under the thin fabric. The slick noise it makes sounds too loud in the quiet forest, but at this point you're pretty sure the man is asleep, so you continue teasing yourself.
Your fingers circle your hole as you imagine it being his thick digits instead, or maybe even his tongue, since he's usually so quick with it. Another wet noise fills the tent when your fingers slide inside your needy cunt, buried to your knuckles as you massage that glorious spot inside you. When you pick up the pace, and the noises get louder, you're practically praying, wishing it was Arthur's fingers instead. They'd stretch you wide and fuck you good, the thought makes you shove some of the blanket in your mouth.
You're teetering on the edge at this point, scanning your brain for that final image that'll send you descending down the cliff… but a thick arm wrapping around your waist has you freezing in place.
“What have we got here?” Arthur's low, sleepy voice has the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, raising goosebumps all over your body as if he'd just ripped the sheets from your body.
“Arthur!–shit, I'm sorry–." You start, but his nose pressing against the back of your neck makes you stop in your tracks.
“I ain't judgin’ you, girl. We've all got our urges, desires.” He shuffles up closer to you, closing in on your body till his chest is pressed against your back, and his crotch is angled perfectly against your thighs. “Just wanted to know what you were thinkin’ about.”
God, his voice is so soft and low, it could make you fall asleep if your fingers weren't still knuckle deep inside yourself. “I–uhm…” Should you admit it? With the way he's pressing against you, it makes you think you should.
“You.”
“ ‘s that so? And why ain't you told me about this before, sweetheart?” His breath is hot on the back of your neck, pushing out any coldness that was left in your body as his large hand splays across your stomach and strokes your soft skin.
A huff escapes your nose a little louder than you expected. “Because… I'm embarrassed, I don't wanna be thinking about you like this.” You mumble ashamedly, but as those words leave your lips, you start moving your fingers inside your cunt again; a ‘come hither’ motion that makes you bite your lip to contain your noises.
“Oh, that ain't very nice. You ain't exactly a saint ya'self, Darlin’.”
Fuck, the way his words roll off his tongue makes you roll against your hand with a soft noise.
The action must've pleased Arthur, because he lets out a pant and presses his hips closer to yours, grinding in tandem with you as your hips roll on your fingers.
This feels so strange and wrong, but you aren't sure why. It's not like Arthur is married or even has a girl, he's just as lonely as you, and maybe that's exactly why you're so drawn to each other.
“Mmm, been dreamin’ ‘bout this for months, pressing against you like this.” He groans softly. His chin is placed neatly on your shoulder, cheek pressing against yours as his stubble itches your skin. He feels so warm and big behind you, like he's shielding you from any and every burden, and as his hips rock against yours more, you can't help but do the same. You grind back on him with short, soft pants, tilting your head to just get a glimpse of his blissed out face.
“When was the last time you did something like this, cowboy? You're acting like you're gonna cum in your night clothes.”
That makes a soft chuckle leave his red lips, flushed face pulling away from yours to look down at you.
“Long enough to be needin’ you.”
His words make you shiver, but he's quick to distract you with his hand taking your wrist and swatting your hand away.
“Lemme do it for you, sweetheart, please?”
Before your brain can even question or think about it, your body is telling him yes, your head nodding almost instantly. His fingers are quick to dive into your under garments and slide through your slick folds, a groan from him ringing in your ears.
“Dammit girl, you must have one hell of an imagination to make ya'self this wet… Jesus.” He grunts, looking down at his hand in your underwear with only the dim light of the lantern making your skin glow.
“I always get like this when I think of you, Arthur.” You tell him as your hand wraps around his wrist. “You're the only one that can make me cum.” You moan in his ear, making him dive his fingers into your needy cunt.
The stretch is wonderful, not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel it, and it's just how you expected, if not better. His thick digits curl and glide over your walls until he finally feels you squirm against him as they touch that delicious spot.
“Yeah? You like it there, darlin’? Want me to keep goin’?”
Again, your body simply speaks for you, nodding quickly and grinding down on his fingers. You feel him grind his hips against you again, his body seemingly wanting to get impossibly closer to you as he ruts against your ass.
“You're such a pretty girl, y'know that? Been waitin’ to tell you that since the day we met.” He rests his chin on your arm so he can peck the exposed skin and continue curling his fingers inside you.
The tent is once again filled with the filthy sounds of your hole taking two fingers, sloppy wet sounds that would make you feel ashamed if it didn't feel so fucking good. It feels like all your nerves are being stroked at once, each time his fingers brush against your tummy or stroke your walls feels like you can't get enough of the electricity that runs through your body. You grip his thick arm, looking back at him as moans fall from your lips.
“You're damn good… shit.” You whimper as he looks up at you, big round eyes meeting yours to show he's there.
“Well, I appreciate that, comin’ from you.” He chuckles lightly, his own words breathy while his hips start to snap a little faster and become sloppy. “You gotta lemme feel this cunt for myself, please sweetheart, lemme feel this cunt clench around my cock.”
You find it hard to stop rocking your hips when he's talking to you like that, but eventually you take a deep breath and stop yourself. His fingers slip out of you with a lewd sound, and you feel him shuffle to get his night clothes off.
Your own are gone within seconds, your body too hot and needy to worry about if you'd thrown them outside to the wolves to get torn to shreds, all you can focus on is the man behind you.
As much as this position made you wet before, you desperately want to see his handsome face, even if it is barely visible. So, you flip onto your other side and rest your hands on his chest, the warmth spreading through your fingers. You can practically feel his excitement buzzing off of him and through your body, and it makes you giggle a little. “Jesus, you really ain't done this in a while, have you?”
“Not with a girl as pretty as you, sweetheart.” One hand slides over your cheek while his other finally gets his clothes off.
Just his tone alone makes your cheeks heat up, but as he leans in for a kiss, you find yourself taking in a breath of surprise. It's easy to melt into his arms and get lost in the feeling of his lips; they're surprisingly soft and sweet, and they feel like they fit perfectly on yours.
You're so swept up that it takes you a second to notice his hand snaking around the back of your knee and pulling your hips closer to himself.
That's when you feel it.
His length rests against your slick pussy lips, your leg now cocked over his waist to get him close. It feels bigger than you expected, thicker than you expected, it makes you whine softly on his lips.
You hate his little grin that you feel spread across his face. “Impatient, ain't you?” He teases, slowly rocking his hips against yours to let his cock slide through your sopping folds. His tip manages to butt against your clit each time, making you furrow your brows and moan softly on his lips.
Your hand is still resting on his cheek as you feel him push in for the first time, and god are you glad you're holding onto your bedroll with the other, because the stretch and the way he fills you makes you almost cum on the spot, a loud moan spilling from your lips to make you whimper embarrassedly.
