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running-with-kn1ves · 2 months

Note

hii! i wanted to ask if you could do a yandere kidnapper x yandere darling? like rich depressed yan that can't imagine living without their darling and ended up taking drastic action, only to find out that darling is way more insane and obsessed passionate than they thought

A/N: I've never been super big on the yan x yan trope but I think this came out kinda cool! Hope this is what you were looking for <3

Synopsis: Sneaking into your beloved's bedroom bent on getting pictures for your stash, you're quickly found by him, who's surprisingly enthusiastic to find you breaking in.

CW: Kidnapping, mutual obsession, shrine dedications, murder (offscreen lol)

WC:3000+

“Nice… new pics for the blog.”

Your camera click click clicked with a shutter noise each time you rapid fired its capture button, eye so close to the screen you might as well be looking through the viewfinder solely itself.

“I can see it now… his unkept bedroom revealed, beautiful little face plastered beside this… heap.”

You looked at the pile of dirty clothes that had yet to be picked up by the estate's cleaning ladies. Well, if you were as filthy rich as he was, you’d probably do the same. Who would waste time cleaning their room when you have the whole world to see? Or in his case, a million press conferences to attend.

Your eye was drawn to a slightly ajar closet, an odd lock seeming to have been hastily unfastened, now leaving the doors peeking open. Something red was inside. Oh boy, you could hardly contain your excitement.

What kind of secrets would the famous, wealthy heir Elijah Walsh have in his teensy private closet? Mayhaps some drag dress up that no fan would expect? Dead bodies? Or even, the rumored cocaine stash his poor daddy was accused of hiding?

You knew Elijah like the back of your hand, unable to imagine any kind of hidden truths that you haven't already discovered. For you, a superfan, (and ultimately, the soulmate he doesn't know about yet) were aware of far more than the average tabloid who didn’t cross trespassing boundaries for love like you had.

You ripped open the doors without hesitation, snapping pics before even turning the light on.

But what you saw, was something you weren’t sure you’d want to keep on camera.

It was you. Well, a picture of you, from some yearbook or singled-out group shot that you couldn’t pinpoint the exact year from. Around your awkward grinning face was a series of items, pinned on a pretty red board like it was a crime scene of sorts. Or maybe… a shrine?

“What the f… is that my underwear??” You looked at the old pair of stretched out undies you had since middle school. Definitely not the pair you’d want some kind of stalker or investigator to get their hands on.

You saw a few old chapsticks taped to the board, one of which you had been searching for in some old bag you swore you left it in. “I was looking for those!” You grabbed the chapstick and a broken brush, the exact same you thought you had thrown away months ago.

Out of all the things you hoped to find-- used Q-tips, one of his musky jackets, maybe even some dark sex toys-- this wasn’t on your list. But you couldn’t help the spike in your heart, the flutter that made your toes point inward.

You had been running this journalist (really a stalker-ish) blog on Elijah since before he got big in the press. You went to the same elementary school and for a short time in middle school, and ever since you couldn’t get his name out of your head. Now, you had a justified reason to keep tabs on him, since his family was currently in the public eye for a variety of deeds.

Along with professing your obsession with him since childhood, your blog dated the shocking events of his controversies-- keeping it all under an anonymous pen name, of course. You had information news sites couldn’t get their hands on; the dedication you put into watching him was a trait of pride you could never let go.

Memories of him comforted you at night, and seeing his pretty face in the grocery store magazines hoarded under your bed made you drift off to daydream land where, maybe, you’d be more than just some heavy breathing keyboard jammer fawning over him from a distance..

And here was, you. Your things. In his room. Even from the times you climbed the tree beside his window, you never saw this… anomaly of items.

“What’s this even… mean.” You whispered, dumfounded and growing antsy. Elijah would be coming back now any second, the route of his driver dinging on your phone.

‘Wait.. does he, know? That I’ve been watching him? Is this all evidence to… incriminate me??’

Worry was creeping up inside of you. But there was no time, not when a heavy vase clunked against your head from behind, letting out a resounding ‘crack!’ from the contact. The chapstick fell from your fingers, camera sliding with you as it lingered loose around your neck.

The last thing you could think of before darkness hit, was ‘man, I hope I don’t fall on my camera… can’t replace it again. ‘

The unconscious darkness blinding your eyes was snuffed out what seemed hours later, replaced by a buzzing yellow light hanging from the ceiling. You groaned outloud, feeling groggy; an aching pain throbbed in your slumped neck and a sore bump on your scalp.

‘Got a killer headache…’

You tried to pull your hands up to the bump to feel for a bruise, but fell flat with your arms tucked behind your back. You jerked them around, not realizing that they in fact were stuck together-- tied by rope, or some kind of fabric.

“Thank god, you’re awake. Thought maybe I hit you too hard-- I don’t know what i’d do if that happened.” A familiar voice rang out in the musty, echoing room.

“What…?” You croaked, trying to look up without facing the wrath of your headache the more light entered your eyes.

“Here, drink some water.”

A bottle came in front of you, so close to your lips all you had to do was bend down to touch it. You did so without thinking, tasting the sandpaper of a tongue you were stuck with. As soon as the cool water touched your throat, you thought about potential poisoning. Who was this person bottle-feeding you water, why couldn’t you do it yourself??

You were too thirsty to care about the consequences, gulping it down as the bottle lifted higher to accommodate you.

Letting out a pant, you sat back, trying to rub water off your lip with a shoulder shimmy.

“Where am I? What’s going on--” It all started to come back to you, being in Elijah’s room, trespassing on private property, seeing the closet hoard of you. “Wait, please don’t report me, I promise it isn’t what you think it was…”

“Report you?” The masculine tone scoffed, a hand falling to your shoulder. “I was worried I’d never get a chance like this… you made it so easy, how’d you get in? The window?”

“...Yeah.” You sheepishly replied, looking up at your captor. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

Oh shit. That was Elijah right in front of you. In the flesh, pretty pearly teeth grinning only inches away from your face as his hand rested on your left shoulder, gently massaging it.

“Is your head okay? I feel bad but.. I wasn’t thinking, could only think about how to keep you here.”

Keep you here? Oh no, does that mean the police are on their way??

“Now.. I don’t have to worry about sending people out to your apartment anymore.. No more security cameras, no more blackmail… just you.” He stroked the side of your cheek that was inflamed from falling against the floor. “Damn. I thought i’d have to go through the trouble of taking you in the middle of the night, I had just sent my driver out for my tools too- but, looks like that’s not even an issue anymore!”

Well, sounds like your fears about the cops was no where near the truth. But now, you were even more confused. Taking you? Stalking? Blackmail? It almost felt like you were listening to yourself talk for a second.

Behind the dark glare covering his eyes, you could see Elijah’s trademark dimples, his pinkish lips covering the slight overbite he had, constantly showing off his front few teeth. You knew those downturned eyes were there somewhere, even with their shine dulled by the shadows of what looked to be a dark cellar around you.

His hair was unkempt, thick, dark strands covering his ears and going so far to the base of his neck. Wow, you had never seen him look so scruffy, even when watching from outside, seeing him brush his teeth in shirtless pajamas. He looked worried, shirt untucked and pants wrinkled as he ran a hand through his hair.

“And I’m sorry to say.. But don’t even think about trying to run away now. I made up my mind long ago, and if I find out that--”

“Urk, I wasn’t planning on it. I saw, the uh, dedication board. Or, shrine?”

At that, Elijah stopped. His baby blue eyes went wide for a moment, forgetting that was where he originally found you until now.

You hid your head down in discomfort.

“I have the same one…of you, in my apartment… in a box under my bed. There’s even a piece of hair from middleschool that I c..ut, from you.” You held back a nauseous gag at the admission. But here you were, this was your chance to prove how much you loved him, how much dedication you put towards understanding his every move, every like and dislike, the intricacies of his family history. “Do you know why I was in your room?” You asked, wondering if he already had seen your worship blog.

Elijah took a step back, lowering to sit on a pulled out fold-up chair across from you. His knees touched yours, still dressed in his black slacks and matching loafers, rolled up sleeves on his cream-colored button up that showed he had taken liberties to get more comfortable for the night.

“I’ll be honest I hadn’t contemplated that… just about how perfect of a chance it was, that you-- my uh, small, obsession since fifth grade.. Was here.” He looked down, a small red tint creeping from his cheeks to the rest of his face. He was bright crimson, like a kid again confessing to his crush behind the bleachers. “But you remember me?? From so long ago? I can’t… Its hard to imagine, i’ve been watching you for years and thought you had completely forgotten about me.”

“Are you kidding?” You watched Elijah rub his eyes, trying to hide his face behind his knuckles. “You’re all over the news, even if I wanted to avoid you. But I haven’t stopped following your every move since, I can’t remember. Every house change, new school, shopping trip with your mother… anytime I was free I dedicated it to watching you, or my--”

You cut yourself off, stepping one foot off into the deep end on a subject you desperately wanted kept hidden.

“If I knew any better I’d say you sound like a bit of a stalker.” Elijah tried to hide his grin behind his hand, leaning forward to get a closer look at you. “What were you going to say?”

“My…blog.”

“Blog?” He parroted.

“It’s a…. Dedication blog. To you.”

“Oh, like an obsessed fan?” He jeered, laughing with bright teeth as he braced his shaking from on his knee. “Don’t tell me-- you snuck in here for content to your blog?”

“No-! Well, yes. But some of it was going in my private stash…” You pouted, knowing you’d never get that chance again now that you’ve been discovered. Your days of fawning were going to come to a close.

“So you must be the one who keeps finding a way to get pictures when I never see any reporters around. By, breaking into my home.”

“That sounds really bad.. But I promise I wasn’t going to try to steal, or hurt you!”

That only made him laugh harder.

“I can’t… can’t believe I never saw you..” He wheezed, face flushed as you sat rotting in embarrassment and shame. “I had drivers chase after you for hours when you disappeared-- but you were five steps behind me the entire time!”

Drivers… your brain clicked two and two together as he tried to stop from giggling while hunched over.

“...Drivers?” You question. No way this is what yout thought it was.”So you’ve been spying on me?”

“Don’t sound so offended, little stalker,” He settled down, a permanent smile still on his mouth as he dragged the steel chair somehow closer. “ You’ve been hard to catch, but i’ve been keeping tabs on you, as unseemingly as it is. I couldn’t do it myself but I wanted to make sure you were, okay. Before it was safe to bring you home. Though I had nothing to fear about you forgetting me at all!”

You swallowed, mouth having gone back to a dry desert as you contemplated what this all meant. YOUR Elijah was spying on you in your home? Sending out underlings to watch and make sure you were safe? The man who you’d lay your life down for? You fantasized, imagining him at your window, you-- freshly out of the shower…

“What do you mean by home? You don’t mean.. Here, in the estate, right?”

Elijah observed you so fully, it made you nervous. He had never given someone this much attention in interviews, nonetheless in the photos and videos you managed to snap of him alone. And he was looking at you, with those eyes.

You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Smelling his sandalwood with his knees pressing against yours, his finely ironed shirt toned against him-- right here, in the flesh. You always thought you’d be at a distance, never able to come in contact with him.. And now, you were tied up in his family’s wine cellar.

“Of course my darling. Where else? I can’t possibly send you back to that dungeon of an apartment. And you,” He stood, intent on coming closer. “Came in so willingly, huh? Didn’t think you’d return my love so… earnestly.”

“W-well who said anything about staying?” You sputtered, looking at his eyes glower in an exceedingly dark fashion. “I mean…. You love me? I’d accepted I’d never be seen by you but… you’ve been watching, the entire time?”

He stood up from his chair with a slight creak, causing your neck to strain upwards to look at him. A small touch caressed the end of your chin, his finger smoothening as it lifted your head to meet his gaze.

He hummed, Elijah’s eyes full of an expression you’ve never seen him wear before. Something in the mix of a sentimental possession, and a lover. But it was so tender, you couldn’t look away. It was so safe, so familiar. You recognized that look in the mirror, visible in your own eyes when you planted kisses on his printed photo taped to your vanity.

“Haven’t been able to keep you off my mind since you plucked that leaf off of my spoiled head. Love doesn’t even begin to describe it. I need, you.”

His gaze was so genuine, your eyes soothed by the glazed over grin he gave you, leaning down to hunch on his knees to be closer to you.

“I…” You breathed, wondering if this was a dream. “I’ve wanted you to see me.. for so long. Is this real?”

You stopped working. There was no chance that he had been watching you, wondering and waiting for you to recognize him, when you were longing for his attention, having convinced yourself long ago you’d only be able to possess him from a distance.

Soft fingers that hadn’t worked a day in their lives creeped up your knees, Elijah’s face only inches away as his eyelids lowed, looking sultry as he watched you squirm.

“I pray it’s not.” He exhaled.

“...Well, I’m not staying tied up in this chair, no matter how much you beg. Though… I can’t say I’d mind staying with you. Being with you.. Here, together.”

“Good. It wasn’t really a matter of choice, anyway.” He grinned, pressing a slow kiss to your cheek.

You involuntarily hummed in content, pressing closer to his lips as you arched out of the chair, longing to touch his warm body. He was kissing you; somebody get you out of these ropes before you jump the man.

Elijah couldn’t help but grin like a maniac, drugged on the way you relished his touch and pressed your chest forward to him. He rushed kisses to your chin, bites to your ear and licks to your neck with a groan.

But a sudden stop brought your blissfully closed eyes to an open.

“I’m sorry… want you too much, it’s getting to the better of me.”

“I’m not sorry,” You mumble, hoping that if this was a dream, you wouldn’t ever wake up. “Please, don’t stop.. I’ve killed for this, don’t stop now.”

“You tempt me too much,” He chuckles, gripping the sides of your chair seat to stablize himself leering over you. “So lucky you were my little creepy stalker, and no one else’s. Wouldn’t be able to control myself otherwise.”

“Stalker, murderer of your old lovers… I have many names.” You joked, but the bitterness on your tongue remembering those placeholders you got rid of was sour.

“Many talents, too.” Elijah’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re the one that caused my fiances to dissapear? I wondered how they kept doing that,” He looked keenly, seeing right through your little ‘joke’. “Even I couldn’t shoo my mothers’ arranged partners away.”

You tried to look away, embarrassment showing on the way you bit your lips clean and your heartbeat wrapped. “I did it in your name…. I couldn’t stand them thinking they were worth being so close and casual with you! It was infuriating every time I saw it I-- I just couldn’t take it anymore. Even if it meant I’d never have you.”

Elijah buried himself in your hair, holding you tight. The squeeze was so personable, hungry and desperate to hold all of you.

“You have me now, you have me completely. I want you-- what a favor you have done, and you hadn’t even known.”

It felt so good, praised for such hard and hateful work you carried out. Their bodies were mangled, your rage manifesting in the corpses buried under the old golf course near your dingy apartment complex-- and he was happy you did it. Oh, you wanted to hold him, to smell him fully. These binds were stopping you from caressing the lover, the dream you had fantasized holding you to sleep so often, spooning the jackets and dresshirts of his musk in replacement for comfort.

Elijah still snickered in your ear, playing with the tips of your hair.

“But now, I have to see this blog. I’m too curious-- though I can’t say seeing it will help my small obsession for you. A stalking blog-- too cute.”

You were still so shameful of it, now that he brought it up. You didn’t want your soulmate to see the virtual shrine you had dedicated to him, your unseemly thoughts and hungry urges that were far too detailed and graphic to be shared with their perpetrator. But what choice did you have? He’d find it, one way or another.

“F..fine. But you’d you atleast untie me now? My arms are getting sore.”

That seemed to cease his light-hearted expression, frowning against your skull as he inhaled the sweet scent of your hair. It was the same as he remembered, now a decade later.

“You’re not gonna try to leave, are you?” He murmured, caressing pinching your ear with a light tone. But something dangerous was held behind it. It was frightening.. But oh, as if the possessiveness didn’t fuel how much more your insides craved him.

“Do you think I’d really try to go anywhere? Not when you’re so accessible to me now.” You looked over. Elijah’s lashes looked so long up close, sweetly deadpanned eyes watching as if you were being tested, hunted.

He seemed to find your answer appealing, getting up and pulling something out of his back pocket. Leaning down once more, you saw the switchblade bobbing between his hands, a pretty and simple hunting blade. He leaned over you, pressing it against the knot above your wrists.

You focused on feeling for the blade as to not get cut, only for your attention to be pulled back to the spoiled one-percenters lips pressing yours directly. It was a shock, more than anything. You wished you had seen it coming, wish you had been better prepared to share your first kiss with your darling!

Elijah left your mouth nowhere to run as he pressed up against you, fervidly ensnaring your lips between his.

You gladly accepted the pull away for a second kiss, leaning up as much as you could while hiding your desperation. He was so soft, lips gentle and big as they enveloped your bitten ones.

“Sorry,” Elijah broke away slowly, not straying far. “I’ve wanted to do that for ages.” You watched his eyes stare wonders at your lips, fingers brushing against your trapped ones from behind as the task at hand was forgotten.

“Me too.” You uttered, pulling forward to kiss him again with an open, insatiable mouth.

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cower-before-power · 2 months

Text

Rest Easy, My Love

Pairing: Astarion x Fem Reader

Summary: Astarion is haunted by his painful memories more often than not, but you are always there to shelter him with your love.

Word Count: approx 1200

TW: Angst, hurt/comfort, allusions to Astarion's past, very very brief mention of Astarion unintentionally hurting reader, nightmares, slight dom reader/sub Astarion vibes (but nothing sexual), blood drinking

A/N: Had to write a little comfort piece for everyone's favourite vampire. He deserves peace and love and one big hug!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

The first whimper comes softly.

So soft, had you not already been awake, you wouldn’t have heard it. Your skin prickles, and you freeze, ears straining hard for another one.

It comes not a moment later, still hushed but more plaintive. A quiet gasp of pain follows it. You set your water cup down on the bedside table, eyebrows knitting together.

You’d left your lover trancing peacefully not 5 minutes prior, your parched throat calling for a trip to the kitchen for a drink. In that short time, his pleasant memories must have transformed, morphed into the horrors he’d suffered at the hands of his former master.

Even after months next to him, it doesn’t make it any easier. Or your heart bleed any less.

Your body turns towards your pale elf, his marble brow creased, his perfect mouth twisted. Reminders to approach this softly flit through your mind. You’d learned early on in your courtship that a loud voice and a rough shake was not the solution.

(Part of you was sure Astarion has never forgiven himself for that night, for when he awoke from shadows to find you gasping for breath beneath him. You hadn’t blamed him for a second, but his self loathing was a trench dug deep, and you could only fill it so much with your reassurances.)

“My love,” you call softly, gently. “My love, come back to me.”

Your hands tremble with the urge to touch him, but you restrain yourself. Astarion is mumbling now, pleas sewn in between gasps, fists closing tightly around the cool silk sheets. His whole being shakes with fear and despair.

Gods above, if you could murder Cazador all over again, you’d do it happily.

“Astarion,” you raise your voice the tiniest pinch, just enough to coax him, “wake up.”

The man beside you suddenly jerks upright, a harsh sob escaping his lips as blood red eyes fly open. He gulps lungfuls of unneeded air, and if he had a working heart, you’re sure it would be galloping fiercely.

“It’s only me, my love,” you coo, hands up in a gesture of peace. “It’s only me, and I won’t hurt you.”

“Cazador-“ Astarion chokes out, eyes darting wildly around the darkened room. “Cazador, no-“

“He’s dead, precious,” you affirm. “Dead and gone. There’s only me and you, safe and warm in our bed. Just us and the love we share.”

Red eyes focus on your face, and the glassy sheen begins to recede. “Dead?”

Slowly, carefully, you extend an open palm to him. He only flinches slightly-an improvement wrought through time and trust. Though it still stakes your heart. “Yes, he’s dead. Many months now.”

A single dewdrop slips down Astarion’s cheek. His eyes are wet with tears now, memories fading into the background. It is safe now to cup his face in your palm, to brush the moisture away with the pad of your thumb, to bestow on him a tender touch he needs. To your relief, he accepts your affection with a nuzzle into your palm.

“Darling?” his usually rich voice is hoarse and broken with pain. “You-You’re here?”

“It’s me,” you stroke his cheek reassuringly. “I’m here, precious. Right beside you. Always.”

Your arms open wide like the gates of the Heavens, and your vampire collapses into them.

Every sob that tears from him rips you apart; every tear that soaks your skin drowns you in sorrowful anger. How dare that cretin hurt your angel so? How dare he etch such monstrous events into Astarion’s soul? Cazador deserves to burn. You damn him to the very depth of the Hells, and even an eternity there isn’t enough to atone.

“Shhh, shhh,” you croon, fingers running through silver hair as your love weeps into your neck. “Shhh, precious boy. It’s alright. You’re safe with me. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You kiss his hair, stroke his ears, squeeze him gently in your embrace. While most of you rages and shatters, a part thrills at the display of trust you are shown. Moons ago, you’d get nothing but a huff and some clipped words- a denial of the need for comfort. But now, now you are allowed to see, to hear, to touch Astarion at his most vulnerable. And more so, you are granted the privilege of easing his agony.

Astarion’s teeth scrape against the soft skin of your neck, his hands clutching at your chest desperately.

“I need-I’m sorry, please-“ he gasps, unable to voice his desires. But you know him inside and out, and you know what he needs.

You shake your head. “Never apologize,” you say, baring your neck to him. “Take what you need, my love. I am yours, wholly and completely. Take of me, and forget.”

Astarion nearly whines with gratitude, and sinks his fangs into your soft flesh. Like a babe at its mother’s breast, he sucks to soothe, less for the gush of blood down his gullet and more for the peace your taste brings. You taste and smell of home, of repose from every dark thing that’s ever haunted him. It’s a gift you’d never dream of denying him.

“That’s it,” you whisper, nails scraping gently against his scalp, “that’s it, precious boy. My good, precious boy. My wonderful love, my little star worthy of everything good and bright in this world. My heart, my joy, my Astarion.”

His body shudders at your praise. You continue to murmur it softly to him as he drinks, cocooning him in your love as best you can. Maybe you are no doctor, no healer able to stitch wounds and mend gashes, but you will bathe every hurt in your devotion most blessed. And healing will continue.

