#I will be drawing him again on my surface but I was inspired to do some traditional art with him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diorsbrando · 3 months

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I’D DIE FOR YOU (AND I HAVE). ( s.a. )

sousuke aizen & black!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, blank and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine her that way. using this map of the seireitei as a reference (i searched high and low for a consistent accurate one but it was hard). the first half is set pre-ryoka invasion / pre-soul society arc. the second half is aizen-centric (from his pov told from the 3rd person) and set post-tybw arc, years after he was sealed away in mugen, also including mention of events from vol. 1 of can't fear your own world (a light novel that's post-tybw & can be considered canonical); so all this being said: SPOILERS i guess???? of course you're welcome to read if you don't care about spoilers! somewhat based on 'die for you' by the weeknd & even more loosely based on 'dark red' by steve lacy. contains themes of heavy-ish angst, existential crises (?) & inner emotional turmoil within reader + aizen (separately). descriptions of character death, blood and violence. descriptions of manipulation/mind games. aizen is an unkind man. proofread (i did my best).

word count ━━ 11k

notes ━━ ! the way this fic was supposed to finished a month ago...but life once more gets in my way. and the way that it's this long....i anticipated the max being 10k but i greatly underestimated how long it would take to flesh out my idea. anywho i'm somewhat reentering my bleach era again. i’m not sure what it is but character analyses in the form of fanfiction is my jam rn like i really enjoyed writing this (i got tired of the length by like... 7k words lmao) but i like how this turned out. i've watched & read quite a bit of content that provide explanations as to why aizen is the way he is so i wanted to try my own portrayal of that in the context of canonical events. how i characterized him here is partially inspired by a fic i read about him last year so shout out to them for their support :D i hope i've depicted and humanized aizen well ♡. reblogs + commentary are heavily appreciated!!!!!

THE PAD OF YOUR THUMB SLOWLY glided against your bottom lip, the lingering aftertaste of jasmine tea still on its surface and on your breath. The absentminded motion of your thumb caressing your mouth, as if in deep contemplation, continued as you stared at the clock hanging on the wall above you.

It was past eleven, and the midnight hour only continued to draw near as time sustained its temporal march. And there you sat at your desk, floating in the limbo of your mind that was filled with hesitancy and admittedly, budding anticipation.

Your gaze lowered to the now empty porcelain cup, nothing remaining of its contents except the shriveled remnants of herbs and a few wayward drops of the brew.

Your senior comrade, captain Sōsuke Aizen, was correct in his prediction that you'd take a liking to its floral and delicate taste when he gifted you a jar full of the jasmine tea leaves as well as other ingredients.

The captain of Squad 5 seemed to be correct about a lot of things.

His intelligence and foresight, along with his kind and politely witty disposition, were qualities that you found somewhat charming, and gradually drew you closer to him.

Being the current third seat of the 9th company, your barracks and those of squad 5's were relatively close to each other's, so often you'd catch glimpses of and run into Captain Aizen on a pretty normal basis. Over the years, the conversations that bounced between the two of you expanded past the realm of formalities between a higher and lower ranking officer, and instead ranged in territories from literature, to art, to food & drink, and even to the politics of the government for which they were soldiers for.

Sometimes, you found it hard to believe that you managed to befriend a man like him. A man who seems to have mastered the balance between being a gentle soul, helpful to others, but also possessed enough refined power and skills to be named a captain within the Gotei 13.

Especially a man who wasn’t even of your own squad.

Despite the increasingly friendly relations and generally pleasant conversation, there were few moments where Aizen's words didn't feel quite. . . . real━ he didn't feel real. He spoke eloquently, often relying on figurative language to further illustrate his point and to breathe meaning into seemingly plain and meaningless words. But at times those words, his tone felt stained; stained with some substance or color you couldn't quite place. An enigmatic façade was painted over his speech, and it took too much mental capacity to try and find your own meaning in it.

So you'd often brush it off. Your over-reliance on your own reasoning that 'you weren’t able to come to a conclusion because there is no problem a conclusion could be generated from' successfully quieted your mind’s voice. You'd also frequently blame exhaustion, or your newfound hobby of watching human psychological crime shows during your off days for these subconscious ideas you had.

But you feared that the request Aizen made of you yesterday, the source of your current predicament, couldn't be blamed on any of those things. You looked at the clock again before returning to stare at your empty tea cup. For what reason could Sōsuke Aizen wish to meet you outside of the 1st division barracks? Specifically at this hour? You immediately thought of his question as uncharacteristic of him but prevented yourself from jumping to any further conclusions.