“Oh sweetheart, don't be embarrassed. I love the noises you're makin’ for me, they're makin’ me so goddamn hard, can you do it again for me?” He asks as he pulls his hips back before sliding inside your warm, slick walls again.
You're quick to oblige to his plea, your body automatically reacting with a soft choked moan at the surprise of his thick cock stretching you once again. You can feel his calloused fingers still gripping the back of your knee to hold your leg up, giving him the perfect angle for his length to hit every nerve you have inside you and send sparks of arousal up your spine.
“Thaaat’s a good girl, look at'chu.” The man purrs, his warm breath making your eyes flutter shut so you can focus on his cock spearing you with each slow, deep thrust.
“Holy shit, Arthur, f–feels like you're splitting me in half.” You moan as your hands slide over his thick biceps and along his broad shoulders, finding that the perfect place for you to grip on for dear life too.
Arthur groans before leaning forward to press a kiss on the top of your head as he pants softly. “Biggest you've had, huh? Never felt somethin’ like this inside you, have you?” He doesn't accept the simple shake of your head, instead giving you a sharp thrust that has your nails dig into his flesh and a whimper spill from your lips. “No! No, I haven't… I love it, dammit, I love your cock.”
Something inside him seems to click as you say those words, a long moan slipping from his throat as his grip becomes tighter on your leg to pull you closer to him, his cock burying deeper inside you. He doesn't give you time to adjust before his hips are colliding with yours and the sounds of both your arousal soaked thighs are filling your ears and sending waves of pleasure from your head to your toes.
“Listen to those filthy noises, girl, that's all you. That's your wet cunt..” Arthur manages to moan out. He tilts his head down to watch your hips connecting, his head resting against your collar bones. “What a pretty cunt it is too… shit, I ain't ever felt somethin’ as good as this, miss.” His words seem to roll off of his tongue with ease, as if he's a erotic poet reciting the words he's scrawled down on the page. Maybe it has something to do with that journal he's writing in all the time… lord above how you'd love to read that.
“For you, Mr Morgan,” you blabber without even thinking about the words coming from your mouth. “I'm all for you, want you to take me like this over and over–.” It's funny how worked up you get over your own words, but it seems to have an even better effect on Arthur.
His brows knit together as his jaw hangs open a little, and dirty blonde strands of hair fall in his face and stick to his forehead perfectly.
“Shit, girl, you're gonna make me finish inside you if you keep talkin’ like that…” The man groans, his lip finding its way between his teeth to give him something to chew on. Somehow, his thrusts get faster, impossibly better as you feel the molten heat spread through your body and up to your throat to make you moan his name, along with any other expletives that come to mind.
Before you can stop yourself, you're saying dangerous words that, with any other man, would be like handing a loaded gun to a baboon.
“I want you to do that Arthur! Please– please cum inside me–” Your entire body tenses up before you come crashing down, whaling and grasping onto him for dear life as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm and make sharp thrusts that have you whimpering loudly. Your walls clench him tightly in pulsing rhythm, driving him closer and closer to the edge.
It's only a few more seconds before he's tearing his body away from yours and fisting himself, white ropes shooting all over your tummy as groans and growls rumble in his chest and his head throws back.
You watch the whole scene in front of you in awe, as if you're at the goddamn theatre watching a play… no, it's better than that. You'd never had time for the theatre, but you always have time for Arthur, despite how he gets on your nerves sometimes.
You smile softly at him as he lifts his head to look down at you, a smug grin on his face as he leans forward and pecks your lips.
“Hey, what's with the grin?” You huff softly and hit his chest playfully.
“Nothin’ just been waitin’ for you to admit your feelin's for me for a while now.”
An annoyed growl leaves your lips as you feel your face heat up with embarrassment, burying it in his chest instead to save you from his teasing.
“Shut the hell up, Morgan…”
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Why Hazbin characters are the animal they are:
(Because of that conversation I just had with @xxqueenofdragonsxx )
Angel (spider)
1. His family’s “web of crime”
2. A spider was the last thing he was before he died.
3. He had a weirdly heartfelt moment with a spider as a child that stayed with him to adulthood.
4. He was terrified of spiders and this was his first punishment in hell.
5. He insulted spiders by calling them “creepy fuckers”— the spider community was insulted and sought punishment.
6. He and his family’s last name was “Ragno” which literally means “spider” in Italian.
7. He’s Spider-Man. Or Spider-Gwen at least— look at his colors.
Husk (cat)
1. Fucking hated cats when he was alive
2. Hates flying when he was alive.
3. Flew in a plane in the military at some point so has flight-related trauma.
4. Cause he does that cat thing where they can’t deal with people’s bullshit.
5. Ex had a cat, their relationship was complicated.
6. Husk really hates messes. Having both feathers and fur is the ultimate torture.
7. He died tripping on a cat and then being impaled by the beak of a dead bird.
8. Died falling. Period. Cats land on their feet and birds can fly so it’s some kind of irony.
Alastor (deer)
1. He was killed because someone thought he was a deer in the forest.
2. The deer in headlights look he always makes when someone propositions him sexually
3. He was the predator chasing the prey, now his creature is the prey.
4. First thing he ever killed was a buck.
5. He really likes venison and is a cannibal. Now he has a steady supply of food. He just needs to wait to regenerate.
6. His favorite thing to say was “oh dear” so the universe made it into a pun.
7. He wasn’t shot by a person. He was shot by a serial killer deer.
Sir Pentious (snake)
1. He was a slippery little fella.
2. Was obsessed and had a ton of pet snakes.
3. Alternatively he was terrified of snakes.
4. The last person he called a “friend” called him a snake before leaving him forever.
5. Snakes are supposed to be symbols of healing, which was ironic because he couldn’t save the one person he loved most.
6. He had a lisp and was frequently harassed for sounding “snake-like” (yay ableism)
7. His name really was Sir Pentious when alive and the universe couldn’t not let the opportunity go to waste.
Valentino (moth)
1. He used to zap and kill moths for fun, putting them in peoples beds because nobody likes a moth in your bed.
2. He publicly ran a campaign saying butterflies > moths, the moths didn’t like that.
3. He was killed when a stage light “accidentally” fell on him.
4. Like a moth, he is easily distracted by bright things.
5. Choked on mothballs and died.
6. Sold powder of crushed up moths under the guise that it was cocaine. Someone found out a killed him in anger.
7. Was killed running into traffic as he was being chased by a moth.
Vox (TV)
1. Was a TV host
2. Sold crappy, overpriced TVs
3. Killed someone by smashing their head in with a TV.
4. HE was killed by his head getting smashed in by a TV.
5. His form isn’t really a TV, but he was decapitated and needed a replacement head and this was the first thing he could find.
6. Stared at screens way too long as a child.
7. Was epileptic so the universe thought it would be funny if he could use his face to induce seizures in others (the universe has a messed up sense of humor man. How about we don’t cause people to have seizures?)