After a few moments, Astarion slows his gulping, his delirious pants becoming softer, gentler. His teeth detach but he does not, his now warm mouth pressing thankful kisses into your neck.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he begs, and his arms wind around you like twin vices. “Don’t ever leave me alone.”

“Never,” you vow, and you’d swear it on all the graves of your ancestors. “You will always have my love, precious. And I’ll always be here to chase away the dark. No god, man or monster will ever be able to tear me from you.”

Your vampire sighs, and the sound is full of shaky contentment. He sinks further into your softness, eyes slipping close as exhaustion takes its hold.

“I love you,” he murmurs, a last sentiment before he succumbs to actual sleep. You whisper your own feelings back, willing every syllable to etch itself into his very being. That your lover would be able to feel and grasps the depths of your devotion. That four little words can watch over him and protect him and turn his dreams sweet.

You know when he wakes again, none of this will be spoken of. He’ll act like this didn’t happen, like his rest was nothing but bliss. He’ll kiss you awake, teasing and light, his playful demeanor firmly back in place. But there will be love and gratitude in his eyes, and your own will affirm you’ll do it all over again, and again, and again. Until the dark no longer cuts, until the memories fade and burn to ash, until his smile always reaches his eyes.

For in your love, Astarion will come to rest easy.

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin x you #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 x reader #my writing

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bigfatbimbo · 2 months

Note

Hello! I recently found your blog through you Lute stuff and because I'm unreasonably gay for that woman, I have a hurt/comfort idea for you.

Lute picking at/pulling her feathers out when she's stressed/upset and her partner (maybe even f!sinner 👀) just gently stopping her and running her fingers over the wings to soothe the pain from it. All while reassuring Lute that she's okay, she's safe and she's perfect.

That's all, thank you for your time and your writing!

you up for a fight? —

827 Words,, Lute x reader

warnings — hurt/comfort, mention of rivalry, light angst, nothing too heavy, not entirely proofread

summary — Lutes rivalry with a sinner is put on hold when she can’t find them one extermination day. Fearing the worst, she freaks out and looks for them.

a/n — Anyways I made it my rival sinner au because I wanted too and felt like it sorry brother.

She couldn’t find you. After a whole year of waiting to fight you, fuck, to see you, she couldn’t find you.

You were her rival, and only that. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t getting worked up over your disappearance. She trained to fight you, a talented sinner, and best you. But she didn’t expect her favorite demon opponent to be gone without a trace.

Lute felt a loss for air, at your absence. She zipped throughout the entire ring, scavenging for any trace of you. Had some other angel got to you? Were you hurt? Was it worse than hurt?

Her breath started to hitch and her soldier attitude dropped into panicked hysterics. And her thirst for victory against you became a desperate need to see you in tact and in good health.

Finally, she dropped into an empty building near your usual meetup spot. It was completely abandoned, making it the perfect spot to collect herself.

However, she did the exact opposite. The pressure on her to be the perfect soldier had finally became too much and she was spiraling.

Gasping for air, pacing the empty space, and picking at her feathers to no avail. You were dead, she thought. You were gone for good and it’s all because she didn’t get there first. So much for being an amazing soldier. God she was a screwup. How could she let this—

“Lute?”

She stopped in her tracks, turning to you slowly, and running towards you, “Y/n!”

You brace for combat, expecting a strike with her spear or a blow to your head, but instead, find her arms thrown around your neck.

“I thought you were gone,” she said loudly, voice breaking, “That some cunt angel got to you or— or—“

“Hey, it’s okay. Lute, fuck.” you take a moment to adjust to the soft touch, considering it to be a trap, before finally wrapping your arms around her waist, “I’m here, I’m safe, it’s alright.”

You weren’t expecting such a warm welcome in all honesty. And, a part of you mourned the loss of a fight. However, your heart went out to Lute and her strong reaction.

There was no denying that on a certain level, you two were extremely close. How many years have you been trying to kill each-other? Obviously enough for one of you to be crying at the thought of anyone else finishing the job.

And, there was no denying you’ve had softer moments before. Well, nothing to this extent but, just soft enough to form some kind of emotional bond.

“All because—“ her voice is rough and raspy, but thick with tears and anguish, “—because I wasn’t quick enough. I couldn’t find you, it’s my fault.”

She pulled back from you and paced slightly as she rambled on about ‘not being good enough’ and her fingers picked roughly at her feathers.

“Hey—“ you try but fail to get her attention, “Hey! Stop!” your hand grabs hers and stops it from moving. Meeting her eyes, you take her other hand much more gently and caress her knuckle.

“You’re doing perfect. You didn’t do anything wrong, Lute.” her eyes widen as she looks at you, face still stroked with tears, “You are good enough. I mean— fuck. You found me, right?”

You smile slightly her way, earning an empty stare. Instead, you pull her into another hug and caress her back softly.

“I’m proud of you, yknow? After all, takes a lot to get someone actually excited for extermination day,” she buries her faces in your neck as you speak, “It’s alright. We’re alone. We don’t have to fight, we can just take it easy.”

Then, like a switch was flipped, she snaps her body away from you. For a moment, just meeting your eyes, she breathes softly. Finally, she snaps out of what ever panic she was in, well, to the best for her ability, and brushes herself off.

Clearing her throat, she grimaced. “I apologize for that outburst, demon. I guess i’ve had a stressful day,” she looks up at you as if remembering something urgent, “Oh, and I didn’t mean whatever I said. Hysterics.”

She went to clarify more but she felt it stupid, What would she say? ‘Oh yeah, I wasn’t actually worried about you dying. In fact I want you dead!’ Not only was that tacky, it wasn’t entirely true.

You stopped her from furthering this, “It’s fine, Lute. You were upset. I won’t hold you to it. And hey, if you are in better spirits and don’t mind me asking, are you up for a fight?”

She almost smiled at this thought. Fighting was something she knew, unlike the terrible feeling she just had. It was almost as if the sentence was perfectly calculated to comfort her.

Before she drew her weapon she could feel the smile spreading on her face. Was she up for a fight? The answer was simple; with you, always.

a/n — I’m so sleepy, I proofread this but i’m so tired I literally don’t know if it’s coherent.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel #inbox open #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin lute #lute x reader #lute hazbin hotel #rival lute

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 2 months

Text

Crinkled Polaroids

Ex-boyfriend!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Hi my lovelies, Lia here and I'd just like to say that this took so long and so much effort, I really poured my heart out on this one and I hope it goes well. Recently my biggest heartbreaks are the "What ifs", what if you two worked it out? Would things be different? Would Simon have the life you've dreamed for the both of you and the one he's been deprived of?

You might be asking me "Lia, what's up with all the angsty content recently, aren't you a fluff dedicated blog?" Well I feel ill, I just got off an extremely busy week and most of my drafts have been never ending angst because I lost ideas of a domestic fam with Simon but I still need to get something out for you guys okay? A random bedtime scenario written down at 3am and for the rest of my midnights during a photoshoot and exam week, what could go wrong?

I'm still waiting on what my beloved @connorsui's review has to say 👀

Disclaimers/Warnings: This is not proofread, also ANGST.

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000

A relationship with Simon Riley going south, at first it started great as most relationships do with several minor bumps due to his past but no big deal right?

But Simon distances himself, more than what's healthy and yes, you do give him his space but there's only little time until closing and distancing off for a while could turn into something like neglect.

Little things like "I love you"s, "thank you"s and every verbal affirmation that you used to think you could cling onto was now non-existent, it hurts but isn't as hurtful when he refuses to touch you.

Back hugs you give would only give you a cold shrug in return, kisses you left were on cold chapped lips that remain still. At this point, you were better off loving someone dead.. then again, aren't you already doing so?

The life you've imagined for the both of you cease to fade in your head as the true reality of the man you love sets in, that dumb idea your younger self who had rose tinted glasses had to actually settle down with someone in such a short period of time of a few years.

You felt so unappreciated, it seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get him to see you. You felt cheated of the relationship you were supposed to have with him when you see others with the one you love and how he acts around everyone except you. You felt like nothing but a chore to him, an occasional fuck who cleans his home.

Then again, this is a broken man, you felt entitled to ask such a thing of him when he himself is also just healing from what his past had caused.

In Simon's eyes, he was doing you a favor, fucked up in his part thinking hurting you is the best way to save you from himself. It worked, that's what he wanted.. right?

So you leave, it was best for the both of you anyway right? Simon deserves someone who could actually make him happy and you deserve to feel loved in a relationship. Simon's life was a mess, truly, but he didn't realize how much more of a mess it was without you.

Coming home to an empty shell of a house, nothing to look forward to. He found himself almost on the brink of insanity, moving things all over his own home as if you were still there.

Always finding himself staring at that one wornout and creased polaroid of you and him, you were a silly one huh? A hobby of yours that left so much proof of your existence.

Begging him to be in a picture, bribing him with a kiss. Slightly smudged and distorted but still legible pen ink at the back as he flips the flimsy piece of thick, shiny paper.

Keep him safe for me, Ghost.

- Your favorite girl <3

You always thought of him as Simon and Ghost as just an alter ego, a mask that he needs to wear in order to stomach the violence that comes with his occupation.

You were the only one who can differentiate these two people. Tears started to form in his eyes but he blinks it away and shoves the polaroid back in his wallet.

He only started noticing changes when Johnny points out that he's become stone cold, a lot more silent, though he was known to be a ghost.. a shadow.. it wasn't like him to not even try to light up his mood with his dark jokes.

Everytime Simon thinks he gets over the pain, there's always one thing in that stupid house that reminded him of you. You weren't there but it sure felt like that you haunted every corner of the house and his mind.

Whether that'd be something you gifted him or an item of yours left behind, especially when the two of you shared moments with those items, oftentimes Simon tries to relive those, preserve his fading memory of your face.

This is what happens when the decisions you make have consequences on the one that your world revolves around.

A few years down this lane, nothing has changed for Simon, at some part of this never ending low point in his life he was under substance abuse.. alcohol to be specific, since to him it was easier. In concern of his captain, he did get help for it to which had progress.

Ghost kept it together, "today was a day to celebrate Gaz" he thought, blowing out the nicotinic smoke and flicking the ash off his cigarette after.. he knew Ghost's thing was more of a "let's drink and play pool in a pub" rather than a sit-down dinner kind of guy but Kyle insisted.

He thought about how awkward it was, although Ghost felt like he knew Kyle's family just from the lovesick fool himself who would never shut up, always finding a way to talk about his wife and their two kids.

After another puff, he throws the cigarette butt on the pavement and grinds the sole of his shoe over it, the soft hiss for the cigarette evoking, proving it was put out.

Simon walked a few blocks till stopping at the Sergeant's described location, his footsteps made smooth, satisfying taps on the wood floorboards of the porch and he knocks.

Price took liberty of being the one to open the door for Simon because the family was busy, Simon walked through the front door with ease, seeing Johnny somewhat interacting with a kid.

He was welcomed by the a cozy looking space, it was homey and clearly occupied, the shoes lined up on the shoe rack next to the door from the largest pair to the tiniest which was such a far contrast from his empty gloomy apartment.

The kid caught glimpse of Simon, they run up to him and take his hand to guide him into the living room as of to welcome him before bringing back their attention to Johnny and somewhat messing with his stubby mohawk.

The lieutenant observed his surroundings, the little toys and picture frames hung around the house, for a moment his heart drops to his stomach, he blinks thinking he must've been imagining things. Simon walked closer to it, he wasn't imagining it.. that was you, in a wedding dress, in the photo with Kyle.

You looked glowing.. as if you've never looked better in your life, that heart stopping smile on your face, the flowery bouquet on your hands. The green of stems highlight the precious metal band on your finger. Of all the people, places and time, why here? Why now? Why Kyle..?

For a few seconds, just a few when Simon thought his nerves and gut settled, he heard the sweetest voice that was all he knew.

He forgot what it sounded like, the effect it had on him, all too overwhelming for a man who tried desperately to run away from the consequences of his actions. I guess that saying that once you don't hear someone's voice as frequently, you start to forget what they sound like.

For once, the ringing in his ear is gone. Just your voice, all he needed, he closed his eyes for a few soaking in the fact that you're here. For a moment he forgets to take into account that you weren't his. You and Simon make eye contact, the smile on your face drops as soon as you realize who is in your home.. who your husband invited..

Dinner came around, you tried your best to stomach the food you made, every swallow was a challenge. You spent most of your time staring at the food below you, afraid to even spare a glance at Simon. He was as uneasy as you were, telling the group he had to go to the bathroom as an excuse to explore what you now view as your home. The place you built your family together with your husband.

Simon uses the stealth he was known for to sneak in all the rooms, starting with the closest, the kitchen. The pictures on the fridge were enough to catch his attention, polaroids were something he was all too familiar with. Photos of the kids littered on the cold metal box with magnets others were of you and Kyle.

Everywhere he glances was proof of the life you built, the life you could've had together if he hadn't taken you for granted. Simon returned to the table a few minutes later, you easily notice the sudden drop of his mood to solemn.

Constantly closing his eyes, the lieutenant's head was spinning, taking in the fact that Garrick was able to settle down with you in those few years, the same amount of time you'd been together and you both were never close to achieving what you had now.

The night ended with the mens' satisfied stomachs while you and Kyle play-fight about who gets to do the dishes. As all of them were about to leave, you gathered what little guts you had to at least try to talk to Simon as he's the last one out the door, away from the ears of your husband who's currently doing the dishes because the last thing you'd want is to ruin their friendship.

"Goodbye Si.."

Simon never thought he'd hear that nickname out of your lips ever again, he stopped, his feet felt like they were sinking on the ground. Before he knew it, Simon was back on your porch, squeezing you so tight. You tried to pull away but he only held tighter, head rested on your shoulder.

"One last, lovie.. please.." you sigh, your arms wrapping around him, you tried your best to sooth him as your palm runs up and down his back. You felt the sleeve of your shirt getting damp, Simon didn't cry often, but this was different. It wasn't silent at all like you were used to, he was straight up sobbing.

Simon pulled back slowly, you saw his puffed up and flushed face against his pale skin. You felt bad for Simon however what happened is what happened and you were content where you were no matter how much pain the past brings you.

Simon knows you're happy, he sees it, he cups your cheek with his hand. He was about to lean in and kiss your forehead like he always used to but he stops himself.

He wanted to be selfish, he wanted you again but he can't do that to Kyle and he knows this would only upset you so just like before, with a heavy heart he leaves.

Simon will forever let that sink into his heart, the only one he's ever love will forever be engrained in his mind. You will always be his favorite girl..

#cod x reader #aethelwyne lia writes #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost x plus size reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost #ghost x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley

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crownofgildedlilies · 1 month

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oh, don't let your sunshine burn me!

in which: a son of hephaestus discovers a problem he can't solve. mainly, a daughter apollo who doesn't realize just how much her smiles hurt him.

pairing: leo valdez x daughter of apollo!reader

warnings: not proof read, slight cursing (otherwise, n/a)

tropes: friends to lovers, fluff, pining

word count: 3k

notes: my inaugural fic post on this blog. how special. plz enjoy. feedback is much appreciated.

Leo Valdez was going to lose his mind.

Or maybe a limb. Maybe that would get your attention. He wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't that desperate for you to turn your focus to him.

Stupid Garrett from stupid Ares. Why did he have to go and nearly get his head chopped off by Clarisse while sparring, stealing his thunder?

He should have done more than let his finger slip while hammering away in bunker nine. An exciting injury would have earned the most prized reward of your attention, for sure.

"Are you sure she's too busy?" Leo asked Will for probably four times too many to be considered casual. The blond only rolled his eyes and shoved an icepack into Leo's chest, nearly knocking him back a step, snapping him from his far too obvious admiring of you.

Even from across the infirmary, three hours into your shift, you stole the wind from his lungs. He was convinced you were a favorite of Apollo's, what with the way you glowed and lit up every room you were in.

Which is how he ended up in his current predicament. Absolutely desperate for any hint of your sunshine smile sent in his direction.

"Positive. Now, get out." Will confirmed, checking things off on his clipboard. Leo figured he was probably recording basic information like the patient—himself—had all his limbs, both eyes, ten fingers, and was practically drooling at his half-sister. Leo darted another glance across the room to you, still diligently assessing moronic Garrett from Ares who had been brain dead enough to accept Clarisse's offer of sparring.

Why were you blushing so much?

Something awful and too familiar twisted in his stomach, and all Leo could hear was Piper's voice telling him that he better make his move on you soon, because you were too sweet and too pretty to remain single much longer.

"When's her break again?" Leo asked, ignoring the way Will tipped his head back and closed his eyes, like he was praying for the strength to not hit his patient while under his care.

"And you can't ask her yourself because...?" Will prompted, dragging out the final word and forcing Leo to snap his attention towards the son of Apollo, his jaw practically open in shock.

"Because then she'll know I'm totally into her!" Leo whisper-shouted, waving his hands around as if to emphasize his point.

"You come in here everyday with a new injury asking for her to fix you up." Will pointed out, voice flat. "If she hasn't figured it out yet, I'm not sure she will. You should probably just be direct and ask her out."

Leo narrowed his eyes at Will, but on a rare miracle, he was at a loss for words. Maybe Will had a point. Leo was never exactly good at being subtle about his many, many, crushes, and if you hadn't realized he was hopelessly in love with you yet, then maybe he was safe from feeling the sting of your rejection.

"You're not going to talk to her, are you?" Will sighed, tilting his head slightly as he studied Leo, who, despite having already been given the magic remedy of an ice pack, remained perched on the side of a cot used as a medic's bed.

Leo shook his head side-to-side so quickly Will was a blur of blond hair and orange t-shirt in front of him.

"No can do." Leo said solemnly. "She's miles out of my league. Not even I'm stupid enough to think I have a shot with her."

"Well, at least Garrett isn't as oblivious as you," Will shrugged, shooting Leo a pointed look he didn't understand. The ugly feeling was back in Leo's stomach as he darted his attention towards you and the gods-damned son of Ares.

You were laughing, and Leo wasn't the cause.

Jealousy flared up in him.

You, on the other hand, were completely ignorant to the conversation occurring on the opposite side of the infirmary, far too engrossed in charismatic Garrett from Ares who was retelling the story of how Clarisse had knocked him on his ass and sent him to get bandaged up.

For a child of the war god, he was surprisingly graceful in his defeat.

"Next time, at least bring a shield with you." You smiled at Garrett, checking off the final few items on your clipboard. No major injuries towards his limbs, nor his ten fingers, neither of his eyes had been affected, and he was able to hold a proper conversation with you. "Otherwise I've got nothing else for you. Just an order to take the rest of the day easy."

"I can manage that," Garrett relented, which, for a demigod, was a pretty big ask. Taking it easy was never really an option when one of your parents was a god or goddess. "Hey, any particular reason Valdez is looking at me like he's going to send one of his inventions after me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to act casual as you turned around slightly, finding that Leo had in fact found his way into the infirmary and in fact was staring at Garrett like he might make a good snack for Festus.

You had been starting to worry, thinking that maybe he wasn't going to show up that day.

"Dunno," You shrugged, ducking your face into your clipboard so you didn't have to look at Leo, or Garrett, or Will—who was sending you a look that was both pointed and annoyed at the same time. "But you're set to go."

"Perfect," Garrett jumped off of the examination bed, acting like he hadn't been carried in by two of his half-brothers, a sly grin on his face. "You sure that's not jealousy on Valdez's face?"

"What? Why would Leo be jealous?" You were ashamed to admit you stumbled over your words, your face turning a vibrant shade of red, as you considered the implication of Garrett's words. That Leo might have been into you, enough that just the sight of you talking to Garrett might have been enough to turn his mood sour. "We're just friends."

"Sure," Garrett grinned wickedly, the kind of grin only children of Ares could ever create. The kind that told he totally didn't believe her rushed dismissal of his words. "All I want is an invitation to the wedding. Talk to you later!"

Garrett darted off before you could swat at him with your clipboard, your face flushed with embarrassment. Gods, were you really that obvious in your crush on Leo?

Sure, he came into the infirmary just about every day you were working, with some minor injury or another for you to tend to. And maybe you took a little longer to heal him than you did when Percy or the Stolls came in, were a little sweeter, but were you so transparent that even Garrett from Ares knew what you felt?

"For the love of all the gods and goddesses, would you please just go talk to him?" Will grumbled, borderline exhausted, as he appeared at your side. You jumped, nearly lost in thought, and narrowed your sunshine stare at your half-brother. "He won't leave until he gets the chance to brag to you about his latest made-up injury."

You didn't have to ask who Will was talking about. Leo was still watching you from across the room, rather impatiently. He'd managed to find a few loose bolts and washers and was currently inventing something you couldn't comprehend while he stared very pointedly at the ground by your feet, having averted his stare the moment you darted yours in his direction.

"Shut up," You mumbled to Will, but regardless you dashed off across the room with what felt like permission to engage in your favorite part of the day.

You had received Apollo's gifts of healing, not his poetic words. And every day you cursed that fact, because never could you put into words just how much being around Leo Valdez made you feel centered within yourself. It was like his very personality gave you permission to the version of you that was nearly lost to time and circumstance and the tragedy of being a Greek hero.

"What's the problem today?" You grinned, the smile your half-siblings claimed shined brightest in the camp plastered on your face almost of its own accord as you stood before Leo.

"My hand, Doc." He sighed, playing along and holding up his left hand while the right shoved the ice pack Will had already given him behind his back. You snorted a laugh, and Leo's grin broke out from the solemn facade he had attempted. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to work again if you don't help me."

"Well there's only one solution," You nodded, pretending to read something off of your clipboard—which was still filled out with Garrett's information.

"Anything you recommend is good with me," Leo leaned closer, trying to read over the edge of your clipboard, which you quickly tugged close to your body.

"Right, I've got it." You grinned, dropping your face closer to his, almost like your heart was in control of your body instead of your mind. Leo nodded, and you would have sworn you saw his gaze shoot to your lips for the briefest of seconds. "Amputation. Mr. Valdez, I'm afraid we're going to have to take your hand off."

"But, that's my pretty hand!" Leo protested, playing into your joke quickly. You couldn't even pretend to hide your smile, laughter falling past your lips just as easily as breathing.

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do for you." You shook your head, grinning widely at Leo, who was—for a guy with ADHD as severe as him—giving you his full attention. "You're free to go. I'll see you and your pretty hand at the bonfire tonight."