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birds of prey (one shot)
2600 words, dark RAIDER!tommy x f!reader
Summary: Tommy recently joined the raiding group that killed everyone in your family. When the group comes back to claim the house for their own use, he finds you in the basement.
A/N: This is a DIFFERENT READER, not joel's reader. I wanna introduce raider!Tommy before raider joel crosses paths with him (we're not there yet). THANK YOU @dark-scape for the group name, symbol, and soundboard. Also to @romanarose for requesting Tommy in raider!Joel.
WARNINGS!!: I8+ mdni, extremely dubious consent unsafe P in V and oral M receiving, dirty talk, pet names, dark/toxic affection- do not be fooled, degradation. NO USE OF Y/N.
The raiders first came a week ago and killed everyone but you–they never found you in the basement. They took everything they could use, so you aren't sure why they're back, but in your gut you know it's them when you hear the tires on gravel. You make your way down to the basement again. The entry is through a closet floor and it looks like more of a crawl space until you climb down into it. You told everyone it’d be safest there, but they thought if they begged for their lives and let them take everything, the men might be reasonable.
The short, dirty window at the top of the wall is open and their voices make your stomach turn.
"Den's big enough, got a kitchen 'n all. Hell, wood's already chopped." They laugh and the door handle jiggles. "Locked?"
"What? Y'all lock it when ya left?"
"Didn't think so."
They bust down the door.
"So this is it," a new voice announces calmly. "The new nest."
Someone corrects him, "That's lame, man. You don't gotta call it that when he's not around."
"Takes this Birds of Prey shit too literally," another man agrees.
They start showing the new guy around.
One of the men asks, "think the big guy'll like it?"
After a moment of silence, someone says "let's talk about the big guy. " It sounds like they're planning a coup. They agree to find somewhere in the house to hide the loot and leave one man behind to guard it overnight. They break up to look for a hiding place.
—-
Inevitably, the door to your space opens. "Crawlspace," the new voice says. Then he steps down. It’s just him. He hunches over and walks until the ceiling is higher. You're huddled in the corner under a desk. He scuffs his boot on the ground and a huge layer of dust gets kicked up. He looks around for a minute and says "alright, alright," to himself. You can only see his boots. Your nose tickles from the dust and you're trying to stave off a sneeze. When his boots turn back toward the door, You're relieved. But you can't keep the tickle at bay. You squeak ever so quietly into your shoulder, then the boots turn in your direction.
Your heart goes to your throat as the man slowly crouches down. Mustache, long, dark hair, denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up. Heavily tattooed, though you can’t make anything out. He raises his eyebrows and his lips purse in bemusement. He clasps his large hands and says “Well hey there,” like he’s speaking to a child.
You’re silent.
“What are ya doin’ down here?”
“It’s my house,” you say.
He nods thoughtfully and his brows knit apologetically, but his voice doesn’t match. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he says ominously. “My friends said it’s our house, now.” He frowns exaggeratedly.
Your eyes sting with the dusty air and you realize you’ve had your eyes wide and not blinked this entire time.
"MILLER WHERE THE HELL ARE YA," someone yells.
He sighs and stands up.
“Don’t tell them,” you beg.
“Why wouldn’t I,” he asks, still standing up, out of view.
“I’ll do anything,” you say.
“Anything,” he repeats, then sighs. “Wouldn’t’ve taken ya for that kinda girl. Looked like an angel to me.”
“MILLER!!!!”
“Please,” you beg.
“We’ll see,” he says curtly then turns around and leaves. When he gets up the stairs and opens the door, he announces he found a crawlspace that’ll work.
—----
They unload the stuff, then someone asks, “Who’s stayin’?”
“New guy,” someone says.
“Can ya handle it, Miller?” another voice asks. “Place like this might get spooky at night.”
The men chuckle.
“I’m good,” Miller says.
“That’s the spirit, Tommy boy.”
“See ya tomorrow.”
—
Tommy starts bringing crates down, and the men get ready to leave. They continue to talk amongst themselves upstairs on their way out. Tommy crouches down to look at you, a little closer this time, about two meters away. He smiles at you then sits on the floor with his hands behind him, not saying anything. As the men leave, you both overhear their crude banter. Tommy looks at the window as he listens.
"Think she's ready for more?"
"I call back door first." Your heart drops thinking about whoever’s waiting for them back where they came from.
"Shit, you can have it. D'ya see the lips on her?" There’s no way she’s willingly waiting for this disgusting group of men.
"I wanna see what Tommy boy can do to that pussy."
“Not tonight!” one says and they laugh.
"He doesn't have it in'm," another one says.
Tommy seems to bristle at this. Then he dons a subtle smirk, looks at you, and slowly sucks in air though his teeth like he's breaking some bad news. "'m afraid I do," he nods. "Just don’t like sharin’." He sighs. His nose twitches and you don’t like it. He’s pensive, like he has something to prove. He says, “Hope they don’t do ya like that once they find ya.”
You hug your knees and bury your head to cry. “What do you want,” you ask.
“Why don’t ya come on out for a start.”
You look at him. He’s not moving from his position. He nods toward the wall as though to give you permission to sit away from him. He watches you like a hawk as you slowly crawl, still sniffling, and you sit against the wall with your legs out.
“Good girl,” he says gently, then begins to get up. You flinch when he stands, but he takes the chair from the desk and turns it to face you. He sits in it, only about a meter away now. At this distance, you can see his freckles and the sparkle in his eyes and you hate to admit it, but he’s pretty good looking. You look at each other for a few seconds. Apparently he’s thinking the same thing. “Pretty, too. Aren’t ya, angel?”
He leans back and his chest puffs out as he takes off his denim jacket. “Too hot for this,” he mutters and throws it onto the desk. His t-shirt lets you see how strong his chest and arms are as he settles back into the chair and manspreads with his hands on his thighs. One of his hands has a fresh tattoo of a talon on it. His jeans are ripped below the one knee. “So you’ll do anything, huh,” he says contemplatively. He smooths his hair and looks at the window, then around the room. “Guess I’ve got all night to find out what that means.”
You consider your options. If he really doesn’t like sharing, giving yourself to him is your best shot at staying secret from the other men.
“Can I have some water,” you ask.
He laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, what else ya want? A cheeseburger?” He sighs, braces his hands on his knees, and leaves. He doesn’t come back for hours.
You’re tired. So tired. It’s been the worst week of your life, and that’s saying a hell of a lot. You’re too tired to fight, too tired to even care what he might do to you. You fall asleep.
—--------
You wake up to the sound of boots thudding down the stairs. It’s dark out now. “Got lost, sorry,” he booms. He’s carrying a short crate that has a lantern, a jug of water, a bottle of whiskey, and some jerky. He sets the crate down on the desk. He puts the water jug next to your feet, and he lingers. He squats down and caresses your cheek with his knuckle. You smell his sweat and you smell he’s been drinking. His lips part as he looks at you, and you try to ignore the sparkle in his eyes in the lamp light. He’s sweaty, and his masculine smell makes you tingle. He offers you some jerky with a little smile but you say, “no thank you.”
“Those manners,” he whispers with a smile. His mustache twitches charmingly. He takes off his boots and sits next to you on the wall and his large hand engulfs your thigh. He wets his lips and looks at you. “What are we gonna do?” he asks softly.
“Just tell me what you want,” you whine.
He shakes his head no. “I wanna know what you want.”
“I wanna live, I wanna not be gang banged, I want my family back, I want-” you start to cry.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says. He reaches for you and you flinch, but he gets up on his knees and forces you into a consoling embrace. You cry into his shirt and he says “Shhhhh, shhhhhh.” He pats your head. “You’re not gonna get gang banged if you’re mine, I promise.”
The most unsettling mix of relief and dread floods your upper body. Your lower body, meanwhile, is all warmth and tingling. Oh, god. He hugs you into his hair which smells like cigarettes, campfire, and something sour. “C’mere,” he says, and uses your hair to pull your head back slightly, gently. Enough to look at your face.
----
He dips his head, and at first all you can do is watch his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows. But then his face drifts toward yours, and you tense in anticipation. He closes his eyes and kisses you. His lips are plush and gentle. Your lips remain firm and still until they don’t. When his tongue brushes the seam of your lips, they let him in. Your mouths are connected for a good thirty seconds before he breaks the kiss and looks at you. Then he wraps his hands around your back and lifts you up onto your knees so you’re both kneeling on the cold concrete as he licks into your mouth. He wraps his arms around you tight and attacks your mouth with his again, with more fervor this time, his suction making your lips tingle.
His cock hardens against you. He breaks the kiss and takes a deep breath against the side of your mouth. He grabs your ass and pulls you into him, pressing his hardness into you. He sighs.
Then he lets go of your ass and his hands come between you. He urgently unbuttons and unzips your jeans, then pulls them down. You feel like there’s no stopping what’s about to happen, so you obediently take them off as he removes his own without taking his eyes off you. “Those too,” he nods at your panties. As you remove them, the damp cotton is cool against your inner thigh and you realize how wet you are. Warmth rushes to your face.
----
“C’mere, angel,” he whispers, and he sits down in his boxers. He pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him, hovering, at first. He reaches between your legs and groans as his fingers meet your wetness. He gazes at you with wonder in his eyes. “Beautiful girl.” He looks down and watches his hand as he slides his fingers through your folds, front and back. His strong chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. He pulls you by the ass, grinding your crotch into the massive tent in his boxers and the contact makes you twitch. “Fuck,” he sighs when your loins are pressed up against each other. He makes space to get his cock out and you try not to stare. It’s thick. Suddenly, you’re salivating. You wet your lips and he notices.
“Lemme put it here, first,” he says softly and rubs your cunt. “Okay?” He nods for you as he positions you over his cock and notches himself for entry. He’s waiting for your go-ahead like it means something. You offer an almost imperceptible nod, then he pulls you down hard on his cock with a groan. You gasp as his girth parts your walls.
“Then—ohhh—then ya can suck it,” he says. He lifts his hips. “Maybe.” He moves you on his cock. “Shit this feels good.” He holds you close and wraps an arm around you. He moves his hips forward from the wall with a sharp thrust up into you. He gets enough space to lean back a little and pull you against his chest for leverage, with enough clearance to fuck up into you. “Yeah, ohh shit.” As your body adjusts to his girth, your eyes close in pleasure. His thrusts are sharp and deep. He’s strong, so strong the way he holds you. Tension knots in your gut as his girth fills you up over and over.
“Ride it, baby. C’mere.” He sits back down flatter against the wall again and manhandles you on his cock. “C’mon, baby.” You might as well get something out of it, so you move your hips and get close enough to him to grind your clit into his pelvis. “Aww, yeah,” he breathes, “Yeahh, like that.” He reaches for your head. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he whispers, then pulls your face into his again. His hips rock in rhythm with yours as he fills your mouth with his tongue.
You accidentally hum “Mmm” into his mouth.
He breaks the kiss to say “oh you like it, huh,” pounding into you a little harder. “You like this big cock.” Each time he fills you, you’re less and less ready for this to end. “That’s good,” he rubs his nose against your temple. “gonna get a lot of it.” He holds the back of your head and reads your eyes in the dim lamp light then kisses you again. You break the kiss with a moan, feeling yourself on the edge.
“Holy shit,” he whispers. “Shit yeah,” He puts both his hands on your ass and moves you on his cock, determined to fill you with every smidgen of him.
You whimper at the stretch, the sheer fullness.
“You’re there,” he says. “C’mon, baby,” his thick cock sliding in and out of you, stretching you, filling you like you thought you might never be filled, “C’mon, angel. C’mon.” The tension snaps and you groan as your cunt spasms around his cock. “Ohhh, yeahhh, yeahhh,” Tommy says, “shit, yeah.” Your body jerks into his. “Fuckin’ beautiful."
He slows you down and sucks in a deep breath as you keep spasming. “Shit,” he sighs. He stops moving and tries to compose himself. He’s trying not to come. He pulls you off before you’re finished coming. You look at him and he’s biting his lip, his eyes are smiling, his hand is wrapped around his cock. “Now suck it for me.” He reaches up and his huge hand engulfs the back of your head. “Now,” he says more urgently. He pulls down and you oblige, reeling in aftershocks and shame.
You take his tip in your mouth and his hips lift as you suck it. He forces your head down on his cock and you gag on it. “Ohh, shit.” He pulls your head down harder then explodes against the back of your throat with a long, drawn out sigh of relief. His hot spend paints the back of your throat. You swallow it then let him slide out of your mouth.
—--
Tommy catches his breath for a moment, then puts his dick away and gets up to put on his pants. It feels abrupt, but you’re not sure what you expected. Surely not pillow talk. He towers over you as he zips up. You look up at him and he tilts his head, looking at you affectionately. Then his face changes.
“Dumb slut.”
Your stomach drops as he walks away.
-------
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Thank you so much for reading and engaging! You can follow @toxicfics and turn on notifications for updates.
Joel and Tommy are not in touch. When they cross paths it will have been a long time since they saw each other.
This reader will be Tommy's and he'll gain some power in the group.
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Sweater- Harley Quinn
Pairing: Harley Quinn x Reader
Characters: Harley Quinn
Warnings: N/A
Request: Anon- Hey if your not busy, could i request #33 “Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.”with harley? Shes fucking adorable and fr doesnt get enough love. Thank you!