"Glad to hear you agree that my hand is pretty." Leo slid off of the examination bed with a grin that had you flushing and looking over the contents of your clipboard simply for something to do with your eyes. "See you later, Doc."

Waving, you sent Leo off.

Over the course of the following week, Leo had found himself at the infirmary—during your shifts only—six more times.

Three smashed fingers from equipment you knew for a fact he knew how to handle properly. One cut to his arm from a piece of scrap metal. A paper cut.

On Thursday, he came in complaining of a serious burn.

"Doc, you'll never believe it. My whole arm caught on fire."

Will hadn't let him into the infirmary, claiming that Leo needed a better lie than that to come visit, since everyone already knew he was fireproof.

Leo came back fifteen minutes later with a second paper cut. Will took his break an hour early, claiming he needed to for his sanity.

But then you didn't so much as catch a glimpse of Leo for four straight days.

You felt more than a little pathetic, jumping every time the door to the infirmary opened, hoping against hope that it would be the curly haired son of Hephaestus you so adored.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, the door opened and you couldn't stop the way your body instinctively twisted around from where you words repacking first aide kits that were left in various locations around camp.

But it wasn't Leo standing at the door, but Piper.

You weren't the closest with her, but you were friendly. So you didn't think she was there for you, at first, until you saw her talking to your half-sister Stella and pointing towards you.

"Hey," Piper's voice had an edge of seriousness to it that snagged your attention, halting your efforts of resupplying. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you."

"Okay...?" You trailed off, not sure what she could have needed from you.

"Would you be willing to talk to Leo for me? He's in Bunker Nine, convinced he's going to make some big breakthrough on whatever machine he's currently working on." Piper explained and you nodded slowly, not seeing the problem. From your conversations with Leo, he always seemed to be in the middle of some big breakthrough. "He hadn't come out in four days. It's not healthy."

You frowned, trying to recall the last time you'd seen Leo at any of the meals. And when your mind came up blank, you settled on your answer to Piper's request.

"I'll talk to him."

You had never been to Bunker Nine.

As much as you talked to Leo, pretty much everyday, it was always in yours and shared spaces. The infirmary, mainly, but every once in a while at the dining pavilion or at the camp bonfires.

But you could barely focus on any one thing in the bunker. Half-finished projects littered the space, along with countless tools, scraps, and blueprints tacked haphazardly against walls and bulletin boards.

Since it was nearly dinner, the bunker had cleared out of all but one of its occupants. Perched over a table, working so diligently he didn't hear you approach, was none other than Leo Valdez.

Without thinking of the consequences, you dropped the canvas bag you had brought with you on his worktable, startling him so much he jumped in surprise and nearly sent his latest project clattering to the floor.

"Gods!" He shouted, wide eyed and hand pressed to his chest as if he could physically calm his racing heart. You couldn't help the way you grinned, a little lopsided, wholly endeared by him. "Sorry, were you trying to kill me? Because, if so, mission almost accomplished!"

"Actually, the opposite." With a confidence you didn't really possess, you leaned against the worktable next to him and started pulling tinfoil wrapped sandwiches out of the bag. "Everyone's convinced I'm your appointed caretaker, since you don't seem to do it yourself."

Leo had the good sense to seem chastised by the glare you sent him following your words. It wasn't like he could deny it, anyways. How many times had he ended up on your patient list?

"Did Jason put you up to this?"

"Piper," You confirmed, pushing a wrapped sandwich across the table towards him. Next out of the bag was a metal bowl, the bottom slightly charred and filled with paper scraps and twigs. "Light this for me, will you, please?"

"Well, when you ask so nicely," Leo grinned, a ball of flame forming in his palm and igniting the twigs in the bowl. Without needing to be told, Leo unwrapped his sandwich and ripped off a chunk to throw into the flames.

You copied his actions. And if you made a wordless prayer to Aphrodite to ask for a little assistance, that was no one's business but your own.

"I've..." You hesitated, darting a glance to Leo before focusing on your sandwich, biting down your declaration that you've missed him in the infirmary. He had already started eating, only further proof that he had been skipping meals while holed up in the bunker. "How come you're always getting hurt, Mr. Clumsy? I thought children of Hephaestus are supposed to be good in the forges."

You would have sworn you saw Leo blush, but your attention quickly darted away from him the moment he lifted his eyes to yours.

"You sure you wanna know the truth?" Leo asked his voice a kind of serious that was almost out of character for him. You nodded, slowly, and forced yourself to meet his eye. "I've been getting hurt on purpose."

"Leo Valdez!"

"Wait, let me finish!" Leo held up his hands to defend himself from your words and your glare, the healer in your absolutely hated the fact that Leo would have done anything to intentionally cause himself harm. "I did it because I got an excuse to see you."

"What?" For a child of Apollo, you sure didn't have a way with words. Distantly, you cursed the fact that you were a gifted healer and not a poet, because you knew what Leo's words meant and yet you couldn't get your own to function. "Wait—"

"I know this sounds stupid," Leo dragged a hand through the dark, disheveled curls atop his head. "But Will wouldn't let me in to see you if I wasn't hurt! So I... maybe... lied, a little bit."

You frowned, in thought. Thinking back, you couldn't remember Leo ever actually being hurt beyond the occasional cut or scrap. You'd always been so caught up in him and his visits to notice.

"I swear I'm not weird. I just really like you." Leo winced, no doubt taking your silence in a bad way.

And you weren't one of Apollo's poetically gifted children, so you simply pressed your lips against his and hoped he got the message.

It was a short kiss, a good first kiss, you noted with no small satisfaction. Your lips tingled and your fingertips were buzzing—and Leo looked like he had just won the lottery.

"You're sweet," You smiled, a thousand watt one that maybe Leo adored as much as your half-siblings did, and nudged his sandwich closer to him. "But you're banned from the infirmary unless you're actively dying. And for real!"

Leo paused, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to create a scenario that would get him past the barrier of your totally official and absolutely within rules ban.

"I can make that happen,"

"No, you can't," You tried to shoot him a discouraging look, but your smile was far too wide to deal any real damage. "Or else I'll go to tonight's bonfire with someone else."

"Nope!" He shook his head quickly, hair bouncing with the movement and expression light with an impish grin. "You kissed me, Doc. You're stuck with me, now."

You smiled, silently deciding you wouldn't mind being stuck with him.

"That's what I thought."

Leaning over to press a second kiss to the corner of his lips, you pretended not to notice the sparks dancing in his curls.

#leo valdez #pjo #rays of sun #Leo Valdez fic #Leo Valdez x reader #Leo Valdez fanfiction #pjo x reader

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theskit · 1 year

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Stickers AU

Important!!!

Direct linking gets rid of the readmore cuts!

If you came here via direct link, or wish to use the direct links to another part of the story, and DO NOT want to spoil the surprise stickers, please click on my blog name to go to the actual post after using the link.

Part 9

��Prev Next》

Danny wasn't sure what he'd expected when he put Bludhaven into his phone's GPS Sunday evening, but finding out it was only 30 minutes away was still surprising. He'd somehow thought it was farther away than that.

Shrugging it off, Danny found an out of the way alley to go invisible and intangible for the short flight. He'd already picked out which of his stickers he would be gracing Nightwing with tonight, now the only thing would be finding him.

Taking a rather scenic route along the coast, Danny got some interesting pictures of the rocky coastline and the water. The light pollution was still pretty bad, but it was a little easier to see the stars outside the city limits.

Reaching Bludhaven, Danny flew around randomly for a while before hearing a shout. Going to investigate he saw three guys cornering a young lady in an alley. Just as he moved to intervene, Nightwing dropped down from above, landing between the men and the lady.

"Mind if I cut in?" He asked as he hit the closest guy with an escrima stick, sending him to the ground with a crackle of electricity as the lady turned and ran. "It's just shocking how quickly I can go through dance partners, sometimes."

Turning to the other two, Nightwing fluidly exchanged punches before grabbing one guy's arm and throwing him over his shoulder into a nearby trashcan, "Sorry, you've been canned for inappropriate behavior," he quipped cheerfully.

The last guy took the chance while Nightwing was busy to pull out a knife. Smoothly dodging the first few swipes, Nightwing flipped over the guy when he overextended himself with a lunge, landing with a crouch and a leg sweep, taking him to the ground too. "Let's not get swept away in all the excitement, now!" He tossed out as he made sure all three guys were secure before calling it in to the police for pickup.

Danny practically sparkled with glee. The cool entrance! The flashy moves! The puns! He just might have a new favorite hero! Well. After Robin, of course. Teen hero solidarity and all that.

Danny landed, waiting to make sure the escrima sticks were put away before approaching Nightwing. He *definitely* didn't want to get hit with those things. Getting electrocuted was *not* on the to-do list this evening, thank you!

Coming up behind Nightwing, just as he finished contacting the police Danny smacked a sticker to the small of his back, yelled "Tag!" and took off running.

It was only after hearing Nightwing shout in surprise and then call out after him, beginning to give chase, that Danny realized he had dropped his invisibility. Whoops. At least he was in his hoodie. It was still a little bloodstained from yesterday, but it wasn't really *that* noticeable. Neither of his parents had mentioned it, and Jazz only gave him a small, searching look before he held up his bandanged finger to show her it was no big deal. It was also the only hoodie he'd remembered to pack.

Nightwing ran after the surprisingly quick child, teenager? they were kind of short... "Hey, kid! Hold up a second!"

The kid laughed, "No can do! Sorry, Nightwing! I needed one last number for my vigilante bingo card and you were it!"

The kid, a boy going by the voice, was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a slightly oversized hoodie with what looked concerningly like bloodstains at the side. He took a quick left into another alley, one Nightwing knew to be a dead end. Turning the corner as well, Nightwing slid to a stop, glancing around the empty alley. "Kid? Hey, it's ok, I just wanna talk." He called out, doing a quick check behind the dumpster, which was the only thing large enough in the alley to hide behind.

Nothing. Scratching his head, Nightwing looked around again in confusion. There wasn't even a fire escape down this way. Where did he go? And what did he mean by vigilante bingo?

Deciding to check in with the others, he called Tim, unsurprised when he heard the rapid-fire clack of a keyboard in the background when he answered. "Hey, Dick, what's up?"

"Hey, Baby Bird! So, I just had an interesting run-in with a disappearing kid. He mentioned something about vigilante bingo, and I wondered if any of you had as well?"

The keyboard noises stopped abruptly, "He spoke to you? You actually saw him?"

"Well, yeah? Chased him down a dead-end alley, but he went poof. Gone. No sign of him anywhere."

Tim sighed heavily, "Of course. Can you head in to the batcave? We could use some insight into this. So far he's gotten you, me, Batman, and Robin, but no one has gotten a good look at him."

Already heading to where he had his motorcycle stashed, Nightwing agreed, "Sure. You need 5 numbers for a bingo though, and he said I was the last. Heard anything from Hood?"

Tim groaned, "No. Of course he wouldn't tell us if something like this happened to him."

"No worries, Baby Bird. I'll check in with Hood first and then swing by the cave to debrief, how's that?" He asked, swinging a leg over the motorcycle and starting it up.

"That would be great, thanks. If you're the one asking, he might actually tell you what happened," Tim replied, relieved he wouldn't have to try getting information out of Jason himself.

Saying goodbye and then punching in another number, Nightwing revved the engine and took off for Gotham as he waited for Jason to pick up.

"What do you want, Dickiebird?"

Nightwing laughed, "What, no hello, how you doing?"

"Nope. I'm busy," Jason said with a grunt and what sounded like gunshots.

"Well, I had an interesting little encounter tonight, and I have it on good authority you might have had one too. With a certain disappearing boy? Want to meet up at Batburger, get something to eat and tell me about it?"

A few more gunshots echoed down the line before Jason answered, "Fine. I'll meet you at the usual place in an hour."

"Awesome, I'll see you there."

After ordering the food, Dick made his way up to the roof, "Hey there, Little Wing!"

Jason took off his helmet and smirked at him as he accepted his portion of the food. "So, where'd you get stickered, then?"

Dick stared at him in confusion, "Stickered? What?"

Jason frowned, "You said you had a run in with the kid. He came up behind me, scared the hell out of me by yelling 'boo', and slapped a sticker between my eyes when I turned around." Jason paused as he stuffed a few fries into his mouth, "Shorted out my helmet cameras too, though not permanently. Didn't get a good look at him, but he had a funky echo to his voice."

Dick shook his head a bit, "He came up behind me, gave me a smack on the back and yelled 'tag' before running into a dead-end alley with no way out and disappeared. Didn't notice a particular echo, but we were already in a kind of echoey alleyway."

Jason grinned and made a little circle motion with his hand, "Give us a twirl then, let's see."

Turning his back to Jason, Dick heard a loud laugh and a camera noise. It made him happy to hear Jason laugh, even if he *was* apparently the butt of a joke. "Okay, what happened? Why are you laughing?" He asked mock petulantly as he turned back around.

Jason just grinned and showed him his phone, "Kid gave you a tramp stamp, Dickiebird!"

Dick burst out laughing as he looked at the photo, Jason joining in as he wailed overdramatically, "Little Wing! I drove all over Bludhaven *and* Gotham, *and* just ordered food with that!"

Editing this: apparently only the bitchy mobile app has a tag limit. I mostly use mobile. Guess who get to be my guinea pigs on the next installment?? 😁

@mygood-bitch99 @stargazer-luna @easily-broken-by-emotion @dolfay @britcision @cyber-geist @is-this-even-relatable @alcorbearson @fisticuffsatapplebees @thegatorsgoose @my-mom-calls-me-rat @some-rotten-nest @crystalqueertea @meira-3919 @wandererofthestars @seraphinedemort @bjurnberg @blep-23 @stargirl1331 @bianca-hooks123 @addie-lover-of-stories @pickleking8 @iconicanemone @sarina-elais @mur-ururu @sailor-goddess @dragonfirefeather @nutcase8691 @ravenpainter @liandrin @jaguarthecat @russetfur1128 @purefrickingspite @oakskull @vythika96 @molasses-being-slow @satisfactionbroughtmeback @serasvictoria02 @tkiesai @breesperez139 @dhampir-princess @redhoneysugarorange @gildedphoenix @iglowinggemma28 @f4nd0m-fun @therandomartmaker @mandyne-1001 @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @solarisaetherlumine @zeldomnyo

#dpxdc #theskit writes #Stickers AU #danny makes his own stickers :3 #and now danny is running around gotham like a gremlin #with a pocket full of homemade stickers #whatever will he do with them? 😈#cries in both dialog and action scenes #whywhywhy are you so difficult to write?!?

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neteyamsyawntu · 6 months

Text

Kinktober 31

A / B / O

Ralak x Reader x Neteyam

PART 2 of THREESOME

✨Friendly Disclaimer: The content of this story contains aged-up characters! If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to click or scroll away. The last thing I want is for anyone to read something they are uncomfortable with, however if you decide to interact with any negativity, you will be blocked from my blog as a result.

Warnings: 🔞MINORS DNI🔞, use of aphrodisiac, dom!Ralak, dom!Neteyam, Oral fem receiving, vulgar language, dirty talk, P in V, Oral Male receiving

Art and Ralak both created by @zestys-stuff

“You have not even proved yourself a warrior of our clan- she is not yours to take.”.

Your head quickly snaps to look behind you as you take in Neteyam’s angered expression at Ralak’s words. His slim tail whipping behind him, the hair on its tip flared, as his lips pulled back to reveal his fangs, a low hiss emerging from his vocal cords. “That’s enough, both of you!” In your best efforts you attempt to wriggle out of Ralak’s grasp to stop the impending cockfight, only for his hold on you to tighten the minute you begin to struggle. You send a frustrated glare his way before forcefully shoving the center of his chest, which seemed to have do the trick as you not so gracefully stumble backwards, falling into Neteyam’s chest.

His hands gently move to cradle your body, his eyes locked on Ralak as his tongue slips from behind his lips to lick a long stripe from your ear to the base of your neck; a visual display to show the reef na’vi that he would not be backing down from what he sought to claim as his. A fang catches on his bottom lip as Ralak looks both of you over, silently noting your current position that had your lower body accessible to him. His body seemed to loom over you as he took hold of your ankles, drawing a gasp from you as he spreads your legs wide enough to hook them over his wide shoulders, lowering himself to put himself face to face with your already dripping pussy lips.

Paying no attention to Toruk Makto’s offspring, Ralak kept his eyes fixed on you alone, the silent notion being that if there was to be a competition, it would be in who would be able to make you cum either the fastest or the hardest. His crystalline eyes pierce your own like ice, fierce and assertive. His pupils slowly dilating as his tongue seeps out from his mouth to lick the flat of it along your folds.

Your back arches almost instantly, slightly shifting the position of your hips, to which Ralak corrects with a firm tug at your thighs, yet the moans you release cause the cocks of both men to twitch in arousal. You almost bite your lip in attempts to muffle your own noises, only for Neteyam to gently grasp your jaw from behind, his thumb caressing your cheek as he breathes into your hairline, “Don’t even think about hiding that pretty voice from us, yawne.”.

The helpless whine you release in response seems to be futile seeing as your protest doesn’t last long when the feeling of Ralak’s tongue slips between your lower lips, only to curl it upward to firmly push at your clit, prompting your body to act on it’s own as your hands find purchase in his tightly curled hair. No matter how much you squirm or roll your head backward or from side to side, Ralak keeps his gaze dead locked on you, wanting to see every expression or implication of how good he was making you feel.

Neteyam’s dick pressed firmly to your backside, the heat emitting off of it only confessing how desperately his need was for you. His breath hitches as he attempts to grind himself against your lower back, but finds it nowhere near enough to relieve himself. Your ear perks to his labored breathing, turning your head to see his desperate state; his brows pinched together, lips slightly quivering, lips that just looked so tempting. Looping your fingers into the inside of his beaded choker, you pull Neteyam into you, capturing his lips with your own.

His lips are hungry against yours, eagerly slipping his tongue into your mouth, his one hand still placed at your jaw while the other slips down to your chest, rolling your nipple softly between his fingers, giving it light tugs from time to time. The affections given to you by each of these men make you feel small in comparison, a guttural instinct to please them as much as they are pleasing you washes over as you slowly pull away from your kiss with Neteyam, who’s lips nearly chase after yours for a moment, until reluctantly pulling away. Lifting a hand from its place in Ralak’s hair, just as your index finger slips under Neteyam’s jaw, a hitched moan breaks from you, interrupting your train of thought when Ralak gives your clit an intentful suck.

Trying your hardest to recollect your thoughts you coax Neteyam backward, allowing you to slightly adjust your position onto your side, your hand falling from the center of his chest, down to his thigh, “I want to please you too… come…” you purr breathily, guiding your face to his hips. Neteyam catches onto your plot rather quickly yet hesitates for a moment, his cock twitching hungrily at your insinuation, “Yawne… are you sure about this?”. You’re hesitant for a moment, yet the hunger in your eyes shines true as you slowly nod your head, much to Neteyam’s approval.

Carefully the forest na’vi positions himself just behind your head on his knees. Careful not to lose the contact of Ralak’s mouth on your intimates, you angle your head up, stretching your neck upward to align his hips in front of your face. Following your motions, Neteyam places his hand to press down at the base of his cock, aligning his swollen and needy cock to your lips. You can practically feel the inside of your cheeks creating excess saliva as your eyes tentatively watch as Neteyam lowers his cock to your steadily opening mouth. The warm embrace of your tongue has Neteyam’s breath catching, his eyelids fluttering excessively as your lips wrap around his shaft. His jaw drops in an instant, giving in to losing himself to the feeling rather quickly.

At first, Neteyam proceeds with careful movements as he slowly thrusts his cock in and out of your mouth, a low drawn out moan drawn out of his throat when you apply pressure by sucking tentatively on him. It all felt too good, naturally his pace would speed up eventually, yet despite his hunger, Neteyam had to remind himself a couple of times not to abuse your throat too much and reel back his passionate movements. Your back suddenly arches, moans muffled as Ralak growls against your clit, sending vibrations straight to your core, clearly unappeased with the demonstration before him; watching as Neteyam got relief while his own loins burned for attention.

With your eyes being preoccupied looking up at Neteyam, lips working diligently on his shaft, you are unable to watch as Ralak pulls away, his slick covered lips, plump and glossy from having the feast of his life, but he needed more. He needed to be inside you more than anything. You were more than soaked, your inner thighs painted with a mix of your own arousal and Ralak’s saliva. So wet that you were practically dripping, so surely he could just slip it in… couldn’t he? His short ears flick at the faint whimper you release around Neteyam’s cock at the loss of his tongue and a bit of pride courses through his chest as he sits back on his knees, one hand positioned on your hip bone while the other directs his thick cock to your decorated pussy lips.

Of course Ralak doesn’t want to take you for surprise, he wants you to know what he’s about to give you, and so he slowly glides his shaft up your labia, allowing your lubricant to spread onto him. For a moment his ears twitch backward at the suggested warmth of your cunt, yet still he patiently waits for your body to respond and to which he is rewarded with a buck of your hips and another strangled noise, sliding his cock through your lower lips once more. A pleased grin spreads across Ralak’s face as he watches your stomach flex eagerly; your body’s sign that it urgently pleads for more. Cock still in hand, the reef na’vi sends a few gentle slaps against your clit, making your body jolt at each hit, “Easy now paysyul… I’ll give you what you want.”. Although his words are slightly diluted to your ears from the sounds of Neteyam’s own pleasured moans as he languidly fucks your mouth, you let out a muffled whine as a plea to take you.

Almost simultaneously as Neteyam glides his cock back into the caress of your mouth, a strong pressure begins to manifest between your thighs as Ralak carefully begins to insert himself, his fat cock head pushing and prodding at your entrance until finally it breaks the resistance of your tightness. With a muffled squeal, your back arches, an arm extending upward to claw at Neteyam’s thighs while the other reaches for Ralak, your nails digging into his finned forearm just as his hand rests on your hip, as Ralak takes you inch by inch. You moan shamelessly around Neteyam’s cock, sending a wave of pleasure straight to his loins as his eyes close blissfully, biting his lip. His ears flick a moment as he takes in the events around him, watching as Ralak is trying his best to be gentle with you as he continues to push deeper into you. Neteyam allows his hips to still, being satisfied enough with just your moans vibrating his cock, only giving small stirs to enhance the pleasure.