Word Count: 426
Author: Charlotte
With Harley’s apartment left as little more than just charred remains, you had decided to let her stay with you for a little bit. The two of you had been dating for a while and although you liked having your own space, maybe it was time to move in together or at least this would be your taster session of sharing a home, even if she was just your guest. You knew that she was struggling with losing her apartment, so you had given her access to your DVD collection and bought her all of her favourite snacks to keep her occupied whilst you went out to run errands.
You weren’t out for long but when you returned you were pretty sure your apartment was almost in the same state as hers. The whole of your sofa was covered in wrappers of the food she’d eaten and crumbs of their remains along with a pile of snotty tissues- whether that was from a sad film or general sadness was unknown to you. The one thing you didn’t expect though was your girlfriend wearing one of your favourite sweaters, although it was a different colour due to the chip dust fingerprints and crumbs covering it.
“Why are you wearing my sweater?” You asked, gaining her attention.
She jutted out her lower lip and gave you the large puppy dog eyes that you were used to getting whenever she wanted something.
“Because it smells like you,” she said, putting on a slightly pathetic voice.
“I highly doubt that now,” you chuckled. “With all the Cheeto dust on them, I think it probably smells like those now.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the tears well in them. You were sure they weren’t far from falling anyway from her normal emotional state, but she was definitely putting it on a little.
“Don’t be mean to me,” she pouted. “I’ve had a tough time.”
You gave her a gentle smile, resting a hand upon her shoulder to give it a squeeze.
“I’m sorry,” you said.
You sat down beside her, not moving any of the tissues or packages, knowing it will be a worry for later when they were stuck to your trousers. You wrapped your arms around her letting her rest her messy blond hair on your shoulder.
“Shall I get you the hidden snacks to make up for it?”
She instantly perked up.
“You’ve hidden snacks from me?” She exclaimed, offended.
You rolled your eyes. “You’re going to eat me out of house and home at this rate.”
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hi birds of paradise and of prey! I sincerely hope your 2024 has been kind to you so far, and if it hasn't, I hope it starts being fucking nicer soon. We got eyes on it and are ready to take it out should it fail.
I'm coming to the end of my list here soon, so if anyone has ideas on what they'd like to see next, please do hit me up! Even if its just a piece of media with interesting food in it and not a specific dish you wanna see. My roommate got me a recipe book from that TikTok fantasy tavern guy, "recipes from the lucky gryphon"? So we could also take a shot at a few of those, although im not really familiar with his work. Regardless-
We will be making Stuffed Cabbage from Lord of the Rings Online today!
(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)
MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS
SO, “what goes in to this Stuffed Cabbage?” YOU MIGHT ASKYou cant kinda put whatever you want for seasonings and even the meat filling. I used ground beef but pork and lamb are also stellar candidates.
Yellow onion
Garlic
2 eggs
Ground beef
Rice
A head of cabbage
Oregano
Thyme
Red pepper flakes
Cumin
Crushed tomato
Tomato sauce
AND, “what does this Stuffed Cabbage taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKBa bawsa
Very, very filling wow
2 rolls filled me up for a meal and i made about 20-ish from one head of cabage
A bit plain tbh, the texture is great but I'd really double up on the seasonings
A blank canvas for you to impart your spice preferences onto
Reheating makes it taste almost identical to fresh
Would pair well with a hot sauce dip
could also go well with an artichoke dip
If you run out of room and need to layer the rolls, I'd try experimenting with pouring some of the crushed tomato and sauce inbetween the stacked rolls. Otherwise the ones at the bottom lack a lot of the tomato flavor. However it might make the bottoms on the rolls laying ontop soggy?
. Where rice called for, used long grain white rice
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I've never blanched anything before. Theres not much western food that calls for it, meanwhile whenever my friend from malaysia shows a dish they ate, 9 times out of 10 the vegetables are blanched. Much easier process than the fancy name might suggest- boil water and dunk the thing in until its done. Whatever 'done' may be for the thing you are cooking.
Also for the ground beef (or whichever meat you use) you don't have to cook it beforehand, but in doing two tries at making these cabbage rolls i would recommend you at least season your meat before mixing it with everything else. The meat will cook to a safe temperature inside the cabbage rolls, i just prefer the taste and texture of it when cooked twice.
I give this recipe a meandering 7/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.)
I want to review more horrible recipes, truly i do, so that the rating scale isnt always a 6 and above, but whenever i try something horrible its like "why the fuck would i put all the effort into making and sharing a review of this thing i Do Not Want others to eat????" yknow?? Would people be interested in roasting horrible recipes?
🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁
Ingredients:
1 yellow onion
6 cloves of garlic
2 eggs
2 lbs ground beef
1 1/2 cup cooked rice
1 large head of cabbage
28oz crushed tomato
14oz tomato sauce
Oregano
Thyme
Red pepper flakes
Cumin
Salt/pepper
Method:
Saute garlic and onion in butter over medium heat until onions are caramelized. When done, remove from heat and let cool.
Season the beef to your liking with cumin, red pepper, and salt. Very, very lightly cook the beef in the same pan used for the garlic and onions. Cook until it starts to brown, but dont let it darken.
Beat eggs thoroughly with oregano, thyme, salt, and pepper.
Add all of the above ingredients together in a bowl with (cooked!) rice. Mix thoroughly then cover and let rest in the fridge.
Core and blanche your cabbage in boiling water, peeling them off as they become limp.
Once you've separated all the leaves, cut off any thick stems that would prevent the leaf from folding.
Put roughly 2 tablespoons of meat filling into each leaf. Fold the sides of the leaf inwards and roll it up. Place each cabbage roll seam-down into a casserole dish.
If they don't all fit in one layer, its more than okay to stack. Try not to stack more than 2 layers though.
Once you've used all the cabbage, take your can of tomatos and pour them over the rolls. Mix some oregano into the tomato sauce and pour that over the rolls as well.
Bake uncovered in the oven at 350 for about 2 hours. Dont worry if a bit of tomato on top looks burnt.
IF REHEATING LEFTOVERS: Bake 10 cabbage rolls in the oven at 320 for about 40 minutes. Reduce time for less rolls.
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Childhood frenemies! Simon
[ simon meets his old 'bully' in a bar ]
Please Do Not Go
1 2 3
Tags : chubby reader, f! reader, kinda bully reader, very harsh words, next chap will be smut, simons internal dialogue hates you, lots of teasing teetering on bullying, drinking
Simon likes going out to the bar with the 141, doesn't happen often when they're off duty, they all live so far apart but Johnny begged them all to go out for his 'birthday' (it was a month ago but he can't really complain, price said he'd pay as his present for soap and all he got johnny was a pat on the back but if cap's offering to pay, whos he to stop ‘im). He watches Soap and Gaz snicker to themselves, Johnny's arm slung over Gaz's shoulder as they mingle with the other drunks in the bar. Ghost drinks his beer, maybe the third of the night, not like it means anything, his tolerance is high, and it doesn't help that he's built like a tank. he eyes prices whiskey, wondering if he should get some scotch or vodka or something, something that would make the back of his throat burn a little more.