Your heart rate finally begins to settle as Ralak takes his time with you, slow tentative thrusts and stirs of his hips help to coax his cock ever so slowly into you, deeper and deeper until his tip is pressed snuggly against the opening of your cervix, drawing out a gasp from you at the sensation. “Shh… easy, Y/N… I’m going to move now, I shall try my best to be gentle, but…” a slow yet long stroke of his cock in and out of your cunt made his brows crease in the center of his forehead, a gruff moan effortlessly falling from his lips, “You are so tight around me… I am almost losing myself already..”. Like a promise his hips are pulled back sending a rougher thrust into you, rocking your body along with it, consequently shoving Neteyam’s cock deeper into your mouth, earning a gag from yourself and a broken moan from Neteyam.

Another growl sounds from Ralak as he locks eyes with Neteyam, the tension between them rising so much it was almost palpable. Feeling his pride now bubbling at the surface, Neteyam cups your neck in his hand, his eyes dismissively dripping from Ralak’s gaze to your own as he squeezes gently, thrusting into your mouth much more aggressively than he had been previously, earning another more prominent gag. “Ohh Eywa… I can feel your little throat expanding when I fuck you… your little mouth looks so pretty wrapped around my cock… mmn- sucking on me so well..”. A weak hum around his cock turns into a strained moan as Ralak thrusts once again.

This dance moves into a pattern, of Ralak fucking into your squelching pussy while your throat gets ravaged by Neteyam. A fierce back and forth of bucking jolting that leaves your cheeks stained in pleasured tears and drooling from both ends. It was overwhelming to say the least, pushing you to your utter limits as both men, recklessly ruined you, using you as their plaything to get off and loving how well your body responds to each of them.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam smut #avatar twow #avatarsmut #neteyam sully smut #neteyam x reader #lunaskinktober2023 #Ralak #ralak smut #ralak x y/n #ralak x reader #avatar kinktober #kinktober

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gyuhanniescarat · 1 year

Text

King of My Heart

happy birthday to my one and only, the loml, my mingoo, my GyuGyu <3 <3

• pairing: kim mingyu x afab!reader

• genres/tropes: smut (MDNI — If you’re not 18+, then see yourself to the door n let it kick ya on the way out, ‘mkay), fluff, established relationship, slice of life, idol mingyu, non-idol reader

• warnings: cross-mix of cute domestic smut with pure, utter filth, slight sub!gyu moment (reader calls gyu ‘baby boy’ like once), love-drunk reader, love-drunk n pussy-whipped gyu, insanely — slightly unnecessary — excessive use of petnames (reader calls gyu ‘babe’, ‘gyu’, ‘gyugyu’; gyu calls reader ‘angel’, ‘princess’, ‘baby girl’, ‘darlin’, ‘baby’), daddy kink, dirty talk, slight mean!dom mingyu (Mingyu is a fucking MENACE here), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), hair pulling (m receiving), praise kink (we all know Mingyu is a sucker for some praise) bulge kink, size kink (Sry not Sry, I am one of if not THE main proprietor of the MINGYU MONSTER COCK agenda), breeding kink (be safe, stay protected from babies and STI’s when intimate with a partner y’all), talks of pregnancy — no actual impregnation tho — let me know if i missed something luvvies!

• word count: 4.2k and some change

• request: no

• a/n: It’s the loml’s bday!!! Happy Mingyu day! I’ve had this blog for a year, and I just realized this is the FIRST full fic I’ve written for my favorite boy. This piece took on a mind of its own for real and became so so much more than I'd initially intended, but I guess that's to be expected when it comes to writing about Kim Mingyu. Tagging my fellow resident Gyuldaengie of the svthub server @onlymingyus out of love <3

You’re hard at work in the kitchen finishing dinner prep, when suddenly, you get pulled from your focus by the loud sound of the door to your and Mingyu’s shared apartment slamming open and shut. Gyu sluggishly glides into the living room, haphazardly tossing his bags on top of the coffee table. He unleashes a deep, exasperated sigh as his long and slender fingers run through his hair, his statuesque, athletically strong-built physique finally giving in to the utter exhaustion as he ungracefully plops into the couch.

From your position at the kitchen island, you watch Mingyu with worry as the sight of his tousled jet-black locks, bloodshot dark brown eyes, and rumpled clothes comes into view. As he stares off into the distance, one hand reaches up to rub away at his cheeks and jawline. Gently wiping your sauce and frosting-covered fingers off on the kitchen towel hanging over the oven door handle, you set aside the prepped meal and softly waltz over towards the couch.

“Gyu? You okay, babe? How did the recording session and dance practice filming go?” You question, resting a hand on your boyfriend’s knee as you sweetly gaze into his weary eyes. Mingyu’s hand reaches down to intertwine with the hand you placed on his knee and pulls you into his embrace. Basking in the warmth his muscular upper torso gives off, you wait for Mingyu to find the words to express what caused him to return home completely worn out. Breathing in the lingering, sweet scent of your rose-scented shampoo, Mingyu tries to calm himself down before he speaks, as he vowed to himself he’d never ever take out any negative emotions on you.

“Ughh, honestly… I’m beat, angel. It feels like I’m gonna drop dead any minute now. Recording wasn’t too bad, actually. But the dance practice was an absolute hellfire. We had to do so many fucking takes in order to make the choreography look its 10000% best. Sorry, I got home later than usual, princess.” Gyu starts off ranting, but ends, speaking to you like you hold the answers to all the stresses in his world. The way you grin so widely and gaze at him in pure love and adoration doing everything to heal Mingyu’s heart and mind from the chaos of his daily routine.

“Silly, silly boy. You don’t got nothin’ to apologize for, Gyu. I’m just glad you’re finally home, baby boy. Been waiting to snuggle with my GyuGyu and spend the rest of your special day together. It sucks when you have schedules on your birthday, but I hope some dinner and cake as we watch your favorite movie can make up for all the not-so-fun things you had to do today.” You giggle lightheartedly into his chest, glancing up into his chocolate eyes as your hands mischievously trace random shapes into his chest over his tight white t-shirt. Your mischievousness rubs off onto Mingyu as you note a shift in his now darkening eyes.

“Mhmm… as nice as an evening of dinner and a movie with my girl sounds… as hungry and thirsty I am for one of your home-cooked meals, there’s something else I’m feeling more hungry and thirsty for right now, baby girl.” Mingyu huskily growls, hands slipping under your frilly bustier and coming up near the hook of your blush lace push-up bra. “Mingyu” you whine out. “Ah, ah, ah. You should be saving those sweet, addictive noises for later, princess.” Mingyu lowly whispers into your ear, sending shivers down your spine from both his words and the warmth of his breath near your ear.

“I thought you were tired from work, Gyu? We… we don’t have to… if you’re feeling worn out from practice, babe.” You stammer out, nervously and innocently, eyes shifting away from making contact with Mingyu’s. Mingyu lightly chuckles and brings a hand under your chin, compelling you to look into his eyes, “I may be dead-tired, but I’m never too tired to take good care of my number one girl. Let me worship you and your stunning body, angel, ‘mkay?” “O-O-Okay, GyuGyu.”

“Mmph. You know ‘GyuGyu’ or ‘Mingyu’ isn’t my name right now, yea. What’s my special name during sexytime, princess? C’mon, say it for me. I know you can say it.” Mingyu prompts. “S-sorry d-d-daddy. I’ll be your good baby now.” You shyly mumble, still not confident in saying the pet name, despite all the years you’ve been having sex with your boyfriend. “Of course, you’ll be a good baby for daddy. You’re my cute, precious little baby girl, right? You want to make daddy feel good and have daddy make you feel good, yea?” Mingyu replies, easily picking you up from the couch with little effort.

You’re completely lost in the feelings of kissing Mingyu as he guides you from the living room and down the hall toward your bedroom. You don’t hesitate to help Mingyu out of his clothes along the way, one hand wrapped around his neck as the other hand reaches out to loosen the strings of his black sweats, causing the pair of bottoms to fall to the faux wood floors. Mingyu skillfully steps out of them whilst still enraptured by the spell of your lips. As the kiss deepens to a full-blown makeout session, the hand resting on his neck starts playing with the hair along the nape of his neck.

Mingyu stumbles through the threshold and clumsily tosses you on top of your california king mattress. He stalks towards the vanity area and brings your chair over right in front of the foot of the bed. “Since it’s my birthday, I can make a few wishes, yea, princess? So, my first birthday wish, Take off your clothes. Slowly. Give daddy a lil show, yea?”

“Gy-... Daddyyyy! Please!” You moan, already done with your boyfriend’s teasing foreplay. “Please, what, baby girl.” Mingyu scoffs slightly. “Daddy! I want you. I need you so so so bad right now. Please daddy, help me.” You cry, giving Mingyu your best pouty face. Mingyu looks at you with what you’d hoped was a real bit of giving in, but it’s just his mock sympathy. After all, you of all people should know by now.

Kim Mingyu is a tease. A fucking insufferable, cocky little shit of a tease. And what Kim Mingyu wants… he will get, one way or another.

“Tsk tsk tsk. You know better than that, little girl. Unless… do you want a punishment from daddy, princess? Cuz I can and will punish you, if that’s what you ask for.” Mingyu warns, trying to read your face to see if you’ll actually challenge him when he’s in fully dom mode. Feathery, dark-tinted eyebrows lifting just slightly before drawing together, you curl your soft pink-tinted lips together as you slowly slide deeper into subspace.

You sit up against the headboard, hands lowering down to grab the hem of your bustier and slowly slip it over your head, before randomly throwing the item of clothing somewhere in the room. One of your eyebrows slowly rises as yet another mischievous look pulls across your cute tiny face. “Bra on or off, daddy?” You cheekily question, noting the way Mingyu’s briefs seem to have started getting tight around his massive length. “Off. Take that cute little bra off right now, baby girl. You know how much daddy loves your pretty tits, darlin’.” Mingyu lowly mumbles, gaze intensely locked in on the view of the valley of your breasts.

Reaching back, you slowly and skillfully undo the clasp of your bra. You cutely chuckle to yourself as an idea pops inside your head, leading Mingyu to question what other ‘great’ idea you have up your sleeve. “Princess… what are you up to, huh?” Silently and with a beaming smile, you pull the cups of the bra away from your breasts and throw it right into Mingyu’s empty lap. “What’s this, baby girl?” He chuckles, fangs showing as his head tips back. “A present for daddy.” You answer. Mingyu turns his head in surprise, tongue poking out in response. “Well, thank you, baby. This is one of my favorite little bras of yours, it’s so pretty… but ya know where I think it’d look even prettier?” He rhetorically questions, chocolate eyes darkening to the point they're almost black. Your head tilts to the right in response, like a confused little lab puppy.

“On the floor. With the rest of your clothes, angel. Panties next. I’ll decide later what I wanna do with that cute little frilly skirt. Maybe, I won’t take it off. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll decide to fuck you in it.” He teases, yet again chuckling at the way your eyes widen in innocence. As if you have any innocence left in you when Mingyu’s been corrupting and intimate with you since the beginning of your relationship.

You gulp and swallow nervously, before gaining the courage to continue. Your hands slide underneath your skirt and up toward the waistband of your undergarment. Slowly, you pull the piece of fabric down your legs and slip it over your feet. Then, taking the lace panties in your hand you fling it into Mingyu’s lap. “Fucking hell. These… You… Oh my god… you fucking soaked through these panties, baby. Tell me, who made you so fucking wet, you ruined your little thong? Huh? Who is it that got you wet, baby girl?” Mingyu teasingly smirks, baiting you once again.

“You… You know, Gyu.” You groan, annoyed. Now it’s Mingyu who playfully tilts his head to the side, acting like the ever-so-cheeky golden retriever he’s always compared to. “I do? Oh, I don’t think so, princess. How can daddy simply read your mind? You gotta use your big girl words if you want daddy to know what you mean.” Mingyu playfully quips, referring to himself in the third person. Thrashing your head side to side and kicking your legs against the mattress, you whine, “You! You, you, you, You! It’s you, daddy! Only you can make me so fucking wet I ruin all my panties. I’m all wet for you, and only you, daddy! Please daddy, please touch me. Please use your fingers, or your mouth, or your c-c-cock… just use whatever you wanna give me!”

Standing up from the chair and coming closer to you, Mingyu grabs at the hem of his white t-shirt and pulls it over his head, exposing his defined pecs and well-chiseled abs to your wandering eyes. Biting down on your lip till you draw crimson and squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to stop the gushing from your core, Mingyu throws his head back and deeply laughs at the sight, “Somethin’ caught your eye, baby girl,” “I know you’ve got a lil tiddie, abs, and arm fetish… but damn princess, you’re looking at me like it’s your last meal.”

“Ha, Is it a crime to stare at my man? What can I say? You’re like a fucking model-level attractive, Gyu. You’re hot, sexy, handsome, a talented idol, and you’re so kind, caring, look out for people, and smart. Sometimes, I just can’t believe I’m lucky enough to call you my boyfriend. But, even if you didn’t have the physique of a fucking greek god, I’d still love you.” You giggle, more than happily doting on your man, even during a spicy moment like this.

Mingyu is momentarily thrown off by the sudden sweetness in the air, but his heart swells with pride at the fact that he’s yours and you're his, and only his. Mingyu is truly the lucky one because he gets to call you his baby. “And you’re a fucking gorgeous queen, baby girl. So if anyone’s lucky here, it’s me who’s lucky to be the only man that gets to be with you like this. Now, come here, princess. I wanna taste you so damn bad, I actually just might lose my mind if I have to wait for a second longer.” He commands, nearly pulling you down the bed.

Mingyu lays flat on his stomach at the bottom of the bed, swiftly leaning down to kiss his way up your legs, stopping just near your core as he places a gentle peck on both your left and right inner thigh. “Mhmm… been thinkin’ ‘bout your tight little pussy all day long. Almost had to break away from the members and staff during a snack time, just to slip off to the bathrooms to get myself off on the thought of you, angel. I’ve had a fucking raging hard-on all day. Cheol and Wonu almost interrogated me ‘bout it after practice, baby girl.” He moans lowly, sending vibrations straight to your core.

“M-Min… I- Oh fuck, I need… I-” You shakily moan out, already feeling so incredibly fucked out without any stimulation from Mingyu. Mingyu looks up at the sound of you calling him, and he can’t say the view of you from this angle isn’t having an effect on him at this very moment. “Yeah, princess? Tell me what you need. I got you, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.” He groans, in response to the blissfully fucked out expression on your face. “Please, I need you to… Ahhh shit! I need you to use your tongue and fingers, please Gyu. Prep me to take your big juicy cock, daddy!” Your head falls back against the pillows, hands slowly coming up towards Mingyu’s head and gripping his soft, long, and curly raven locks.

Mingyu places his hands on either side of your hips and pulls your core into his mouth. Pulling his mouth back for a second, he collects a ball of saliva and spits it onto your clit. Strings of residual saliva connect from the corner of his bottom lip to your barren nub. Taking his thumb and placing it onto your clit, he rubs the wet liquid across the expanse of your clit, whilst his long and slender index and middle fingers slip deep into your walls, eventually curling once in deep, “Shit. Tight, so tight, so warm and wet, princess. No matter how many times I use my fingers on you, your tight little pussy somehow gets even tighter around my fingers. Fuck, I’m going to ruin this tiny pussy.”

“Gyu! Oh my god… ahhh ngggh… shit! M-More, I need more daddy! Pleaseeee.” You whine, the pitch of your voice growing higher. “More? You’ve already got two of my fingers deep in your pussy, and my tongue flicking your clit. What more do you need, princess?” Mingyu questions, momentarily pulling his tongue away from your sensitive nub. “I need more. Feels like ‘m gonna cum soon. Please give me another finger, I can take it, daddy. You know I can take it.” You beg, lightly pulling on a few strands of his hair. “Okay. Daddy’ll give you what you want. Say ‘thank you’, baby girl.” Mingyu replies, smirking at how you become increasingly more fucked out.

“Thank you, daddy! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…. T-th-thank you. You’re so good to me daddy. It feels so fucking good. You make me feel so fucking good, daddy!” You moan out, like a mantra. Ever the people pleaser he is, your praises go in one direction… and that’s… straight to Mingyu’s big fat dick. The praise you give him damn near snaps the last bits of his resolve and willpower. Reminding you to continue taking slow, deep breaths, Mingyu gently slips a third finger into the walls of your pussy and rubs circles along your clit with his thumb. “Let it go, angel. Cum for me, baby girl. Cum all over my fingers and the sheets. You know you want to, darlin’.” Like magic, Mingyu’s words do just the trick to compel your body to jump over the edge of ecstasy. Your orgasm hits hard, splotches of white dots lining your vision for a minute. Your climax is so intense your thighs uncontrollably shake. “That’s it, princess. Just like that, yea. Cum for me, keep cumming for me, baby girl. I promise your next orgasm is gonna feel all the more better.” Mingyu coos, coaxing you through the aftershocks of your climax.

Vision finally clearing up, coming back down to the space of your shared bedroom, you take deliberate breaths, steering yourself away from any haze and overstimulation. “Fucking hell, Gyu. That was fucking otherworldly how you did that.” You laugh, pulling your tall, muscular, long-limbed man back up the length of the bed, and directing his lips toward yours. “You taste sweeter than the sweetest fruit, baby girl. Can you taste yourself on my lips still?” Mingyu praises, laying the endless nothings on thick, as his hands rub circles into your hip bones. “Shit, I do taste good, don’t I, daddy…” You giggle, licking your lips and blissfully beaming at the man hovering above you. “You taste so fucking good, darlin’. I’d honestly eat you out all damn day if I could.” He chuckles, wholeheartedly laughing with his whole chest.

“Your turn now, daddy. I wanna return the affection and make you feel good too. Second wish, daddy? Anything you want?” You ponder. Mingyu suspiciously hmms, pretending to be thinking about what he wants, when he clearly already knows and more likely than not has known exactly what he’s wanted since the moment he stepped through the door of your apartment tonight.

What Kim Mingyu wants, he will get, one way or another.

“Hmm… while the idea of your pretty lips wrapped around my cock does sound quite nice, I have other plans. I need to be buried balls deep inside of your tight little pussy, my cock making your cute tummy bulge from how deep inside I am, feeling your tight, tiny walls clenching down on my cock, as I breed you nice and full… filling your little cunt with my cum till my seed takes and knocks you up. I wanna make you a cute little mommy. Your petite little frame would look so cute with a round stomach full of my babies, your pretty tits growing as your milk comes in. You’d be the prettiest, sexiest little mama alive. Don’t you want my babies, princess? Imagine it, baby girl.” Mingyu suggests, knowing you’ve always had an infinity for babies and motherhood.

Throwing your head back deeper into the pillows, you bite down on your lips, hard, in an attempt to stifle the feral moans threatening to spill their way out your lips. “Oh-ho-ho, you’re getting turned on by the idea of carrying my babies, and being my hot little baby momma, aren’t you, baby? Should I make you a momma then, angel?” He chuckles, in response to the way you moan and seemingly tighten around his length at the thought.

“Gyu! Gyu, Oh god, yes, yes, yes! Mhmm… Ohh fuck, Ohh fuck, Ohhhhh fuckkk! So fucking good. You’re always so fucking good to me, daddy! God yes, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop! You’re so fucking big, Gyu! Oh god, it’s like your cock is gonna rearrange my guts and tear me open. Just like that, daddy! Just like that. Oh, fucking shit! I love you, Kim Mingyu. I love feeling your cock so deep inside of my little pussy.” You repeatedly moan, deep in subspace and even deeper in a hormone-filled daze. Nails alternating between gripping tightly onto Mingyu’s beefy biceps and roaming his back muscles.

“Your tiny little pussy is so greedy for my cum, darlin’. Your wet, tight cunt is sucking me in so deep, Don’t you feel it? Look, baby, look at how desperately your pussy wants me inside.” Mingyu grunts, grabbing one of your hands and trailing it down in the direction of your stomach and core. “Ya feel that, baby girl. Can you feel your cute little stomach bulging every time I push my cock deeper inside you? I’m in so deep, it feels like my cock is gonna hit your cervix for sure. Your tiny cunny is working overtime just to take my whole cock inside you, but even though I’m stretching your tight little walls out to the max right now, we all know your perfect little pussy is just gonna tighten up even more again.”

“Fu-ff-fuck… Oh my fucking god! I- M-Mm… Mingyu! ‘M gonna, ‘m gonna… Oh my god! Aaaahhhh…. Ngggghhh. D-dd-don’t… mhmm fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, Oh god! Mingyu, don’t you dare fucking stop. Don’t fucking stop, just like that, fuck… Just like that, daddy! Oh my god, Gyu, it’s so fucking good. I feel so fucking good… so so so fucking good. Your cock feels so fucking good inside me. I’m… mhmm shit, shit, shit! I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours! I’m yours and only yours, forever okay…” You loudly cry, tears spilling down your eyes from the mix of the intense pleasure coursing through your veins and the strong, overflowing love you feel for Kim Mingyu.

“Damn right you are, angel. Mine! You’re mine forever and I’m only yours. I love you so much, y/n. Thank you for being with me all this time, thank you for giving me the great privilege of getting to be with you, of getting to call you my one and only baby. Thank you, baby girl.” Mingyu softly whispers, gently caressing your face and lovingly gazing into your eyes like you’re the only girl in his world.

“You said you wanna make me your hot little baby mama, yeah?” You ask so casually, throwing the usually confident, cocky little shit off his game. Taken aback by the out-of-the-blue line of questioning, Mingyu is frozen in place for a moment. His chocolate eyes widened in sheer surprise and disbelief at the string of words he just heard. Yes, he has thought hundreds, thousands, perhaps even millions of times about the idea of further making you his girl by impregnating you with his ropes of cum. He’d have to be a damn fool to not have an unspoken desire to see you pregnant with his child.

“I… It-It w-ww-was.. ‘nt… I... are you sure princess?” He stammers, nervously, feeling his blood run cold as he simultaneously feels beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. You lightheartedly giggle, as a wide, bright smile etches across your face, your legs working to wrap around your boyfriend’s waist and trap the man in your embrace. “Gyu, I told you. I love you. I’m yours, only yours. Would it be such a bad idea if we started trying to have a family of our own? I wanna have your babies, Gyu. I wanna make you a daddy for real.” You sweetly admit.

“Of course, I’ve thought many times about you being pregnant with my children. I’d be a fool not to think about how you’d be and look with a child, with my child, our child, but this relationship is a two-person team. So, I don’t wanna put you in any position where it feels like you don’t have a say. I’m just trying to make sure you really want this, baby. As hot as the idea of me possibly knocking you up is, it’s way more than that. Pregnancy is no joke, baby girl. What do you think, angel? I’m open to the idea of trying if that’s something you’re also open to.” Mingyu confesses, nerves running rogue and heart beating a million miles a minute. “Hmm…” You trail off, both mimicking Mingyu’s earlier action and actually giving deep thought to the idea of a family with Mingyu.

“I’m open to it, Gyu. We’re two hot ass people, so our babies would be some pretty and handsome as hell little humans. I wanna have your babies, Gyu. Now, cum for me, babe. Cum inside me, breed me nice and full, daddy! Make me a hot little baby mama, and I’ll make you a hot, sexy ass dilf that all the guys wish they were, and all the girls wish they could get with. Make me yours even more, daddy. Breed me, fill my tiny cunt with every last drop of your hot, thick cum. Breed me, daddy.” You sultrily moan, pulling Mingyu in closer despite already being pressed up right against each other.

“Ohh fuck! You’re gonna be the death of me one day, princess.” Mingyu groans, throwing his head back. “What an iconic way to kick the bucket, babe.” You giggle brightly, kissing and licking a trail of love bites down the side of his neck and along his clavicles. “Oh my god, you’re a menace, a little vixen.” Mingyu feigns shock. “Uhh…. excuse me! I’m the menace?! You, sir… Oh, let’s see… who’s the one that pulled us both away from the notion of having the dinner I worked hard to make because they were ‘hungry and thirsty for something else?’ Oh, wait… I do believe that was you who said those very words, Kim Mingyu.” You scoff, in disbelief at your boyfriend.

“I mean… can you really blame me, if I’m about to make you have the fucking orgasm of your life, darlin’? You’re the one who asked to be bred by daddy Gyu.” Mingyu counters, throwing you off your game now.

Kim Mingyu is a tease. A damn menace. A fucking ethereal, otherwordly cross-breed of model-level, actor-level, idol-level visuals and greek god physique. A man who seems too good to be true. But you truly wouldn’t have it any other way. Kim Mingyu is yours and you’re the luckiest person in the world to be his.

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mikathemonster · 7 months

Note

could you do fili with praise for kinktober please💞💞

kinktober, episode 1 <3

author's note: the way I am so numb and horny after writing this means I desperately need to go touch some grass. anyways, I'm so excited to start off kinktober with a cute Fíli drabble <3 feel free to request more if this one really got y'all going :) enjoy!

Pairing: Fíli / Gender-neutral Reader

Word Count: 850

summary: porn without any plot in sight <3

content warnings: nsfw, cowgirl/riding, needy/whiny men, need I say more?

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

“You’re taking me so well,” he cooed as you slowly eased yourself along his length. The pleasure was more than enough to send you reeling as you grinded down on top of his lap.

“I always do,” you hummed, setting a slow pace as you savored the feeling of him filling you up. “Don’t I, Fíli?”

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes as he watched you take all of him, smiling when you wrapped one of your hands in his hair to anchor yourself. “Fuck, ghivashel…”

His eyes rolled back for a moment from the feeling of your cunt sucking him in, a mixture of your arousal and his pre-cum already making a mess where you two were connected.

With a playful smirk, you positioned his head to face you dead on. “Come on, now. Don’t grow quiet now, love. Tell me how good I’m making you feel, hm?”

He pulled you close, chuckling as he planted kisses along your neck. “You always look so gorgeous when you’re like this.” His hands found purchase on your sides, massaging circles along your hips as he watched you take him so deliciously.

Your pace quickened at the praise, deciding to reward him for his good behavior. “And?”

His breathing was becoming slightly uneven now and it was taking all of his willpower to not turn the tides and pound you into the mattress. Gods, the things you did to him were enough to drive him crazy.

“A-and,” he paused, a moan ripping out of him as you slammed your hips against his. “That’s it, right there. Please, don’t stop now. You’re perfect.”

His kisses were becoming more sloppy against your skin as he teased one of your nipples with his tongue, eliciting a moan out of you as you leaned into his touch. You tightened your grip on his hair and smiled at the way he melted into the palm of your hand. Just the sight of him desperately trying to keep it together was enough to make you even wetter as you continued bouncing on his cock.

“Ahh, please,” he whined, bucking his hips up into you, reaching deeper inside you as you buried your head in the crook of his neck, your moans and heavy breathing only warming his ears. “Y/N, it’s like you were made for me, for this… Nobody else can fuck me the way you do.”

A sharp cry came from you as a padded thumb found your clit, rubbing gently in tandem with his thrusts and your grinding. “Fuck, Fíli, you’re doing so good. Keep talking, please.”

Between his whining voice and the sheer pleasure of you riding him, you could tell you were getting close.

And between your dominating attitude and the way your pussy was drowning his cock, he was also very close to the brink.

But that dominating attitude was quickly whittling away with every thrust of your lover as he bullied his cock deeper inside you, going faster and harder as he sent you bouncing on his cock. Your hands moved to steady themselves on his shoulders, digging your nails and leaving red marks on his war-scarred skin just to anchor yourself as best as possible.

“You’re driving me wild, Y/N–” He was barely keeping himself coherent now as his thrusts sent you bouncing on his cock with such intensity that you were starting to go dumb. “Fuck, I’m getting close now.”

“Fíli, don’t stop,” you pleaded, biting into his shoulder now to keep yourself from melting into his violent pacing. “Come on now, we can hang in there a little longer, hm?”

He let out a guttural moan at your words, knowing it would be more fun if he complied.

“Anything for you, ghivashel,” he whined in between thrusts, trying his best to hold out. “Gods, you’re so warm, so tight. You’re so fucking perfect. I could fuck you like this forever–”

More babbling spewed from your lover’s lips as he lost himself in the overwhelming pleasure of your pussy pulsing around his length as you came.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened as his name was all you could scream, his thrusts slowing down enough for you to ride your high before quickly speeding back up so he could chase his own. Tears brewed in your eyes as the overstimulation was starting to hit you, feeling so sensitive that pain and pleasure seemed one and the same now. You bit his shoulder harder this time, knowing it would certainly leave a mark in the morning, and the next few thrusts led to him painting your walls white.

A mixture of him and you was beginning to leak out from where you were connected as the two of you could only swallow each other’s moans in the sloppiest kiss imaginable. His hands rubbing soothing circles into your back now as your own moved to massage his now tender shoulders.

“Shall we keep going?” You grinned, feeling him begin to grow hard again as you moved yourself against him.

“Give me just a moment to recover,” he breathed. “But absolutely.”

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goldenhourwriter · 11 months

Text

•✮🕷️𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐤𝐢𝐝🕷️✮•

part one (you are here) • part two •

⋆pairing: miguel o’hara x wife!reader

⋆warning(s): i guess just fighting and some cursing. and threatening to bite someone lol. also i got translations from spanish dict, if i did something wrong, please correct me. i tried to use the right definitions/context to use those definitions in! also pregnancy.

⋆a/n: this was so fun to write! requests are open, and i am new to this blog, so hang on while i get this all figured out. requests are open, and this will be a mini series i am continuing!!

It’s not usually this quiet at the Spider Society.

It’s nice.

I walk around, humming softly to myself as I munch on a banana, a craving I usually get. I let my hand rest on my slightly swollen belly, my suit especially made to let it stretch and give the baby some room.

Yeah, ever heard of a pregnant Spider-Woman?

It happened a couple of months ago, as married couples tend to let happen. It’s twins, actually. One boy and one girl, but, my husband doesn’t know yet. Doesn’t want to know. I called the doctor anyways, and even though he threw a hissy fit that could rival a toddler, he relented and said it was fine.

And, it was kind of nice being alone. A lot of the spider-people tend to do things for me, think I’m incapable of doing things now because I’m pregnant. Even the ridiculous Spider-Man T-Rex gave me a ride through the halls. I snort at the thought, gaining some weird looks.

Obviously, I didn’t refuse. Who would pass up a ride on a freaking dinosaur?

My few 30 minutes of bliss, however, was interrupted by the beeping on my watch. I tap on it and smile when I see Lyla. She gives a wave.

“Hey, big wifey,” she teases, pushing up her pink, heart-shaped glasses. I roll my eyes. Everyone knows I hate that name. It doesn’t make me feel fat, it just makes me very aware of the two babies living inside of me, and how very uncomfortable life can really get.

“Hey, algorithm girl, what’s up?” I shoot back with sarcasm. I am met with satisfaction as she gives me a dead-pan look.

“Haha, very funny, love that,” she says sarcastically. “Your husband is struggling with an anomaly. Earth-65, some kind of Renaissance bird-man.”

I giggle at the thought. I can imagine his annoyance. “Gotcha, and did he actually call for back up?” I ask, but i already know the answer. I take another bite of my banana, shifting my weight onto my right leg. I can never stand still for too long, luckily, being a super hero can keep me moving. Keeps the babies satisfied.

She snorts at me, like i was making some hilarious, un-heard of joke. I relent, sighing and preparing my bracelet to go to the universe she said he was in.

“Alright, alright. How long do you think until he actually asks?”

“I’d give you about two minutes. He’s getting really thrown around with this one. And there’s another spider person, trying to ask him too many questions.”

My eyes perk back up to the hologram when she mentions this. “I haven’t heard of a recruit from Earth-65, is she new?” I ponder out loud. I cock my head to the side, adjusting my mask. Well, half mask. It really only covers my eyes. Lyla nods. “Yup, she’s a new one. She’s a nice kid, too.”

I smile.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Lyla logs off and I sigh, patting my baby bump. “Alright, you guys,” I whisper to my belly. I stick out my hand and the portal opens, and I jump in. I shout with joy, flying through the portal, and as I practically fall to the other end, my hair whips around.

I fall on the other end, and I groan as my hair blocks my vision. I hear grunting, crushing, wings flapping, and snappy remarks being thrown about, but I can’t see anything. I flip my hair over my head, shaking it out.

“I need a hair tie on these things,” I mumble to myself.

I look over, and I see a feminine-looking spider-hero staring at me. I give her a small wave. Her eyes are wide, I can tell. I examine her suit, which seems like it holds up pretty well. It has hood, which is new to me, and she’s wearing…are those ballet flats? I smile

“Hey, babes! You look cute!” I compliment to the get up.

She waves back again, and she looks down at my stomach. “Are you….?” She trails off. I look down, and put a hand on my hip. “Yep, I am. It’s twins, but don’t tell my husband the sexes yet. He wants to wait.” She nods, but seems to remember that she doesn’t know just who my husband is. She takes a step towards me.

“Who are you married to? Are there even more people like us?” I nod.

“My husband’s right….” I don’t even flinch as he gets thrown into the wall right in front of me, and I smile. “There.”

He groans as he slips to get up, his mask eyes squinting at me. I squint my eyes right back.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m carrying your children,” I scold. He gestured to the giant creature that hurls towards us. “I need help here!” He shouts at me. Lyla puts up on my shoulder, and we both cross our arms. He sighs, looking down.

“Please, Y/N? Sabes que no me gusta mendigar,(You know I don’t enjoy begging),“ He pleads quietly.

Vulture screeches at us. “Love truly makes me sick,” he narrates out loud, and he reaches his talons out for me. I stuck out my wrists and web up one wing, so he goes sideways, just barely missing me. He breaks free, but I web up behind him again.

“Your attitude makes me sick!” I shout at him. “You seem like the Beethoven of your area, jerky, cold, and not the greatest people-person!” I struggle to speak as I try to web him up again, but it doesn’t work. He barrels towards me, and grabs me in his talons. I hear Miguel growl and leap off the ground, landing on his back. He tugs on the man’s feathers, making him spin around to try and find him. I take the opportunity to web myself away from his grasp, kicking him away as I do so.

“Is this guy made of paper?” I ask, rubbing my hands together as I take a moment to actually register what just happened. Miguel grunts, and yells as he speaks to me from the bottom of the building. “Honey, I love your voice, but I really need you to use your actions right now!”

I spot a few witnesses trapped behind some rubble, so I shoot off the side of the wall to swoop them up. They scream, clutching onto me, and I drop them off right by a big police officer. He gawks at me, and I give him salute as Miguel webs me up again. I twist up, getting wrapped in his webbing, and I break free using a kick, hitting Vulture square in the jaw with my foot. He grunts in pain, squeezing his eyes shut, and Miguel uses this moment to try and guide him down, so he won’t escape.

I land right next to, what’s her name? I’ll learn it soon enough. I land right next to the teen as she stares at me. I smirk at her.

“What, never seen two married spiders?”

She swallows. “Can you adopt me?”

“What?”

“What? Nothing! Nothing!”

Miguel groans, and I can tell he’s growing tired. “¡Por Dios! ¿Puedes dejar de hablar por un momento? (Oh, my God. Can you stop talking for a moment?)” He calls out to me. I let out a heavy sigh, putting my hands on my knees. “I’m sorry, but your babies are making it hard to move right now!” I shout at him. Gwen webs away from me, and Miguel lands right next to me again. “Last time I checked, it took two people to make those two babies,” he grumbles. We take a moment and watch as Gwen tries to take down Vulture by herself.

I look at Miguel, and raise my eyebrows. “Did she call ya ‘Dark Garfield?’” I ask. He groans, and I can tell hair eyes shut as his head falls forward. “Yes.”

I giggle. “I like her. Maybe we can recruit-“ “No. No, we can’t, and you know why.” My somewhat playful attitude disappears with a frown, and I nod in compliance. He grabs my waist and he swings us up, and then we fall onto the Vulture back again. I scream through gritted teeth as I try to hold him down on the ground, but he flings me off, a sudden, new found strength in him.

“What the hell?” I curse. “Not cool, man!”

“This ends now,” he says to me, and he springs upward. I curse under my breath again, but it seems Miguel is on top of it. Literally.

“If he gets out, this whole universe will collapse!” He shouts, mainly at Gwen. I know the risks involved, having to save almost every universe from them every day. I shoot my wrist out, but I groan. I hit my web shooters, but nothing comes out. “Fuck-Miguel! I’m out!” I try to jump from floor to floor, but I quickly get nauseous while doing that. I look down at my stomach again, poking it. “So web slinging is fine but jumping is what doesn’t please you guys?” I ask the unborn babies. I get a mere kick in return. “I know that was the girl. That was way too sassy,” I grumble to myself.

Spider-Girl lands right beside me, and she looks at my husband and he battles Vulture. They both crash right through the glass ceiling, and we shield ourselves from the shards that could possibly cut us. She looks at me.

“What is he gonna do?” She asks. Miguel takes the Vulture’s face in his hands, and opens his mouth, wide, baring his fangs and giving a loud roar. “Oh snap,” whispers under his breath. But, he’s cut short, when a helicopter shines a light on him. He yells at the helicopter, his mask coming up again to cover his face.

“I’m a good guy! I’m here to help!” He desperately explains. My spider senses then go off, and I scream up to Miguel.

“Miguel! Watch-!“

I’m too late. Vulture throws two weapons at the helicopter, and then the helicopter starts to spin, going down, and fast.

“Shit.” All three of us say in unison.

I look to the kid, and she’s already looking at me. I nod towards her, and she returns the gesture, and we both know what that means. She launches off the floor, and she begins to web a net. I take a deep breath. “Alright, babies, don’t make me throw up,” I say sternly to my unborn babies.

I leap off the ground, and I fly through the middle of the helicopter, grabbing the two pilots and landing on the fourth floor of the building. I grunt as I roll on the ground with them, and we writhe in pain.

I turn to the both of them, checking on them, and I run to the edge, well, the mess that made the edge. I look down, and the teenage girl is flying through the air, webbing up a net. And just as the helicopter is about to crash, she flies right underneath it, just barely getting nipped by the chopper.

She lands, breathing heavily.

“Wow,” I whisper. Miguel hops a bit in front of me, landing on some rubble.

“I was gonna do that,” he says quietly to himself. I can tell he’s thinking her, thinking about her hard. Miguel and I share a glance at her, and she nods. She turns and hops down from the huge rock, and goes back towards the wall, out of sight. I turn and see the two pilots staring at me. I smile.

“Yeah, I know, there’s lots of freaky spider people, that was my reaction too. Cmon, let’s get you two a medic.” I reach down and offer my hand to them, which they take, one at a time. I help them to the big opening in the building where the door used to be, and I hand them over to some officers.

I sigh, turning around to find my husband surveying the area.

I walk up to him, putting a hand on his back, feeling his tense and rigid muscles, alert and still in attack mode. He seems to relax a little at my touch, and he lets his mask down. I grin, amusement

“Your hair is all messed up.” “Can you and I have one good moment after a battle where you don’t make fun of my hair?” “Absolutely not.”

He lets out a low growl, rolling his eyes. I walk a little in front of him, and stare at the place where the teen escaped to, hearing some grunting from there. No doubt she’s recovering on her own. My hand comes to rest on my stomach, my thumb running over the bump. I turn back to Miguel, my mouth open to speak, but he beats me to it.

“I said no,” he rejects me as he leans down to pick up some broken machinery. He scoffs at some poor excuse for art. “I’m starting to think Vulture did everyone a favor by destroying this place, this art sucks-“

“Miguel O'Hara, no cambies de tema,” I say sternly. He lets out a sigh. Spanish isn’t even my main language, so when I speak it, he knows I’m not messing around. He spins around, holding a figurine of a balloon dog in his hand. I would find it comedic, a big guy like him holding a small thing like that, but not when he’s trying to avoid my questions.

“You know we can use her. I’ve never seen anything like her, and she even beat you to one of your moves. You have to agree with me on this!” I gesture out in front of me, as if the conversation is laid out in front of us. Miguel sighs, walking up to me with his hands on his hips. His expression is hard, but his eyes give it away. He’s considering it, it helps if I’ve spent about a couple years with him now.

He brings his hand to my waist and another to my hair, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead.

“Te amo demasiado a veces,” he mumbles into my hair.

Okay, that gives me absolutely nothing.

His hand travel down to my stomach, and his two very large hands splay over my tummy. His lips quirk up a bit as one of them kicks against my skin. “Did you do okay today?” He asks quietly, referring to my very pregnant self. I nod, but it doesn’t seem to reassure him.

Vulture struggles next to us, but we just give him an annoyed look. “I’m done with your attitude!” Miguel tells him, pointing at him. He sighs, turning back to me, grabbing my waist and pulling me impossibly closer, so we’re basically sharing the same breathe. My stomach flutters. Even after marrying him, he really can have the same affect on me from when I was a new recruit.

“You know you can always opt out whenever, I can call for other backup,” he says quietly. He’s trying to spare my feelings, not letting others hear so I won’t get embarrassed. I’m never embarrassed, it’s life, I got pregnant, but I appreciate the sentiment. I lean up and kiss his nose.

“I know, thank you, but really, I’m fine.” I stick a hand up as he begins to protest. “At 7 months, I will take maternity leave. I’ll rest and just be the desk person, okay?” I ask. He debates it for a moment, and lets out a grunt and nods. We stay in our somewhat embrace for a bit, when we hear a gun shot. My head whips to where Spider-Woman went and hid, and I look at Miguel.

His mask forms again, and he kicks Vulture, telling him to be still as he picks him up. Miguel picks me up with his other arm and swings to the opening as we fall in.

“Dad, please!” She begs the cop standing across from her. Miguel shoots a containment pod at him, and she runs towards him. I grab her by the shoulders, trying to use my softest voice.

“Hey, hey, kid. Hey, it’s okay, we’re here, we got you,” I say quietly to her. She’s crying as she clutches onto my arm, staring at her dad. Miguel opens a portal, and I give the kid one more pat and walk over to him.

“What are we gonna do?” I whisper to him. He looks at me. “What do you mean?”

I roll my eyes.

“We can’t just leave her here!” I get a bit louder, but he shushes me, putting a finger up. My jaw drops.

“You did not just shush me,” I growl.

“Oh, I think I did.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t-!”

Miguel and I bicker back and forth, and at some point, Vulture voluntarily hops into the portal, all tied up, not wishing to stick around. I stick my finger up as I try to argue with him, my hand coming to my hip, and he towers over me, but that never took away my edge.

Then, some sniffling gets us to shut up.

The kid looks at us, her eyes watery and wide. She looks like what she is…a teenager who’s lost and alone. She opens her mouth to speak. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

I look slowly at Miguel, and he lets his head hang forward.

“Yeah, well….”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Join the club.”

🕷️ 💍

#miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 #spider man #spider man into the spider verse #across the spider verse spoilers #miles morales #gwen stacy

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ohcaptains · 1 year

Text

abby love theme

pairing. abby anderson x f!reader

synopsis. abby begs for forgiveness. then tries to make it up to you.

an. :) hey. do people read this bit? lemme know if you read this bit. also, did you know i’m a gamer girl now? -- looks like i’ve made writing for a dead fandom a thing so, might as well carry on. apologies if this isn’t your thing, but abby got me out of a month long writing slump so !

warnings. 18+. this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving oral, female receiving penetration (fingers), spit play, slightly mean! abby, hair pulling, and angst but mostly just graphic smut lol.

When Abby comes back, she’s apologetic.

She unlocks the door – as quietly as humanly possible – and gently pushes it back into the latch. Then, as always, bolts the top and bottom, an instinct, from doing it every night.

She’s always the first person up, and the last person in. Always the last one to get into bed – on your side, because you’re always asleep on her side – and the last one to say goodnight.

Now, though, she’s saying, “I’m sorry.” Standing at the edge, and whispering it at the back of your head, the soft verbiage a thunderclap in the soundless cocoon of your room. If you heard her, you give her no inclination.

It looks as if you’re sound asleep, and usually, Abby would do her best not to disturb your peace, but right now, she’s seconds away from begging.

So, she does something similar.