He decides for it, walking to the bar counter,
"JD, ice, thanks." He calls out gruffly to the bartender, one arm on the counter while he waits for the them to pour a shot of some JD with some ice, no doubt going to make it even more watered down, doesn't matter though, he'll drink it, he needs it after the mission they just came back from. His eyes scan the bar again as he finishes the remnants of his beer, Johnny and Kyle are chatting some birds up, they seem pretty interested, one of em is twirling their hair at gaz, the others biting her lip, her finger on soaps chest, and price is eying the soft girl in the corner of the bar, It was a rough mission, he can't blame em for wanting a warm body to bed for the night, he could look too, maybe the bartender, they gave him nearly half a glass of whiskey, maybe it's flirting in bartender speak, although it's hard to know if it's fear or flirting with him. It's really been a while since he's bed anyone.
He takes a sip, the smooth whiskey leaving a burn down his throat, the ice doing nothing to stop it, not bad for a bar jd. He watches the bartender but his focus falls to the entrance of the pub after hearing the bell chime from the door, the bartender lights up seeing the lady who walked in, calling out her name in such a cheerful manner and ghost feels his mouth go dry, alcohol doing nothing to help it. He feels himself straighten up unconsciously and rebukes himself when he catches it. His grip tightens around the glass, slamming it on the bar counter a little too hard, making the woman shift her eyes to the sound. If he was a lesser man, he may have turned to avoid her eyes catching his... he again rebukes himself for being a lesser man.
She walks to the bar, right next to him, smiling softly and ordering a drink, a shit one at that, he scoffs to himself. Her eyes fall to the man next to her, it would be strange if it didn't, its not everyday you sit down next to a brick wall, he turns back slightly to see if she's still there. His eyes catch her staring straight back, a grin on her face.
"It's been a while, Riley." Her voice is soft, but it burns in his ears. The conversations from the bar fade into the background, and ghost feels himself tense, cursing at himself in his head. The Ghost, tensing at a pretty lady calling on him? The same pretty girl who used to torment him in secondary school?
"Yeah." He says gruffly, darting his eyes back to the wall, fully intending on ignoring her.
She catches it, she always used to, seems like she still does, the way his eyes go distant, like he's mentally elsewhere, hiding. She knows Simon Riley, but she doesn't know Ghost. He forgot what it felt like to be the prey, he refuses it. He's not that kid anymore. He won't let her-
"Aw, are you trying to ignore me? Don't do that, Riley. Let's catch up, hm? Sit," a small smile graces her face, cheeks full, his mind can't stop the word 'cute' bouncing around his head, her fingers tap the bar stool next to her and he feels himself sitting down before thinking, pretty sure he doesn't even follow prices orders so quickly, "someone told me you were dead," she says with a grin on her face, the soft smile gone, its unnerving, ghost hates it, he hates how he feels like Simon, he hates how her stupid grin feels like she can see under the mask. He feels like a kid again.
"I'm not." He chugs the whiskey, the burn doing nothing to soothe anything. He's not. He's not... He's not dead, and he's not a kid again.
"Mhm, I can see that, it's not like I'm a medium talking to a ghost," she sips her shitty drink. When did the bartender even get it in her hands? Fuck, he's too focused on her. "I'm glad you're not dead, would've gotten pissed if you had a funeral and I didn't get an invite."
"You wouldn't be invited anyway." He snides, looking away, seeing if Price needs him, or if Johnny and Gaz are still talking to those girls, he hasn't felt this in a while, desperation, desperate to leave the conversation. He could. He could just get up and leave, but he doesn't.
Her finger taps the table, her hand just ghosting the side of his, he turns back his attention to her, she's smiling, for fucks sake, can she stop doing that?
"So, what's new, riley? Last I heard of ya, you ran off to join the army," she chimes, watching him
"Yeah."
"I would say I'm surprised they let someone who could barely read or write in the military... but also, I'm not that surprised by that fact."
If he squeezes this glass any tighter it might shatter in his hands, he remembers how much he hates her, but the fucked up part of his mind is also laughing at the comment, it's been a while since a civvy had the audacity to say something like that right infront of his face.
She notices his expression, teetering on murderous and lets out a soft giggle, watching Ghost's knuckles turn white from the grip,
"You know I'm just kidding, Riley."
"Your jokes always fucking sucked,"
"You're the only one who ever understood ‘em, everyone else looked at me dumbfounded when I tried to explain the shotgun joke," she snickers, taking another sip, "so is that it, just the military? Haven't you got anything else to talk about?"
"No."
“Nothing at all?”
“No.”
"Hm....anyway, Riley, you remember Amee with the two e's? She turned into an addict, you know?"
Somehow, he finds himself listening, maybe halfway through his third whiskey, learning about what his old classmates are up to, he doesn't even know why he's entertaining the motion of learning this information of people he could care less about, but he sits still, listening.
"And oh my god, Jason, he's like some cryp-"
"What about you?"
"First off, rude, you interrupted me, second of all, what about me? What'd you wanna know, Riley?" She hums, goading him.
"...family, work.. relationships.." He doesn't really know why his voice quietened down at the end, but she seems to know from that glint in her eyes
"Well, neither of us really had a good relationship with our parents, right?" She sighs, swirling the glass in her hand, the ice clinking on the sides, "but it's gotten better for me, I guess. Work is boring as hell, stupid office job, better than nothing," she hums, taking a sip, her eyes dart to Simon’s, "and not seeing anyone."
The conversation quietly dies down, they sit side by side at the bar counter, her nails are somehow on his forearm, scratching it lightly, his eyes haven't stopped studying her face since they've started talking, she looks different. In a good way. More mature. He doesn't feel like he's going to be bumped into in the hallway and be met with her laughter when he glares at her.
"Your hair... is different." He comments
"I'm sure yours is too under that horrendous mask. Why are you wearing that anyway? Acne scars?" She teases, her hand goes up to the mask, tracing the skull from the side
"Don't push it." He mutters.
She laughs, and her hand lands on Simons thigh,
"You always had horrible acne. At least it gave your face some colour, right?" You tease softly
"You're no looker either," he retorts
"Mhm, is that why you can't stop staring?"
He doesn't say anything, still staring at you, you look.. so soft. Your face is done up, some makeup, that colourful shit people put on their eyelids, your lips look full, the way your clothes hug your body, his eyes dip down to the cleavage, his hands itching to grab your belly, he wants to lean down and press you against the counter in a heated kiss, shut your stupid mouth up, but alas he looks back at his drink, his mind scrambling with thoughts that would make a nun pass out.