Clambers onto your shared bed, knees digging into the springs, and shuffles up close. Plunges her hands under and around you, and pulls you against her, speaking before you can. Just, speaking into the back of your neck – lips wet and swollen from her nervous chewing.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” she starts, which, in her mind, is the crux of the whole ordeal. Shouldn’t have yelled, shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, and yelled and that’s exactly what she’s saying, saying, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions and got distant and annoying. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you out. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.

Hands tighten around your middle, and at some point, you grab onto them. “I thought – “she’s going again. “I thought you were pulling away, so I did the same. It was stupid and childish and I’m sorry, I won’t – “

She repeats it like she’s stuck in a loop.

“– I won’t do it again I promise.”

She kisses the back of your neck and nuzzles deeper like she’s trying to imprint it onto your spinal cord – forcing it to travel up into your brain. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I’ll stay, hear you out – won’t yell, I’m sorry.”

Her kisses travel across your jaw, all punctuated with the same apologetic phrase. You’re awake now – awake as soon as she clambered onto the bed, as graceful as a truck – and you twist to greet her mouth.

Kiss her, and shut her up, yet still – she manages to say it again.

“’ m’ sorry,” she mumbles into your mouth. You can taste how sorry she is. Feel it, the desperation, in her wandering hands – pulling you into her, palming your lower back and twisting your shirt into her fist.

She says it as she rolls on top of you. Her knees push against your hips, ass against your crotch, and she’s still got your top stretched between her fingers.

Abby tongues her way into your mouth and you gasp, lifting your head off of the pillows to follow her mouth. “’ m’ sorry,” she goes again, making out with you. Wet and wanting, the kind of kiss that could only happen at two in the morning.

The gasp you sounded before turns into a whimper. Her kiss is intoxicating and knocks you for six – makes you loose and easy to manoeuvre. Abby drags kisses over your cheek, scattering them under your jaw as she repeats her apology again and again.

The heat of her, the weight of her – consumes you. You’d forgiven her hours ago. Feels like you’d always forgive Abby, no matter what she did. Even if she was quick to anger. Read things wrong. She always came home with her tail between her legs.

“Don’t yell at me like that again, Abby.”

“I won’t — “she immediately goes, her voice strained. She lifts her head and watches you, inches away, her face clouded in darkness. “I promise. I promise, um’sorry.”

Abby is gorgeous. Always has been. But she’s never more gorgeous than when she’s inches away, mouth against yours, with her blue eyes big and wanting. When she dips to kiss your neck again, you sigh out into your shared bedroom.

“’s’ okay, baby,” you breathe – finally – eyes fluttering closed and fingers reaching to slide into her hair. You hum, the swell of her mouth and wet of her tongue opening you up. It forces your legs to hang open around her hips.

Makes you loose and liquid, but she switches, sucks at the hollow of your throat, and you tighten up, fingers, legs, and hips -- pushing up into hers.

“Fuck—” you moan, back arching, “’s’ okay, Abby.”

It’s like she can’t hear you.

Spurred on by an obscene need, she’s sucking bruises into your skin. Gripping at your clothing and pulling it into her fist – tight -- not daring to let go.

“Abby,” you whisper, trying to turn to her, but she refuses to budge. Just. Sits on your lap and marks you with her mouth. She’s still cladded in her pants, the ones with the pockets and buckles. Wearing her shirt with the cut-off sleeves, smelling faintly of the gym.

Had gone to work her frustration out, then came home to apologise. Again, and again and again and she says it, again. Grounds her hips into yours, and you don’t think she even knows she’s doing it. Don’t think she knows she’s pushing the buckle of her belt against your crotch, the bite of it grinding through your sleep shorts.

“Mm, Abby,” you sigh again, twisting – again. Still, she doesn’t move. You grip the back of her head and pull her hair, catching her lips in yours before she can complain. You kiss her as she kissed you before. Tongue in her mouth, desperation in your fingertips – Abby mumbles, sorry, between the spit and teeth.

“I know,” you whisper, jutting your hips against hers.

“I know, baby,” you repeat, dragging the words under her chin, followed by the mesh of your mouth, teeth scraping against her jaw. You kiss away the red, say, I know, and taste her again. Repeat the motion, and Abby loves it. Has always loved when you got a little rough with her.

Takes a lot for Abby Anderson to break. She hums your name, and whispers, “Fuck,” when you suck a mark under her jaw, then, suddenly, she’s pulling away.

Leans back on your lap, tall and overwhelming, and reaches down, dragging the hem of her shirt up and over her head. You gaze at her as she throws it behind her, followed by the tug of her bra, and before you get the chance to gaze at her chest, she’s back and kissing you.

“Lemme make it up to you,” she breathes into your mouth. She pushes her chest into yours, and you feel her – the lines of her muscles, the softness of her tits, and Abby clutches your vest again, so tight that you’re basically not wearing it – the fabric bunched up in the middle.

You whisper, “take my shirt off then,” and she takes your shorts off, too.

Strips you bare, and kisses where your clothes once touched. Tongue curling around a nipple, fingers tugging at the other – trailing spit down your belly, palm flat on your heart, hips stretching lower and lower, until you watch her drag her teeth under your belly button.

You choke a gasp, and Abby smiles. A small one, but it’s there, and it twists mischievously as she lowers her tongue and swirls it above your crotch. “Shit – Abs,” you whisper, pulling your knuckles into your mouth.

You’re so sensitive there, and Abby knows. Knows that the feeling always shoots down lower and pushes against your clit. Abby’s chest is barely brushing against it.

She swirls her tongue again, sucking a mark as her wide, strong palms pull your thighs up. She gets comfortable laying between your legs.

“Did I mention that I was sorry?” Abby asks, mouth exploring. Her teasing forces something warm and buttery to bloom in your chest. The feeling triples as her mouth dips, scattering wet, intricate kisses over your inner thighs. Her thick fingers jut into your skin, rubbing circles into your thighs, and pushing at your lower stomach. Your hips buck into her face. “Mm, yeah – think so,” you quickly rush, words high pitch and desperate. Abby glances up at you, her blue eyes are bright and brilliant. You have to reach down between your thighs and cup her cheek.

Have to swipe your thumb at the spit she’s got smeared over her lips, and Abby’s tongue comes out, running over your skin before she sucks your finger into her mouth. Your face twists, lips parting.

Whispering, “might have to show me how sorry you are, though.” “Yeah?” Abby immediately breathes, barely looking at you. Too busy swirling her tongue around your thumb. Your heart thumps a beating drum, clit throbs, and you clench, humming her name.

Say, “Abs,” and her eyes open -- pupils are blown wide. A conniving smirk on her pretty face, and she growls and bites – pretending to chomp on your finger. You pull your hand away, giggling, saying, “what the hell, Abby!” but she’s not listening. Too busy hitching your hips up.

Too busy dribbling spit onto your pussy, and your giggle twists to a loud gasp as she drags the flat of her tongue from your hole to your clit. Your body shatters. Her name is a strangled sob, and you have to muffle it with the back of your palm.

“Fuck,” you whimper, not having enough energy to cuss her out. Not that you want to, anyway. Even if she deserves it. Even if you still want to be angry at her, but what good would that do?

She’d literally crawled into bed with her metaphorical tail between her legs. The hot-headed Abby Anderson, who only ever wanted to be good. That is who you fell in love with.

She drags her tongue through your folds again. Relaxed, slow, and sensual. Again, and again Taking her time with you because she could. Because you’d let her – let her do anything, really.

Let her swirl her tongue around your clit, saliva drooling over your heat, and dripping between your legs.

A warm, welcome heat spreads across your thighs, pushing at your belly and spine, forcing you to squirm – or at least try and squirm away from it, but Abby keeps you locked where she wants you.

Sucks your clit into her mouth, and you moan, back trying to arch, but shit, she won’t let you.

“A-Abby,” you hiccup, arching as far as she’ll let. Your fingers search for something to grab onto — one finds the sheets, and the other finds her hair, where it pushes into her messy braid and tugs, both frustrated and turned on beyond relief.

You say her name again, a plead to stop, a plead to carry on, forever.

Abby chooses the latter, and it does feel like forever. Feels like a lifetime of her dragging her tongue through your folds. Her nose pushes into your heat, and the wet of you soaks her chin.

She sinks a finger inside, and you moan her God damn name.

She doesn’t slow down — why would she? but most of all, how could she? When you’re stretched out on the bed she shares with you, naked, and whispering her name.

Again and again, Abby, Abby, Abby.

The beating of a drum — one that matches the buzzing, fluttering, and flapping of her heart. How can she stop, when you’re clenching around her middle finger, moaning deep and long — a drawn-out sound that echoes around the room. You soak her finger, too. Soak both when she adds another. Abby curses.

“Maybe I should piss you off more often if this is my penance.”

It’s hard to speak, but still, you manage.

“Fuck—d-don’t get it twisted— “you tighten your grip on her hair, “--you’re still—still in the doghouse.”

Abby pouts, eyeing you, “but I’m being such a good boy.”

“Jesus Christ.”

You have to let go of the sheet to cover your face. Then, moan into your knuckle as you clench, her fingers stretching you out.

Abby hums a laugh, “you like that, huh?”

Your rebuttal is quiet, a whisper of a sound as you utter —

“No one likes a show-off.”

“But you do.”

“Yeah— “you sigh, clenching again, the feeling building behind your clit. “I do.”

Too much, sometimes. Feels like you’re so full of love for Abby Anderson that you’re fit to burst.

Her fingers speed up. Deep and long, but at the perfect tempo to have your legs shaking. Have you biting at the back of your hand, too, to stop you from screaming and waking up the entire floor.

She has her calloused hands holding your legs against the bed, and it’s all take and take and take. The obscene pressure makes you drift off, and you’re lightheaded and docile when she asks,

“I make you feel safe, right?”

“W-what?”

The question knocks you for a loop. You look down at her, eyes blown, forehead furrowed, and a smile drags onto her stubborn face. She rests her forehead on your lower stomach and speaks into your skin as she stretches you open with her fingers. You gasp, eyes rolling back.

“S’ what you said, earlier — that I make you feel safe.”

You don’t remember saying that. Did you say that? You must have. You try and think back to the argument. Think back to her getting insecure and angry about Mel saying that Abby hovers around you all the time.

I like having you around Abby, you make me feel safe.

When you don’t respond, she picks up the speed. Drags her fingers through your cunt -- makes you squirm and drench her fingers, a shocked gasp choking at your throat. The sound grabs her attention, and she snaps up, the heat of her stare a living, breathing thing.

“Right?” she repeats.

“Yes,” you gasp, hot all over, then, “Fuck — yes.”

“You like having me around, yes?”

“Yes Abby, yes yesyes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah — fuck, even if you, drive me fucking crazy— “

She sucks your clit into her mouth again, and you break.

“—oh holy shit, yes, please, Abby please keep doing that please keep doing that, please, please, please, please, please.”

You’re wired. The drag of her fingers. The warm, tight, suck of her mouth. Delirious. You moan her name as if it’s the only word you know. Right now, it is. The brain fog is seeping in, and you can’t remember why you were mad. What did she do again? You clench down on her fingers, so tight that it hurts.

“Abs — um’gonna come. Fuck, please, please let me come I want it want it so bad.”

Abby doesn’t speak, just grunts, and nods her head against your cunt. Nods, and nods, and loosens her grip on your legs, letting you – finally – rest your thighs against her shoulders as the harsh, hot feeling spills over you. Your eyes roll back, fingers coil in her hair, and everything is clenched and tense and tight, until you release, wet and hot and intense.

“Oh my fucking God—Abby, Abby, Ohm’god, so fuck—” the words dribble out of your mouth like spit. Mindless, dredged up from somewhere dark and damp, saved for this moment only. Abby bathes in them, never stopping her fingers, never stopping her tongue as she soaks you up, your body shaking from under her grip.

At some point, she watches, and God – it’s a sight to behold. When the feeling fizzles out, and you’re gasping in air, your flustered face staring down at her, she stretches up. Kisses you and spreads your musk over your lips as she tongues her way into your mouth, her wet fingers grabbing a hold of your cheek to keep you steady. She says some words of her own, but you barely hear them, still drunk and dizzy from how far she took you.

With shaky, weak hands, you reach down for the buckle of her jeans. “’ S’my turn,” you mumble against her mouth, and she laughs quietly. “My turn, you mean.” “Mm,” you hum, kissing the taste of you off of her lips. Still fuzzy, you go dizzy when you shake your head at her. “You okay sweetheart?” she laughs, and you roll your eyes. “’ jus’ gimmie a minute, then it’ll be my turn.”

Abby always tries to keep quiet at first. You thought it was a pride thing, then briefly, a shame thing, but then you realised, it was just an Abby Thing. Another Abby Thing -- is that she likes to watch.

Props herself onto her elbows – with one hand in your hair – and gazes down at you between her thighs. It’s what she’s doing now. Her fingers are lax in your strands, and eyes are lazy as she regards you with curiosity.

Tongue in the corner of her mouth, a furrow in her brows, as you kiss at the inside of her muscular thighs. You move with no real direction, and Abby gets lost in the bobbing of your head, the slow build before you’re dragging your tongue over the thin skin between her thigh and pussy, and she opens her mouth to make a sound. Still. She’s silent.

Achingly so.

You brush your mouth against her. Just an inch. Just a touch, and look up, catching her blue gaze. A small, teasing smile quirks at her lips, and she raises a brow, silently saying, well, go on then.

One thing that surprised you about Abby, was how nice she was.

Reserved, yes – but nice. Nice, until she got mean. Despicable. You love all sides of her, but it’s moments like this, where you particularly love the mean part of her.

The part that tightens her grip on your hair – tight and unforgiving – as you drool so much spit onto her pussy that it drips over your chin and soaks the mattress. The part that tuts when you start too fast, causing her to say, slow – slow down pretty, go slow for me. The part that lifts your head when you don’t slow down, spitting, what the fuck did I just say?

But this moment? this moment isn’t like that at all. There’s no mean Abby. There’s only the thankful Abby. The one who whispers praises at you, eyes locked on the way you swipe your spit over her cunt, pushing it into her, and tasting how wet she got from making you come.

She says that’s it, so faintly, that you barely hear her. But no matter, she’s saying it again. Saying, that’s it, baby, as you build up the momentum, just barely touching her clit – like she taught you. You always were a good listener. It’s how you hear the hushed sound she sighs. How you hear her low grunt, followed by her high-pitched intake of breath as you nudge your nose against the swollen bundle of nerves.

She’s soaking.

Completely drenched and knowing that she got like this from eating you out fuels your desire. Forces you to abandon your slow movements, and instead, begin to consume her. Tongue flat, fingers tight on her hips, you work her over, drooling and moaning, and swirling your tongue over her clit until she has to make a sound.

“Shit,” she grunts, and you glance up at her. She’s chewing on her bottom lip. Jaw clenched, eyes blown and cheeks red – trying to keep herself contained. You have to smile. Have to grin at her as you roll your tongue over her clit, watching her desperately try and cling to any sense of sanity. It’s no use though, because when you suck her clit into your mouth – sloppy with spit -- she has to look away.

She can’t hold herself up anymore, either, and she falls back to the pillows, back immediately arching, and she has to drag her bicep over her face, hiding her face from view as she moans a deep and guttural, “Fucccckkkkk,” into the bedroom.

Her fingers clutch your hair, and she uses her grip as leverage and grinds her cunt against your mouth and chin. You let go of her clit and flatten your tongue, letting her use you.

“Yes—” she gasps, mouth opening, and you would be seeing her face twist, if not for her thick bicep covering her face. The veins in her arm are ticking, and you notice that her ab muscles are clenching, too, so you reach up slowly, sliding your palm over her sweaty chest, and running your thumb over her tense skin, hoping to soothe the tension.

“Abs,” you whisper, slowing your pace. “Mmh?” she hums, and you slide your fingers further, dragging them over her tits. “Relax,” you hush, and she laughs, the sound bursting from her throat before it breaks into a breathy moan as you switch up -- twist your tongue around her clit, rotating between swirling and sucking, swirling, and sucking until she lets go of your hair completely.

Has to fidget -- can’t lay still. She’s arching her back, clutching the duvet, then grabbing your hair again, sobbing your name, over and over, as you suck and swirl at her swollen clit. Watching her lose control is intoxicating. It’s forcing an ache to build between your thighs, but not as strong as Abby’s, who’s moaning and cursing.

“Keep doing that – keep doing that baby, ‘s’ fucking good. Please, please don’t fucking stop, shit.”

God, it’s so hot – stopping has never crossed your mind.

“’um ‘gonna come,” she whispers, so quiet that you have to strain to hear it. But then, she’s shaking her head, changing her mind. “Don’t wanna – don’t wanna come, 'cause I don’t want it to stop.” “You can come—” you grant, sucking her wetness into your mouth and spitting it back into her cunt. Abby whimpers, not daring to look. Though, she does when you declare, “—um’ not gonna stop.”

Cranes her neck up, then immediately regrets it. You’ve got one hand on her hip, and the other is between your thighs, where you’re steadily grinding against it. She’s speechless for a second, just, watching you grind your cunt into your knuckles, and then she’s asking, “Are you touching yourself?”

Heat floods your body for a fleeting beat, but then you’re moaning into her pussy, nodding, saying, “you’re so fucking hot, Abs. Mm’ sorry.”

Mean Abby would have chastised you, but this is the thankful Abby, this is the Abby who shakes her head, laughs, and says, “Shit, and you wonder why I don’t leave you alone.” “Don’t,” you immediately respond. You can sense her confusion, so you decide to be honest. “Don’t leave me alone. I like – like having you around, like people seeing us together,” you admit. Like it when she’s in earshot. When she buys you drinks and helps you out. When she refuses to let you go on runs without her, not because you can’t do it, but because why should you? When she can do it with you.

Like it when she hands you the big gun, kisses your forehead and says, be safe. When she picks you over all the grown, muscular men in the team, not out of loyalty, but because she trusts you, more than anyone she’s ever met before.

You’re fueled with passion – a desire for her, and it forces you to drag your fingers from her hip and under your chin, palm up, before pushing your middle finger into her cunt.

Abby groans, loud — the bellow of it echoing against the walls, and she moans as she gushes over your lips. You taste her; suck her into your mouth before you say, I like belonging to you, Abby, and Abby fucking sobs.

Whimpers like a wounded animal, whimpers like it hurts, says, say that again, please say that again. And so, you do. Moan it into the wet heat of her, your lips swollen, and your chin soaked. Try to imprint the words onto her skin, so she’ll never doubt herself again.

“It’s gonna be big –” she sobs, hiccuping the words, “--can feel it in my fucking chest.”

She drags her arms up, hands clutched together above her head so her elbows rest on her forehead, and you watch her mouth twist, jaw clench, then she’s cursing, gasping, saying, “shit – um’ gonna--” and she does.

Comes all over your mouth and chin, wet and hot, and loud. You lap her up, tasting the salt and spit and hearing her sob your name with a complete lack of self-awareness. It rings in your ears, makes you laugh – prideful – and Abby gasps one, too, but the sound morphs into a whine as you drag out the sensitivity, overstimulating her with your mouth and fingers.

When it gets too much for her, she grunts a curse, her hand coming down to grab your head and she uses a fist full of your hair to pull you away. You look up at her, cheeks glistening, and grin.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderon smut #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson tlou2 #the last of us part 2 #the last of us #tlou2 #tlou #the last of us 2 #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson fan fic #tlou2 fanfic #tlou2 abby anderson #abby anderson the last of us #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson tlou

2K notes · View notes

vampyrsm · 3 months

Text

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER TWENTY | AMANOZAKO

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues with wandering souls in the middle of the night, joining together to discuss the name of one who has the gift of immortality. Another comes knocking at the door of the King and Queen, and a chance of redemption is offered to the one who started it all.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 10.5k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, violence, blood, cannibalism, suggestive at the end.

Grasping hands and goading words, all muffled by the water that rushes over your head. It burns at your nose, and pools at the back of your throat until you’re forced to cough in an attempt to breathe. Their hands don’t relent and the water never stops, you can feel your lungs tightening and tightening—

You find yourself sitting up in the darkness of your bedroom, the futon beneath you crumpled by your restless sleep. You can feel the warmth of Sukuna at your side, a reassurance that you know he’s real and there. You weren’t locked away in a cell to rot until they came and played with you, tortured you for information they didn’t truly need.

A glance at Sukuna confirms that he wasn’t roused by your nightmare, only his chest rising and falling steadily. It should comfort you, but instead, you can only focus on the phantom hold of hands on your ankles, the pressure of fingertips against your shoulders to hold you down to the table.

You slip from the safety of your bed, careful again to not disturb Sukuna. It was no surprise he was as exhausted as you were, he most likely didn’t sleep in the time you were away.

The room you had been moved into was in a different wing of the estate, the other bedrooms had only doors that led to the outside with small slatted holes in the wall to serve as windows—all to keep the wind from the mountains out as best it could. But this room had a beautifully made window, rounded and covered with only a sliding shoji door-like cover.

Your fingers move the cover just slightly, enough for you to peer outwards. You find yourself looking directly into the courtyard you had walked by a handful of times, the pebbled floor is coated in snow as it always was and a number of snowflakes have started to drift onto the wooden walkways.

It looked serene in the moonlight, with no trees to block the moon from stroking its fingers along the snow. It was enough to drown out the nightmare blaring in the back of your mind, enough to ignore the feeling of ghastly fingers still wrapped around your limbs. You were free, no longer tethered and powerless in a cell that smelled like stale air and piss.

A chilling curl of wind brushes against your cheek, biting at the blood that nestled beneath your skin. It would be enough to have someone retreating into the warmth of their bed, to wrap themselves up in the arms of the one who would protect them against the harshness of the outside world. Instead, it has you relishing in the feeling. The cold has your skin dappled with gooseflesh, your lungs tightening at the frigidity of it as it rolls along the exposed flesh of your neck.

Something crunching has your eyes opening once again, glancing out into the courtyard to search for the source of the sound. Immediately, you’re met with glossier silk wrapped around a feminine body. Their hair as dark as the night sky above spills down their back, unbound and unattended. Smoke billows around her face, her lips unpainted and parted to breathe the grey cloud into the sky.

Beneath the smoke, you meet eyes of green. Kenjaku.