“You weren't bad looking though, I'm sure you've grown into your face.” You say softly, “even if the only thing I can see is your eyes.” Stupid smile on your face again, your hands fiddling with his fingers,
"So, simon... You wanna get outta here?"
"Yes."
You grab his arm and stumble out the bar with him, giggling, drinks on your tab, he forgets to even look back at the boys but he can see them in the corner of his eyes, Johnny's thumbs up and Kyle's grin.
You smile, looking up at him, "fuck, still can't believe how big you've gotten, riley."
"You haven't even seen all of it yet," he mutters in your ear, low.
"Oh, you can make jokes now, huh?," you muse, wrapping your arms around his while you two walk, "I remember when little ol' riley wouldn't even talk."
He doesn't respond, staring you down like a hawk, you look up at him and grin, he feels his heart thump, he can hear it in his ears... he wishes it didn't.
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rating: 18+. mdni.
content: murder, noncon, haechan x reader
note: for @revehae because she came to mind while i typed this 🫶🏼
haechan liked yours best and seems like everyone else did, too. views, sales, and praise unlike what he had seen before. the numbers rising so fast he could hardly keep up. he felt satisfied and proud, it was a strange sensation in his chest that he wasn't used to, but he couldn't help it. you were just perfect. haechan believes you'll always linger in his mind, the subject of his favorite creation.
his movies are amateur, but he thinks that is what makes them so desirable. most of the ones he came across feature high-quality cameras, blinding lights, specialized tools, and expensive disguises. but haechan's are shot on his outdated cellphone, his face concealed by a cheap plastic mask, an almost transparent white that he thinks resembled some sort of canvas, perfect for him to keep after it was all over. a little canvas for his work, splattered with unique patterns of crimson blood.
his movies take place in a stereotypical van, lined with thin blankets and flat pillows, natural light beaming through the dirt-splattered windows because haechan could never wait for dark. sometimes, the camera was propped on various objects, slanted or facing the ceiling, leaving only the sound of his lightly distorted laughing backing screams of terror, as the real show commenced.
haechan had known he would like yours most.
he had always liked the sound of your voice. the way you'd call out to him with a steaming cup in hand every morning. he just yearned to hear it beneath him, bouncing off metal walls, and eventually, blaring through the speakers of his computer. he was correct, of course. your screeches were like those in his favorite horror films, making his heart race and his pants tighten. the deep inhale as your chest heaved when he pushed himself into you with nothing more than a lazy trickle of saliva to help him glide inside. the sticky, wet noises that grew louder with each brutal movement of his hips.
haechan always liked the color of your skin, too. the way it looked against the tones of your clothing, complimented the metals of your jewelry, and blanketed the rest of your enticing frame, each curve and dip colored in that perfect shade. it looked even better when it was painted crimson. each slow and intended slice splitting your skin, allowing it to part and expose the pink interior that flooded with red liquid. the droplets of your blood rolling down your sides, your cheeks, your arms, and his favorite, your neck.
haechan was always one to play with his toys. each drawn out second exciting him, filling him with with the desire to do more. to draw out a new reaction, a new cry, plead, or facial expression.
he had decided to deceive you, something he had never done before. he let his voice shake as he babbled apology after apology, the sound distorted by plastic. he was so sorry. he just couldn’t control it. what could he do to make it up to you?
you hadn’t believed him, but you had played along anyway, claiming to accept his remorseful words. you took his hand, trembling as he helped you up. he covered up a snort with a sniffle, watching you like a predator on prey as you used the last of your strength to inch away from him. your fingers had grazed the fabric of your clothing, your eyes hesitantly leaving his figure.
haechan’s tongue darted between his cracked lips as he delivered the last blow. the loud sound gone as fast as it had begun, ending with a dwindling wheeze through your mouth. he even liked the silence afterward, the quiet singing of birds, and his satisfied sigh as he leaned back, putting his weight on his heels.
from that moment, haechan knew he would like yours most. his favorite movie star.
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What if Guillermo worked at Hooters instead of Panera and Sean invited them to a Superbowl party 10 years earlier? Co-written and directed by @phasmama
(ID in alt and under cut)
1a. A label at the top says 2009. Nandor stands on a dark background, wearing his travel cloak and humming thoughtfully, hand on his chin. In a thought bubble, he recalls words from Laszlo: "Our new neighbor Sean has invited us to a Superb Owl party." And Nadja: "So you better bring a nice gift and not embarrass us in front of the owl!" 1b. The thought bubble disappears, revealing a Hooters restaurant in the distance behind it. Nandor turns his head and notices it.
2. Shot from inside the restaurant as Nandor slams the door open, announcing "Hello! May I enter your owl establishment?"
3. Full body of Guillermo, walking past wearing a gold watch, Hooters tank top, orange booty shorts, white socks and sneakers, and a teeny black apron holding a notebook and a few pens. He has a few menus in his hands and turns his head towards the new arrival, saying "Oh, uh. Yeah? We're open."
4. Shot over Nandor's shoulder. Guillermo catches himself and turns toward him fully, awkwardly stuttering "Uh. I mean. Welcome to Hooters! One for dinner?" Nandor, staring somewhere in the vicinity of Guillermo's hips with purple cheeks, replies "...Yes, please."
5. They walk in profile, Guillermo in front still holding the menus. His cheeks are slightly flushed as he glances back at the man behind him, a thought bubble from his head holding a photo of Antonio Banderas as Armand. Nandor stalks closely after him, blatantly staring at his ass with a clear dotted line connecting his gaze.
6. Guillermo turns with a smile and sweeps his arm out, saying "Here you are, sir! Can I start you off with-" Nandor interrupts him, shouting out in all caps "COME WITH ME TO A SUPERB OWL PARTY TOMORROW."
7. Guillermo clutches the menus to his chest and stares up at Nandor, cheeks blushing red. Without much thought, he says "...Okay." Text nearby points to him and says self preservation goes to zero around a hot guy'. Nandor smiles down at him, pleased.
8. Later, Guillermo is laying in bed at home in the dark and holding his phone above his face. In the background is a screenshot of the Wikipedia page for American football that he's studying. He thinks to himself, "This is a terrible idea..."