Her head tilts when you maintain eye contact, the silver Kiseru in her hand glints in the moonlight with the movement of her wrist. It burns brightly at the tip before it dims once again, and that same breath of ghastly grey leaves her lips—and this time you can see her lips curl into a feline smile. Her body shifts slightly, and then with slow and deliberate steps, she begins to traverse along the wooden engawa, protected by the roof above.

She grows closer and closer with each step, the next gust of wind has the smoke travelling your way and it stings at the back of your throat. Her cursed energy is no better, it batters against your skin and demands entry. It strokes along your features, along the length of your jaw and the scar barely hidden by the dishevelled haori you were drowning in. It makes your lip curl.

Without a glance backwards to Sukuna, you shift the window to be closed once again before leaving the bedroom. The hallways are deserted and silent, not even a flicker of a flame to guide you towards the beacon of cursed energy that continues to stroke at your own even through the walls surrounding you.

It reminded you of a serpent, curling and curling before it tightens—constricting until its prey gives in. Until there was no hope left. Kenjaku was something worse than a snake, however, she was intelligent. Conniving. A strategist who could have the world in the palm of her hand if she so wished it. And that alone has the hairs on the back of your neck rising in warning; she was not to be trusted. Ever.

The door leading to the courtyard opens with a muted slide of wood on wood, the bristling cold latches onto your exposed ankles and tightens around your throat.

“Little lamb.” A honeyed voice comes from the right of the door, with Kenjaku leaning against the wooden beam supporting the roof above. “Or should I now also call you the Queen of Curses? Do you demand the same level of respect as that of your beloved?”

Her eyes glint with mirth at the glare you send her way, opting to not speak—you step out into the cold. The frozen wood beneath the soles of your feet is enough to finally force you to draw in a deep breath to try and temper the shocking chill that shoots through your body. Kenjaku thankfully says nothing at the fact you were no doubt exposing yourself to frostbite just to speak with her.

Moving along the wooden walkway, Kenjaku finds herself next to you easily enough. Each of her steps in time with your own, one arm crossed over her chest whilst the other continues to hold the Kiseru just inches from her face when she takes another long deep drag of the tobacco.

“What keeps your mind awake so late at night?” Kenjaku asks, her head turned just enough for you to catch the green of her eyes when she side-eyes you. Her words are probing, an underlying question of ‘What weakness have you procured in your time away?’

“My father’s death.” You half-lie. It’s not the truth of what had woken you up in the first place but it certainly plays at the back of your mind. The smell of his broken and rotten flesh would forever be imprinted on your mind, and the final moments you shared with him before he died—it didn’t fill you with the sense of relief you were longing for.

You can see Kenjaku’s lips turn upwards out of the corner of your eye, no doubt finding joy in the fact you were once again speaking with her on the matter of your father. After all, she’s the reason why you had fought Sukuna so closely to death and why everything had happened afterwards.

“Hm, and why does it still bother you? He was never alive to begin with.” Her words have you sharply looking towards her; she knew your father was kept as a cursed spirit. “Oh, don’t look so scandalised. When you’re as old as I am, you’ll understand the importance of having eyes on the most important people in the world.”

Kenjaku’s words take the tone of a condescending manner as if she were a mother speaking to a child who had no idea how the world worked. Perhaps that was partly true, you had no idea just how vast and intense the world was beyond your enclosed childhood. You’d appreciate her advice if it weren’t for the smirk on her lips and the air of superiority that follows when she tilts her chin just slightly upwards.

“His death doesn’t bother me. I have no feelings about it.” You direct your gaze out into the courtyard, the flurry of snow beginning to pick up once again with darker clouds starting to blow over to hide the moon. “I feel nothing for any of the people I killed.”

“Why should you feel something? People should be seen as stepping stones, a way to advance your own power.” Kenjaku shrugs with her words, eyes closing with another inhale of the smoking pipe in her hand. “Consider it a good thing you feel nothing. No doubt you would’ve driven yourself to madness with the guilt that comes with killing another.”

“The lack of emotion is maddening.” You murmur. You didn’t want to feel guilty, or sad, you just didn’t have anything to process following the death of your uncle and father. There should be something there, and yet it’s as if the dark void in the centre of your soul had opened wider to absorb everything and anything you could feel.

Kenjaku laughs at your words, a melodious laugh. “You don’t lack emotion, you’re simply processing it differently. Sukuna notices it too, why else do you think he was so quick to shoo me away last night?”

When you offer nothing but a glance towards Kenjaku, she comes to a stop at the edge of the Engawa, looking at the grand seat that would house Sukuna if he were ever to hold court.

“He sees the same chaos within you as I do. You had entered that place a lamb, and emerged not a wolf—but a beast that would cause children to wet their beds at night. It’s not that you have no emotions anymore, it’s rather you have only one way of processing those emotions. When you take the life of another.”

The tobacco crackles in the pipe when she takes another drag, her eyes set on the scene before her. “It’s why the ghosts of your tormentors haunt even your dreams.”

“How did you know about that?” You furrow your eyebrows, and Kenjaku only grins at your words.

“I know more than you ever could about the human mind. Consider it my speciality. I know the look of someone plagued by nightmares, you’re not going to be able to keep those hidden from Sukuna by the way.” She turns to face you finally, “The only way forward now is bloodshed.”

“The Emperor, you want him dead also.” Kenjaku smiles a little more wryly this time, reaching a hand forward to brush the cold tips of her fingers along your cheek. You don’t flinch away.

“Not the Emperor, but the one who whispers in his ear.” Your eyebrows furrow at her words—the one who whispers in his ear? An advisor perhaps? His wife? You knew the Empress had a say in some matters, but it was rare for a woman to have any say in what a man was to do with his country. “Worry not about the specifics, we’ll fight that battle when we get there.”

Her hand curves along your jaw, brushing the collar of your haori to the side just enough to peek at the marred flesh of your shoulder. “Tell me about the fight with Sugawara, the Six Eyes.” Her hand drops after her words, eyes reawakened with interest at what was to be said.

“...I didn’t kill him.” You admit, waiting to see the surprise written across Kenjaku’s face but instead, her impassive smile remains in place.

“I know.” She turns to face the courtyard, standing next to you at the edge of the wooden walkway. “A user of the Six Eyes simply doesn’t die, the natural scales of power would’ve tipped over.”

Your eyebrows come together in contemplation of her words; she knew a lot more about Sugawara than you assumed she would. As far as you knew, no one knew much about Six Eyes or even the clan he came from—only that they did exist and lived somewhere in Japan, hidden away. No wonder Sukuna kept her around, she wasn’t just strong with her technique but she was a wealth of information.

When you don’t speak, Kenjaku continues. “But even with his… immortality. How did you get close enough to crush his eyes?”

“Our cursed energy isn't compatible. Whatever he uses to protect himself, isn’t really a shield. It slows down time or has a similar effect. And with my own cursed energy being similar…”

“They cancel each other out.” Kenjaku finishes for you before she grins. “I see, that’s quite something. I’ve had my own issues with Sugawara in the past, each time he was the one who won. His strength is something that only the Gods possess… and yet you could touch him, crush his power.”

Her voice grows breathy as if she was relishing in the fact Sugawara had been vanquished—or at the very least, incapacitated. Her history with Sugawara was no doubt deep, deeper than you could ever realise. She had her own issues with Sugawara, meaning she had fought Sugawara in the past… and lost. Repeatedly. Perhaps that’s why she was so surprised to see someone who came from nothing, who is nothing, defeat him.

“Sugawara was only the start. The Emperor still lives.” And that grin on Kenjaku’s face grows malicious at your words.

“Yes. An Emperor who has been stroked by the brush of heavenly principles, and at his side is a woman older than any of us combined. An old croon who will be quite upset with you putting a timer on her impending death.”

What? You didn’t know you did such a thing, you’ve never met an older woman, never mind someone who was close enough to Sugawara that his disappearance would lead to her death. “But I didn’t—”

“Of course, you didn’t know. It’s actually a good thing, it forces her out of hiding. A perfect opportunity for us to take her.” Kenjaku turns to face you, her eyes drifting momentarily to the side before she meets your gaze. “Our next target is not the Emperor. It’s Tengen.”

You open your mouth to speak before a cold chill brushes against your back. “Kenjaku. I hope you’re not whispering your nonsensical ideas to Master Sukuna’s wife.”

“Uraume. What a pleasure it is to be in your presence. How’s the dog?”

You turn to glance at Uraume, their features are deepened into a frown that sends another frosty chill to race down your spine. You hadn’t even heard them arrive, or even the approach of their cursed energy—was it being masked? Hidden away? …and what dog?

“Alive.” Uraume glares at Kenjaku when she laughs in return before their gaze flicks to you. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I can go where I please.” Your words come out clippier than you’d like, and Uraume only narrows their gaze at you.

“Of course. But it’s against Master Sukuna’s orders.”

Their words spark an immediate flame in your chest. Orders. Orders to be kept within the confines of your own room, to be locked away when you had regained your freedom. Your nostrils flare and you feel the prickle of a surge of cursed energy just beneath your skin—squirming, wanting to lash out.

It makes Kenjaku huff out a laugh, even if she takes several paces away from the growing frost at Uraume’s feet in retaliation.

“I don’t take orders. Not from Sukuna, and certainly not from you.”

Uraume’s jaw ticks in annoyance, and their hands that were hidden within the confines of their attire drop down to reveal individual patches of ice forming in sheets along their skin. “You will respect—”

“Uraume, that’s enough.” His words are deep, a barely there snarl that has Uraume’s face dropping from the frown into mortification. You hadn’t even heard him approach, hadn’t even noticed Kenjaku had vanished entirely from sight. “And here I thought you were on strict orders to deal with an issue on the other side of the temple.”

“Yes, Master Sukuna. However, I didn’t think it was wise to allow Kenjaku to speak with your wife unaccompanied.” Uraume at this point was already in a deep bow, an apology for disobeying his direct orders. You almost want to laugh.

Sukuna is quiet for a moment, a heartbeat of a second that has you itching to glance over your shoulder at him— “Leave us.” comes his command instead, and it’s hardly passed by his lips before Uraume disappears in a flush of chilled air.

As soon as they’re out of range, you notice they fall back into that murky almost-hidden state of hiding their cursed energy. Whatever was on the other side of the temple was to be kept secret.

“Sneaking out again?” Sukuna’s voice isn’t accusatory, yet his words still twist your stomach. When you turn to look up at him, his face is like stone. Cold and unforgiving, eyes narrowed and sharp despite having only just woken up in the middle of the night.

“No, I couldn’t sleep.” You admit, and it feels like defeat. You half expect Sukuna to turn his nose up at the idea of you falling victim to something as trivial as nightmares. But when warm hands curl long fingers around your arms, you’re victim to the gentle pull that Sukuna gives you until you fall into his chest. He breathes you in then, his nose buried into the top of your head.

His chest is warm against your cheek, the bareness of it such a stark difference to the icy background of the outside world. It’s only natural for your arms to find their place beneath his, your fingertips pressing desperately into the skin of his back. You can hardly reach around him, and yet you try. You try to lose yourself in the feeling that is Sukuna holding you; as it was as rare as it was unusual.

“It’ll only fester if you keep it to yourself.” His words rumble against your ear, and he presses his cheek to the top of your head once he continues, “I would say I don’t care about trivial things, I don’t—but your mind clouds my own.”

“And you need your mind clear.” You move to dislodge yourself from his chest, to push away and allow him the clarity he’s asking for—

“Did you become stupid in your time away?” This time, his words are a growl and his eyes meet your own when you snap your head up. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m telling you that your nightmares, your thoughts, they are as if they’re my own—and they anger me. Until I can’t tell what is my anger and what is your own.”

A hand comes up to grasp at your jaw, unforgiving fingers sinking into your cheeks to hold you in place when he meets your gaze head-on. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you need not run to the shadows and find solace in people like Kenjaku—I will listen to you.”

In any other normal circumstance, you would ask why. Why would someone care for another so deeply that they’d listen to their burdens and shoulder them as if they were their own? But you have no need to ask when it comes to Sukuna, you can feel his reason. It curls delightfully in your stomach, strokes its dark claws along your heart and tugs at the strings of your soul.

So instead, you gently wrap your hand around the wrist attached to the hand still holding your face. It’s such a minuscule touch, a minor brush of your fingers against the band of black ink there and it has Sukuna visibly softening—which was more of just the red in his eye turning from molten rock to the same shade of red that paints the trees red in autumn.

He comes to you like a moth to a flame; his lips find yours as if they were meant to be forever joined. It’s not as hungry as the kisses you had shared in the past, a simple press of the lips that oozes an intimacy shared between two souls. And when he breaks away, Sukuna is wearing a smile that spells nothing but trouble.

“You upset Uraume enough to almost destroy this half of the temple.” His forehead presses against your own, a bump that causes a smile to break out on your own face.

“I didn’t mean to. They’re just under the impression that you order me about.”

“Oh? And I don’t?” His smile grows into a grin.

“No. And you never will.” Your words push a chuckle from his mouth before he lays another kiss against your lips, then your cheek before he stands back up to his full height.

“Perhaps I made a mistake giving you all this power. It’s clearly gone to your head.” His eyebrow raises when your smile turns dangerous. “After all, you’ve never won a fight against me.”

“Ah, does that determine who wears the crown and has servants kissing their feet?” You muse, “I see no crown and I see no servants. Perhaps I was the one who made a mistake in thinking you were the King of Curses.”

Sukuna’s nostrils flare in amusement, the glint of his canines in the moonlight makes him look truly like the monster they portray him as. Yet you see beneath it all, you can see the playful gleam in his eye and can feel the care in the way he still holds you close to him. He may be a monster, but he was no monster to you—this was a man who would rip and tear the world apart if it meant to protect his own.

“You’ve grown bolder. I hope you haven’t forgotten that I like it when my women fight back—”

“It makes the skin saltier. Oh, I know.”

Sukuna laughs, loud and mesmerising to listen to—and to watch. The way his face lights up with delight at meeting his own match, how it exposes the wrinkles of his forehead and creases the tattoos that mark his face. He looked so human when he laughed, so alive.

“As much as I would love to put you into your place, I think it can wait for another time.” His arms move you easily enough, tucking you into his side and pushing you alongside. “You cannot avoid sleeping by picking fights with Uraume and Kenjaku.”

“Kenjaku surprisingly had much insight to offer. She told me more about Sugawara and another. One she wishes to capture.” You sneak a glance at Sukuna, but he spares you no glance at your words. “Tengen. Do you know who that is?”

“Of course I do. Tengen is well known for her barriers, they’re near-impossible to break—and they say she’s immortal.”

“Truly?” Immortality. You’ve never heard of such a thing being actually achievable, it was something sought after, as it’s human nature to simply wish to put a stop to the inevitable end that comes for everyone.

“So they say. I’ve heard whispers of the ritual she undergoes to secure her immortality; she absorbs vessels suited for her needs.” Sukuna pauses at the entryway into the building, glancing over your head towards the snowy courtyard with an expression you could only pin as contemplation. “Kenjaku must have a reason for wanting her.”

“Perhaps she’s looking for the secret to immortality too.” It would make sense, you reason with yourself, Kenjaku is a woman who no doubt wants to be the one at the end of it all—alive, and at the top of the food chain.

“Kenjaku doesn’t have a need for immortality, she can achieve that all on her own.” Sukuna shakes his head before glancing down at you. “Don’t listen to what she might be whispering in your ear, it’ll never be for your benefit. Only her own. Do not play into her hands.”

His words are serious. Scorning almost. As if he’s already disappointed that you went out of your way to speak to her without anyone there to monitor the words that may come from Kenjaku’s mouth. So all you can do is nod, and it’s enough to satisfy the man before you as he turns to open the door. You follow after him through the dark hallways, only guided by Sukuna who finds his way back to the bedroom easily enough.

The door slides open, and naturally it would be you following after Sukuna once he steps foot inside. Instead, he holds it open for you, and you stop in your tracks. He wasn’t planning on returning to bed tonight.

As if sensing your train of thought, Sukuna glances your way. “I have something I need to deal with.” It’s a flimsy excuse, one that holds far too many unanswered questions and it must show on your face because Sukuna quickly begins to scowl. “Rest.”

With no room to argue against the hissed tone he takes with you, you’re forced to step into the confines of the bedroom. You turn to glare at him, a look he hasn’t had his way in some time. “And why can’t I come with you?”

“Because you need to rest.” His fingers curl around the door as if to close it in your face. “Tomorrow. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

And with that, the door finally does slide closed in your face. Sukuna doesn’t linger on the other side of the door, trusting you enough to abide by his request to rest, as his heavy footfall takes him further and further away until you’re left in the usual silence that comes with the dead of night. Your fingers twitch at your side, yearning to rip open the door and follow after Sukuna despite his wishes.

But the last time you didn’t listen to his words of staying put, you put yourself in immediate danger. Your body still aches in places from the torture you endured, even with the injuries and scars that had faded with the help of Sukuna, you found no desire to endanger yourself. So instead you find yourself wandering to the futon, the bed was a mess from where Sukuna had no doubt ripped off the covers in realisation you had slipped away in the night again.

Your heart squeezes at the thought, the thought that he may have been worried you were gone. Again. He hadn’t spoken much about what it felt like to lose you, only that he knew he wouldn’t ever leave you in the hands of your enemy. His actions, however, were a different story. It was as if he was making up for the time away, his hands wandered and squeezed—and he held you more.

A sigh is forced from your lungs, eyes closing momentarily. You find yourself naturally seeking out the other half of your soul, the part of you that was shrouded in the darkest part of a man whom you found yourself entirely too fond of. But instead, you’re met with that same murky feeling that washes over his energy, and the more you prod at it, the quicker you realise it was a barrier.

Someone had put up a barrier to protect, or hide, whatever was within the barrier. Your nose scrunches at that, just what could they be hiding from you? Kenjaku had seemed to know about it too, with the comment she had offhandedly given to Uraume. A dog. That’s what Kenjaku had said, but Sukuna wasn’t the type to keep pets… at least, not animal ones.

Something sinister slithers up your spine, and your stomach drops at the thought of Sukuna finding his fun with another woman; a human pet. It makes your blood burn, bubbling and boiling until you can hear it bashing against your ears with each thrum of your heart. You’d never felt jealousy in your life, at least not of this magnitude. You never felt jealous when your first husband had found concubines to satisfy his ‘male needs’. You had only felt jealousy in the form of envy; you wanted to be strong like your father, to rule over an army… to be respected.

You overlook the futon, deciding to step away and rest beside the unlit Irori. The wood and charcoal are long since cold, no warmth to curl around your frozen toes. Your hand rises, and there in the centre of your palm cradled by your flesh is a flame; it flickers and grows brighter the more you focus on it. It no longer seeks to consume you whole, instead, it sits there, waiting for instruction.

It leaps from your hand and into the sunken hearth, relighting the wood until there’s a growing fire in front of you. It flickers, shadows dancing until the flame bursts upwards — much too high for a hearth fire, the flames hiss and spit, shifting from orange to blue. The heat laps at your exposed flesh, ash spitting from the hearth stings against your still outstretched hand.

Your mind is clouded with too many thoughts; thoughts of replacement. It conflicts with that bound part of your soul, two voices whispering two different things—one demands you trust Sukuna and the other hisses that you can’t trust anyone. The second voice sounds much too like your father, that it has you blinking away the darkness that shrouded your eyes only to find your hand blistering before you.

Pulling back your hand from the bright flame, the fire immediately dies back down until it is nothing more than a gentle flame. Your hand sizzles still, flesh bubbling and popping before your very eyes—but you find yourself unable to feel the pain, a numbness immediately washing over. Skin regrows over exposed bone and singed nerves knot back together as if nothing had happened.

Instead of following the orders of resting, you sit there by the hearth for the remainder of the night—thinking, prodding at the barrier that at times pushes back against you.

Morning came quickly, the rising sun washing away the settled snow and brushing away the icy clouds of wind. Sukuna did not return at any point during the night, nor did anyone come to the bedroom with intentions of keeping you there—so you left.

Dressed in a black long-sleeved Furisode that must’ve been procured at some point in your absence, you assume by Uraume, you wander the halls. You still feel the barrier along the east side of the building, barring you from seeing inside. You wonder if the creator of said barrier knows you’re aware of its existence, you’ve never encountered a barrier before and whilst Sukuna had an extensive library; barriers weren’t often the topic.

You’re unsure of how long you meander through the halls, not until you find yourself standing at a junction. One direction leads towards the throne room, and the other leads to the entrance. You still can’t pinpoint Sukuna’s location, no doubt he’s still behind the barrier that had been created to keep you out. His throne room would be empty—did it now also count as your own? Could you sit on the seat made up of bones and belong there?

There’s no denying the thought is appealing, the power that comes with sitting atop a throne composed of human bones… and so you turn your attention towards the throne room, set on pushing the limits of your newfound position at Sukuna's side.

Except you freeze in place. There’s a knocking behind you, on the large wooden entrance doors. You remain silent, waiting to see if it was just the wind—and there’s another knock. Light, almost non-existent, and you’d otherwise ignore it if you didn’t feel an odd amount of cursed energy beyond the door.

With tentative steps, you grow closer and closer to the entrance until you tug on the heavy wood. It opens with a gust of wind, a creak of wood and you have to squint at the brightness of the outside world… standing before you is something you had thought was nothing but a terrible nightmare.

In the direct sunlight, standing before you is something born from your own fear, from the darkness and loneliness of being locked in a closet all those months ago. Its skin is still twisted and waterlogged, and sunken eyes that stare back at you in what might just be intrigue. Your fingers twitch at the door, urging you to slam the door closed in the face of the cursed spirit that seemed to follow you all the way into the mountains.

But you stop when its hand comes up to its own face, pushing away flesh with a wet shlick sound, you wait to see your own face staring back at you. However, you’re met with odd-matched eyes, blinking and widening alongside your own. The cursed spirit continues to transform before you, shifting out of the nightmare you had thought up until it—she stands before you.

Her hair is silvery in the sunlight, glinting with a bluish hue that wouldn’t be found on anyone other than a curse. She’s shorter than yourself, completely naked, and you make quick notes of the various scars across her body—they were more like very faint lines of stitching, so unnoticeable in comparison to Kenjaku’s forehead stitch.

Then her mouth splits into a wide grin, all white teeth and it’s unnerving. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Who are you?” You’ve only encountered a few curses in the past, and only one of them was capable of complete human speech. The one before you speaks as if she were the same as you—a human.

Her grin drops, lips coming together in a pout that looks far too friendly for someone whose cursed energy is enough to have sweat gathering on the back of your neck. You watch as she tilts her head to the side, long silver hair falling from her shoulders.

“I don’t know—I have no name.” She then shrugs, unperturbed by the fact she’s nameless, seemingly born into a world with no idea of who she is or what she can do. “You should name me. You’re the one who created me, after all.”

You blink in surprise, eyebrows raising at the way her eyes snap to your own with a glint that further unnerves you. “I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did!” She steps closer, and you’re forced to remain in place when she invades your space. Her hand raises just to the side of your face, fingers brushing against the edge of your furisode. “You were so scared. You were terrified of people, of the ones who trapped you and fed you nothing but scraps. You feared men and monsters. You made me.”

“What are you? You’re not like the others—”

“You.” She grins once again, her fingers twitch out of your peripheral vision before she drops it and takes a step backwards. “Or whatever part of your soul shattered that day. So, my name?”

Your soul. You were unaware a part of it had already broken so early on. Shattered and torn away in the darkness of a closet fit for supplies—and this curse, a woman, born from that hatred and fear that you had accumulated for those women… for Sukuna. That would make her the part of your soul that was untouched by Sukuna, unbound and free to do whatever it may like—a true soul.

“Masato.” You watch the name register with the curse, her eyebrows drawn together before she begins to smile. “Your name is Masato.” Masato laughs surprisingly, a jingle bell of a laugh and her eyes close momentarily. “You have a sense of humour. Masato—a true person, you know I’m not human, right?”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the curse in front of you, her words are goading—like a child wanting to make fun of someone. So instead, you step to the side. “Come inside. Do you not feel the cold?”

Masato doesn’t hesitate to step inside, shaking her head at your question with a curious look on her face as she looks over the barren halls. They were sparsely decorated, no doubt a choice made by Sukuna—he kept his most prized pieces of art in the library, hidden and protected.

“I have no feeling in my body. It’s just a husk.” Masato comments absentmindedly, fiddling with the frayed ends of a rope that once connected to a bell somewhere deeper in the temple. “Is that why you wear clothes? To stop yourself from getting cold?”

“Among other reasons.” You can’t deny that this curse before you is no different than that of a child, with questions of the simplest of things. It was smart enough to understand human speech, and it was quick to adapt to its surroundings—did others like Masato exist? Created from other human’s fears? “One of those reasons is that you can’t run around naked. So, come with me.”

Masato follows behind you when you retreat the way you had come, finding your way back to the bedroom. Sukuna was still absent, and you wondered if he could pick up on the sudden spike of cursed energy that was following you around the temple. It was so vastly different from your own, Masato’s cursed energy was cruel and cold… like death itself.

You watch as Masato invades your personal space, eyes darting back and forth as if she is seeing a bedroom for the first time—and you realise, she is. She doesn’t touch anything however, her hand always just inches away from touching the surface of something. Determining she’s not a threat, not yet anyway, you make your way towards the chest that had been filled with fabrics and silks at some point in your absence.

“It smells of fear in here.” Masato comments from somewhere behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see her standing at the end of your shared bed. You spare a glance at the ruffled sheets, still ruined from Sukuna waking up to find you ‘missing’. Did it smell of his fear?

You didn’t want to know, nor did you want to inform Masato about Sukuna’s possible fear. So instead, you pull a spare pair of Hakama trousers you had previously worn for training as well as a wide-sleeved kimono. You turn to hand them to Masato when your blood runs cold, her fingers are hovering just above your blade.

“Don’t!” Your raised voice is enough to have Masato staring at you with wide eyes, her hand retracting out of instinct. “Do not touch that sword. It’ll kill you.”

Despite the warning, that seemed to draw Masato’s attention even more. Her mismatched eyes of blue and grey darted back to the sword, widening as if she could see the amount of cursed energy stored within—and what it was capable of doing.

“It’s yours?” Masato questions, her fingers twitching at her sides. You move towards her, thrusting the clothing in front of her in hopes of drawing her attention away from the sword.

“Yes. Now please, get dressed.” You watch as Masato glances down at the clothes, a second passes where she just scrunches up her nose in distaste—and then glances back at the sword. So you shove them against her front, enough to startle her into taking a few steps back and taking the clothes from your hand. “Now.”

Masato looks at you for a moment, truly looks at you. You no longer see the facade of a curse pretending to be a living human there, only empty eyes and a bottomless pit of a heart. There’s no humanity there, nothing but a creature who thrives off of fear and hate—and then she grins, a deathly grin. She says nothing when she turns away, seemingly busying herself with figuring out how to appropriately dress herself in the garments you’ve given her.

You exhale the breath you were holding, shoulders relaxing just enough for you to release the tension in your back. Your own eyes find themselves resting on your sword, it seemed to draw Masato’s attention a little too much. Was it because she could see it had the ability to slice deeper than flesh and bone? That it could slice at the very soul itself? You have no idea, maybe she herself could resonate with something to do with the soul.

Like calls to like.

It buzzes at your touch, and the tips of your fingers glide along the unsharpened edge of the blade until you find the tuft of black hair at the hilt. It fits in the palm of your hand as if it were born there, your fingers mould around the woven hilt easily enough that you don’t quite realise you’ve lifted it free from the stand and holding it in front of yourself.

Not until Masato appears next to you.

“Do you know what the soul looks like in order to cut it?” Her words are no longer tinged with dripping sarcasm, instead, it’s genuine curiosity that paints her. You can’t draw your gaze away from the sword however, its steel blade glinting in the stream of sunlight that brushes the room in a gentle warmth.

“Of course.” You admit, your eyes blink once and it’s like a candle flickering into existence; everything around you buzzes to life. “You must know the shape of your own soul in order to see others.”

Masato goes quiet at your words, quiet enough that you finally drag your gaze over to her. And instead of looking at the blade, she’s staring directly at you with what could only be described as wonder. Her lips are slightly parted and pupils wide, it’s a little unsettling—even more so when her face splits into a smile.

“I can see yours too.” Her head tilts, eyes drifting downwards until they settle at your heart. “It’s so twisted and broken, and yet it’s perfect. As it was meant to be.”

Her hand rises from beneath the sleeves of her kimono, and you can’t help but notice she seems lost in thought; staring directly at you, at your soul. The air thrums with her cursed energy, barbed and twisted as if it were to touch you then you’d be snagged along and turned inside out. Even without the physical contact, you can feel the pull on your own soul, her cursed energy curls and fluxes before it pools at the tips of her fingers—just centimetres away from your chest.

Your hand wraps around her wrist, snatching her hand away just in time. Masato startles at the touch, her eyes darting to where you hold her wrist hostage. “Never touch my soul. Ever.”

Masato looks more like a rabbit in the maw of a wolf than a curse being held by her creator, her eyes are wide and lips turned downwards in a shocked frown. Her skin is cold beneath your fingers, like ice, and her pulse doesn’t quicken where your thumb presses into her wrist—not human. Lesser than.

You release her wrist when she blinks away the surprise in her eyes, instead her features start to twist in what might be her first experience of anger. You don’t spare her a second glance, instead turning and walking out of the room with only a call of her name over your shoulder; a command for her to follow.

She does.

She follows you through the corridors, blending into your shadow; unseen and unheard. You follow the path you had set out for yourself just earlier, turning right instead of left—towards the throne room. The doors open with a shove, and it’s unsurprising to find the room completely empty of any people.

The pools of blood are unmoving, their screams absent without the presence of their tormentor. You pay no mind to Masato when you make your way towards the steps, traversing up them until you reach the top of the dais. The throne is much larger up close, each of the bones had been melded together with an intense amount of heat. Sukuna’s own fire.

It’s cold beneath your touch, seeping through the thick layers of your furisode. Even the throne itself buzzes to life under your touch, the residuals of the souls tied to it reeling in surprise. You cast your gaze over the quiet throne room, it was much larger than your typical throne room. The Emperor himself didn’t have something so grand as this, and it definitely wasn’t as grotesque.

Your gaze drifts to Masato finally, she lingers at the bottom of the stairs. Knowing she shouldn’t take a step closer to you, or the throne you sit upon. Good. You can’t imagine Sukuna’s reaction if he were to find a cursed spirit lingering around his seat of power.

Speaking of. Your eyes cast towards the far wall, there’s a standalone door there that leads to the east side of the temple. You can no longer sense the barrier, its murkiness evaporated and you’re met with signatures belonging to four different people. You account for Uraume, Kenjaku, Sukuna and finally…

You can’t keep the frown off of your face. Yorozu. Maybe this time you’ll finally bring your imagination to life; rip her asunder and listen to her scream for days on end. The sword in your lap grows heavy with anticipation, would she scream for mercy or beg for death? You’ll find out. You’re certain of that much.

A tug at your own soul has your spine straightening, shoulders squaring—Sukuna pushes through the doors first, his eyes snap to you first with what might be thinly veiled amusement before his face twists in disgust at the lingering cursed energy. All four of his eyes are suddenly aimed at Masato, and you can see her freeze under Sukuna’s scrutiny.

He doesn’t move a muscle, leaving Kenjaku to step around his hulking figure and her face breaks out into a wide grin with a muffled laugh that she tries to suppress in the sleeve of her kimono. Her eyes are latched onto you, watching you sit on a throne much too large for yourself.

“It would seem the lamb has found her backbone.” Kenjaku chides, earning a sharp-eyed glare from Uraume who lingers just in the shadow of Sukuna. You, however, don’t take your eyes off Sukuna—waiting, watching.

“It would also seem that she’s captured a stray.” Sukuna finally moves, taking strides forward until he’s just a foot away from Masato. The curse visibly shrinks in his presence, or perhaps that was her cursed energy—it bubbles beneath her skin before she actually grows smaller. How strange.

Sukuna just sneers at the curse, deeming it unworthy of his attention for any longer before he sets his sights back on you. He prowls up the steps of the dais slowly, a predator approaching the throne of another. Your eyes track his movements flawlessly, even catching when he glimpses downwards to the blade sitting idly in your lap.

“If you wanted a throne, I would’ve had one made for you too.” His eyebrows raise in amusement once he’s just a step away, even when he’s on lower ground he still looks down at you. “This one is too big for you.”

“It fits fine.” You reply, perhaps a little too snippy as Sukuna’s amused smile drops instantly. “Bring her here.”

Sukuna stares down at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring and the top set of his arms crossed over his chest. The whole situation must be new to him; to have someone ordering him around… and to find himself wanting to obey that command. He glances over his shoulder, nodding to Uraume who vanishes before anyone can blink.

You can see Kenjaku slinking around the room with an air of mirth, her eyes are locked onto Sukuna until finally she’s within reaching distance of Masato. Her eyes are sharp and narrowed, inspecting the cursed spirit in front of her. “And who are you?”

“Masato.” She replies, eyes hesitantly glancing up towards you and you almost want to wince at the wolfish grin that spreads across Kenjaku’s face in realisation at the fact Masato seems to look to you for guidance.

“Oh, how wonderful. I’m sure great things will come from this partnership.” Kenjaku steps away from Masato with that, her eyes drifting up to you with a clear look in her eye that she’ll be wanting to hear more of how Masato came to be.

There’s a chill that rolls through the room, and everyone shifts their attention towards the door once again. Uraume stands quietly, their fingers curled into the matted mess of hair belonging to none other than Yorozu—her clothes are tattered and torn, bloodied and barely hiding the new wounds covering her body. Even from here, you can tell that it’s Sukuna’s handiwork.

Her hands slap against the cold stone floor when Uraume forces her forward. Sukuna shifts at your side, standing with all of his arms crossed across his chest and head turned towards Yorozu. You had expected him to force you from his throne, to have you perched in his lap or even kneel at his feet for daring to sit upon it without his permission—

Yorozu lifts her head finally, eyes dragging along the stairs until she finds you sitting there instead of Sukuna. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and her bloodied lips part in shock—it seems even she can see how odd it was for Sukuna to not demand his seat of power back. Instead, giving it over to someone else. An equal; his wife. It would seem Yorozu finally realises Sukuna had meant it when he called you his wife, someone whom he shared his space with willingly… as her shocked expression morphs into a neutral look.

A look of acceptance.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Sukuna sneers, upper lip turned up in disgust when he sees Yorozu shift her gaze to him instead. “After all that pitiful yapping like the mutt you are… you’re awfully quiet now.”

Yorozu doesn’t give Sukuna the satisfaction of showing her hurt at his words, instead, her eyes shift back towards you and there’s distaste in her eye; maybe even a little regret, for she was the one who dug her own grave with her insatiable jealousy. Your fingers trace along the hilt pattern of the sword in your lap, it calls for you to lift it and cut true.

However…

“Why did you do it?” You ask instead, relaxing against the spinal column of the throne behind you. Your question seems to catch everyone’s attention, even Kenjaku raises her eyebrows before schooling her expression once again.

“What?” Her voice is harsh, a forced whisper to help her voice carry up the steps and to your ears. You wonder if the barrier was also there to keep her screams quiet.

“Why did you inform the Shogun of my whereabouts?” You can feel bile in your throat at the mere mention of his title, a title he did not deserve—one you had stripped away from him. “Was it all because of envy? Because of love?”

Yorozu’s mask crumbles at your hissed words, a poison that strikes exactly where you want it; her heart. You can’t help the smile that lifts your lips momentarily before you temper it. Love, of course, she thought she did it for something as fickle as love—for something she would’ve never received from a man like Sukuna.

Sukuna himself seems amused at the expression on Yorozu’s face, his head tilted in condescension yet he doesn’t speak, he waits to see if you’ll strike. After all, she was your welcome-home gift. Kenjaku on the other hand can’t seem to hold in her amusement, as she hides her laughter behind the sleeve of her kimono, fox-like eyes gleaming with terrible intentions.

“Oh my, what a sweet thing. To sell out another woman in hopes of warming the bed for the King of Curses.” Kenjaku goads, earning a mean-spirited grin from Sukuna in return. “I do wonder what’s to come for the would-be usurper.”

What’s to come, indeed. The thought has your mind drifting, that darkness that coils so tightly in your chest unspooling itself to slither along your bones and settle at your shoulders; whispering obscenities and punishments it thought fitting for Yorozu. Flashes of red, sticky and dark, blood that sticks to your hands and body matter that finds itself under your nails.

It wanted you to claw her apart, piece by piece, whilst she screamed at the top of her lungs for mercy. It wanted her to suffer, just as you did. If not more. It wanted you to paint your skin in her crimson blood, it wanted you to feast on her bones and wear her fingers as souvenirs. It wanted you to break her, to shatter her heart and force her to endure that heartbreak in perpetuity.

But you find it’s your own soul that yearns to have your teeth sinking into the fleshy muscle of her heart, to have the very thing she thought would beat solely for Sukuna in what she thought was love… A smile spreads across your lips at the thought, eyes flitting to Sukuna momentarily to find him already looking directly at you.

His eyebrow arches, a silent question; what will you do?

“I’ll give you one shot.” The room freezes at your words. Sukuna’s eyebrows furrowed together and you can see the protest building on his tongue. “You have one chance to kill me, and take my place.”

Yorozu seems speechless at your command, even more so when Uraume steps away to allow Yorozu the room she may need to hit her target. She watches as you stand up from the throne, katana in one hand and only the fabric of your Furisode there to offer a weak armour.

But that seems to be all the time Yorozu needs to make her choice, she’s pushing herself up onto her feet with new blood dripping from her wounds and staining her skin further. Her hand is out at her side in an instant, the pull of cursed energy pooling in the palm of her hand and you can only watch in feigned surprise at how strong she actually was; you had an idea of her power.

No doubt if she was weak, Sukuna would’ve killed her in an instant.

A black mass of something liquid starts to form in the air just beside her palm before a short dagger takes form. Her fingers are wrapped around it in an instant and you think you see Sukuna shift out of your peripheral when Yorozu raises the arm up to bend over her shoulder before throwing the dagger directly at you. It soars through the air before anyone can blink, and you stagger a step back.

The black liquid of a blade sits snug in your chest, buried against the torn muscles of your heart.

You’ve never experienced a pain quite like it; a pain that was there but also absent. A type of pain that was so overwhelming, that your brain was trying to rapidly recover and numb you to the spreading feeling of your heart tearing with each attempt to beat around the blade lodged in the thick muscles. You can taste the copper on your tongue, can feel it wetting the roof of your mouth and choking up the back of your throat until you inevitably cough.

Surprisingly, it’s Kenjaku who takes the first step up the raised dais in an attempt to reach you first. Her face looks aged almost in her worry, the line on her forehead is more prominent when her eyebrows draw together in concern, but she stops before she can take another step up towards you.

“It’s always the heart people go for.” You splutter with a wet laugh, your fingers wrap around the inky liquid of the blade handle. It pulses under your fingers, Yorozu’s own cursed energy fighting against yours before you pull the blade free from your chest.

Blood spurts from the gaping hole, drenching the black material of the silk on your body. You watch the realisation draw across Yorozu’s face, she didn’t know you could heal your own body. The skin and muscle pull together quickly, remodelled before she can so much as blink—and when she does blink, you’re gone from the spot at the top of the dais.

“It’s the brain you need to aim for.” Your words are warm against her ear, and she visibly flinches at the proximity. “Remember that for your next life.”

Her words, if they were to be her final ones, are garbled with a wet choking sound. The blade she used in an attempt to kill you slides easily along her throat, deep enough that she had only a few agonising seconds before she bled out. Her hands come up fruitlessly to her throat, eyes wide and searching the room but all she finds are malicious grins beaming down upon her.

With a crack of her knees on the floor, Yorozu crumbles under the loss of blood and you take your time to step around her. Standing before her when her head tilts back lazily, uncaring for the deep throat laceration that continues to pour blood with each languid beat of her heart. You smile at her when she meets your eyes, you can see her fighting to see if you’d curse her into the next life but your grin only grows brighter.

And then finally, her eyes dull and the light leaves. Her body falls unceremoniously at your feet, blood pooling beneath your bare feet and soaking the ends of your heavy kimono. You don’t turn at the heavy footfall of Sukuna as he takes his steps down the dais until he’s just behind you, the warmth he emanates wraps around you instantly.

“Uraume.” You address the otherwise silent monk, their head snapping up to meet your gaze. There’s no longer a look of contempt, instead, you can see respect there. “Keep her heart. Flay the rest.”

You wait to see if Uraume flicks their eyes up to Sukuna for confirmation, but instead, they just bow their head deeply before leaning down to grasp at Yorozu’s still-warm body, then disappearing in a gust of icy wind. There’s a clipping of wooden shoes on stone that has your gaze drifting to the side to see Kenjaku approaching you with a smile.

Her gaze sweeps the bloody floor quickly before she then raises her eyes to yours, “Bodies always make quite a mess. Yet you make it look like an art, you’re fascinating.”

“Leave us.” Sukuna commands, his voice is a deep rich tone that has the hairs standing up on the back of your neck. “And take the curse with you. I don’t care what you do with her.”

“Don’t kill Masato.” You say as quickly as Kenjaku’s face lights up with ideas no doubt that would lead to Masato’s demise. “Figure out her technique. Maybe make use of it.”

Kenjaku bows her body in a short dip, her smile hidden by the shadow of her hair. “As you wish.” And then she’s turning, herding Masato out of the room with hushed whispers of something about a village of people not too far away.

And then the throne room was empty once again, except for the rightful King of the throne sitting just a few feet behind you. Sukuna says nothing when you turn to face him, yet you can’t help the soft smile that takes over your face at the shining pride in his eye when he looks down at you. One hand smooths up along your arm, rubbing the soft silk between his battle-worn fingers before he rests his hand on the side of your neck.

Another hand smooths up your front until it rests over your heart, your blood soaks his skin and yet he shows no discomfort—only a relief that your heart still beats in your chest, healthy and alive.

“I felt that knife in your chest as if it were my own.” He admits, an odd look on his face. “It was… strange. I could feel the pain blooming, the beat of my own heart was painful.”

Your own hand skirts up along the bare expanse of his stomach, smile broadening momentarily when the mouth there grins at the contact. Then your hand finds its place over his heart, nestled between the thick muscles of his pectorals.

“I hope I didn’t scare you too much.” You grin when he rolls his eyes, using his available hands to tug you closer until you are pressed to his front.

“I’ve never known fear.” His hand is gentle when it strokes along your scalp, careful to not disturb your hair too much. “Not until you appeared. You’ve ruined me.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes and laugh, and you feel a warmth in your stomach at the salacious grin Sukuna throws your way. He doesn’t mean ruin in a terrible way—he means you have ruined him for life, you have changed something inside of him forever and no doubt that will come to bite him in the future.

But for now, you can see he doesn’t care for the possible repercussions of allowing himself to feel fear for another human being. The hand carding through your hair drifts back down towards your throat, his thumb pressing daringly against the column of it to feel you swallow weakly against the pressure.

“Now, what did I tell you about putting yourself into idiotic situations?” Sukuna growls, the low purr of his words has blossoming heat curling in your gut.

“I don’t think I remember.” Your words earn you a smirk, and Sukuna leans in closer until his nose bumps against your own.

“No?”

“No.” You whisper when he tilts his chin just enough to let his lips brush along your own teasingly.

“Perhaps a reminder is in order.” The hand at your throat tightens slightly, his hand large enough to nearly wrap around the entirety of your throat.

“I think I’ll need a little more than that.”

And Sukuna laughs lowly, a type of laugh that would scare anyone who it was aimed at. Instead, it has you smiling along with him, his canines flashing dimly in the waning firelight of the various lanterns littered around the room.

It only takes another nudge of your nose against his to have him leaning in, the kiss he gives you is all-consuming. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time in a while. The impact of your decision to let Yorozu have a chance at cutting your life short had hit Sukuna hard. His lips move with a ferociousness that has you struggling to keep up, his tongue already pressing in and invading your mouth.

His hand slips from your throat and up to your jaw, pressing thick fingers into your cheeks until you’re forced to open your mouth when he pulls away. He smiles at the look on your face, no doubt quite the mess from just a kiss—

“On your knees.”

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#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader

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