9. The next night. Laszlo and Nadja stand together facing Nandor, who has Guillermo tucked just behind him. Nadja scowls and gestures angrily at the human, snapping "Nandor, you plonker! The owl cannot eat a whole human!!" Then, less confidently, "Can he??" Laszlo continues in his usual unflappable manner, "If not, I hope you brought enough for everyone." Nandor, affronted and purple in the cheeks, snaps back "Guillermo is not for eating! Not by the owl and not by you." He gestures to his guest with one imperious hand. "But he has brought wings of chicken that I am sure will appease a great bird of prey." Guillermo is indeed holding a Tupperware box in both hands, eyes wide and gazing blankly into the middle distance as he thinks to himself "Definitely a mistake." /end ID
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Shrike: How to Train Your Exorcist
[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]
[One shot, word count 1425, Cw: mild cursing]
—————
There was barely a month before Extermination Day. The Hazbin Hotel was packed for the first time with residents; cannibals and your avian demons, preparing to defend against the exorcists. The cannibals were used to ripping their prey to shreds. They needed practice hitting weak spots and wielding angelic weapons instead of their teeth and claws.
Your flock had flight and agility but the majority relied on hit and run tactics. They needed to learn not to dash off but continue their attack. Fortunately a couple of your followers had a more hawk-like design and the hunting ability to match. And you of course had the look of a butcher bird; you had plenty of experience taking down opponents.
“Alright you lot! We’ve got techniques you need to learn if you’re going to last longer than thirty seconds on extermination day. Angels are used to being unopposed in the air; they fly down, attack, then fly off to their next victim. So we take advantage of that.” You paced in front of the gathered demons.
You were short, but most of your people weren’t much bigger. “Exorcists aren’t going to be looking above themselves for targets. Even a small fighter diving at high speed can knock their target out of the sky. If we can grab and spin them, we might even break bones when they hit the ground.”
Some of the more delicate members of the group looked at each other dubiously. “Not to mention, they don’t fight together. They hunt down targets individually. Which means we can team up against them.” Now they looked more curious. “We don’t even have to make direct contact; two or more of us diving right next to them at top speed is going to hit them with our wakes. Knock them off balance and they’ll be easy targets for Pentious’ ranged weapons.
“We’re all going to have angelic steel weapons. Slash at them as you dive by, you might hit limbs or a wing. If you’re lucky, you’ll hit the neck. Ultimately, our goal is to disrupt them in the sky and get them to where the cannibals can finish them off. Now, let’s start with diving runs.”
You ended up holding multiple target dummies aloft with little whirlwinds. The demons weren’t very accurate at first, but they picked up the concept quickly. Before the week was out, more than half were knocking the dummies off their perches and almost all were trying weapons during their dives.
Alastor was doing his own preparations, but he did help setting up the targets. His tentacles held them in place when you needed a break. He also amused himself by making surprise attacks to keep the fliers on their toes.
You hauled Husk over at least once a day to join the flight group. He still didn’t like having wings, but you pointed out he needed every advantage he could get. And you knew how rusty the former Overlord was. So you shoved him right into the lot for practice.
The one you couldn’t get a hold of was Vaggie. She was spending all her time instructing the cannibals, then working with Charlie after. You’d seen her new wings and according to her royal girlfriend, the former exorcist had been in Hell for years. If Husk was rusty, Vaggie likely was too.
Ten days before the early Extermination, you walked up to Vaggie after the group’s lunch break. “Let’s leave the troops to Charlie for the afternoon, ma petite. You’re overdue for some time with me.” You linked your arm in hers and essentially dragged her with you. Charlie tried to come with you, but you waved her off. “Not to worry princess, I’ll give her back in one piece!”
“What the hell are you doing?” Vaggie didn’t really sound angry, just annoyed at your pushiness.
“I am giving you something you badly need.” You brought her to a patch of grass near your flock’s training area. You had told everyone to clear out of the sky in this area; this wasn’t a group session. “You’ve got those pretty new wings, cher. Let’s prove they’re not decorative, hm?”
With that you launched into the sky, hovering about twenty feet above the ground. “I know how to fly, Y/N.” Her voice turned harsher than usual as she joined you. “And Carmilla already showed me how to fight angels.”
You smiled, got a bit more altitude, and raced past her in a dive that sent her spinning in the air. “Carmilla, for all her skill and charm, is sadly limited by gravity,” you said, pulling out of your dive. You grabbed Vaggie’s arm as you passed her again, this time pulling her up with you. You brought her face close to your own. “We are not.” Before she could respond, you grabbed her shirt, spun her in the air and threw her toward the ground.
She managed to get control and brake before she hit the ground. “Allons’y cher. You know how to beat angels?” You summoned a stiletto in each hand. “Let’s make sure you can beat them where they feel strongest; the sky.” Vaggie pulled out her spear before launching herself at you.
She was right; she did know how to fly and fly well. It seemed flying was like riding a bike, you never really forgot. But she was also out of practice and had never sparred with someone like you. Someone willing to fight dirty, with tooth, talon, wings, and every bit of strength in your small frame.
That first day, she could barely touch you. But by the end of the day you could tell she was getting more fluid before the tiredness set in. She had a grin on her face as she begrudgingly said, “Okay, you’ve got a point. I need practice.”
“So you’ll be here tomorrow afternoon?” She rolled her eye and agreed before finding Charlie. You stretched your wings out and Alastor manifested behind you. “Looking like you were enjoying yourself today my dear.”
“I did, cher. Husk refuses to spar with me and none of our followers can quite keep up. Despite the situation, it’s fun to find someone who can.” You smiled up at him and placed your hand in his outstretched one. His shadows enveloped you, delivering you to the hotel suite.
Alastor led you to the table and pulled out your chair. “We’ve hardly been able to spend time together recently. Will you let me have your attention for the night my dear?”
“Gladly, darling.” After dinner (gumbo that reminded you of quiet nights both in the living world and Hell), the two of you relaxed on the couch together. You each had a book to read; the only sounds were the turning of pages and the chirps and drones from the bayou. Just being in each other’s presence helped calm your nerves about the upcoming battle.
The following week was packed with training and preparing the hotel’s grounds for the attack. Vaggie showed up every day after lunch to practice with you. As a former exorcist, she was experienced with various weapons already. She picked up on your style without too much difficulty.
Two days before the deadline, she grappled you in midair. Her remaining eye glowed as she continued her movement, spinning you with her own body as the axis. Like you had to her the first day, she flung you to the ground, her rotation giving the throw more force.
Too close to brake, you resorted to cushioning your fall with wind. Once your head stopped spinning, you looked up at her and started clapping. “Well done, cher!” You rustled your feathers, getting everything back into place before taking to the air again. “Now, let’s make sure you can do it again.”
It turned out she could. Neither of you could manage too many in a row without getting a wicked headache. But Vaggie had a grasp of everything you could show her in those ten days. Much of what you had practiced together was new for her, meaning it was one more way to catch the angels off guard.
Inevitably, Extermination Day arrived. You waited with the rest of the defenders. Vaggie had her wings hidden for now; none of her former comrades knew she could fly again and she wanted it to be a trump card.
Golden light rained down, Vaggie rallied those around her with Charlie, you and yours took to the sky to teach the rest of the exorcists a lesson.
——————
@whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry
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