Aizen was a reasonable man, and you were sure there was a reasonable explanation.

With a final sigh of acquiescence, you stood up from your sitting position to retie your yukata before slipping a thicker, dark colored haori on top. You were unsure how cold it was this late at night or how long you'd be out, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

You paused for a moment, glancing longingly at your vanity mirror a few times, clearly torn between a decision, before giving in with a soft groan. Grabbing your favorite perfume, you quickly spritzed the spray onto both your inner wrists, either sides of your neck, and stray areas on your clothes. You’d proceed to make sure your hair was in order and your lips were as moisturized and glossy as a pair of tear-filled eyes before making your way to the door and slipping on your sandals.

Meeting with a captain— with Aizen of all people— in the dead of night resembled too closely to forbidden lovers rendezvousing under a fruit tree to fulfill their desires of embracing one another, with no one but the moon as their witness. The comparison alone caused the apples of your cheeks to burst aflame with embarrassment, and you lightly chastised yourself for even indulging in such an inappropriate train of thought. Such a scenario seemed far too deluded to even be considered ‘wishful thinking’.

But those delusions still seemed to make more sense than whatever other conclusion you have yet to reach.

Making your way out of your personal quarters, you activated your shunpo technique, stealthily hopping from one rooftop to the other in an effort to make it to Squad 1 barracks quicker.

After several minutes, your mind mostly engulfed with the 'what if's', the soles of your sandals finally touched ground, and you stood a few feet away from the massive walls and bridges that connected to and from the barracks. Even at night you were able to make out the bold-printed kanji for the number 1 that was painted on the building.

When you arrived, even from a nearby rooftop, you didn't see anyone around. Feelings of confusion and worry began to creep up and flicker to life in your mind.

But, as if your thoughts were as audible, you felt a light breeze of wind behind you, a familiar sound that indicated someone had made their presence known.

Startled, you reflexively reached for your zanpakuto, when you remembered that you hadn't even brought it with you. It still laid against the wall near your bed, just where you placed it earlier when you were relieved of your duties for the day.

You didn't think you needed it necessarily if you were just going to meet with Aizen, hence why taking it with you slipped your mind.

The flickers of concern were swiftly extinguished as your brain caught up with your body upon realizing who just appeared. A relieved sigh left your lips, a breath of air that seemed to release all the tension that had a grip on your heart and wound tight within your muscles. "Ah! Good evening Captain Aizen. You caught me off guard for a moment there."

"My apologies, that was not at all my intention." The Fifth Division Captain sported a dark colored scarf, his long captain's coat and the standard shihakushō all Gotei officers were supposed to wear. In the sash around his waist resided his own sheathed zanpakuto. His tawny hair maintained its usual part but looked slightly tousled, yet still remaining so in a meticulous fashion that made it look intentional.

The state of his hair alone, and his current facial expression made Aizen look more . . . approachable if that’s how you were to describe it. There was a glint in his eyes that you had seldom seen before.

"Thank you, for making your way down here to accommodate my rather. . . . atypical request. I again extend my apologies if I have inconvenienced you in any way."

You shook your head in reply, "It's alright, I wasn't doing anything too important anyway. Just having a cup of tea and delighting myself in a book before bed."

You glanced downwards at the foot or so of space that was wedged in between the two of you. You forced away the murmurs of your lingering thoughts that took note of how the moonlight and shadows danced across the surface of Aizen's face just right, and emphasized his decidedly handsome features.

"But having a complete and good night's rest is important to be fully functional in all areas of one's performance. Wouldn't you agree?"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Yes, I do agree with that sentiment."

Aizen all but hummed in acknowledgement, letting a moment of silence fill the air before speaking again.

"Shall we be on our way?"

You nodded in agreement, following him as the both of you walked about the First Division grounds. From what you could tell based on your position, your aimless nightly stroll drew you closer to where Sokyoku Hill was located. The area became increasingly more grassy and contained less buildings.

Although Squad 1 grounds weren't terribly far from either of your barracks, you still weren't sure as to why Captain Aizen wished to meet out here. Initially you thought that perhaps he was just fond of this particular scenery, but really it could have been anything.

But still, you believed Aizen always had a purpose for everything he did.

After several moments, his warm voice replaced the evening silence, vocalizing your current thoughts. “I assume you are contemplating why it is I have asked you here, and I’m afraid the reason is quite benign. Truthfully, I just wished for your company. I often go on night walks to clear my head after a long day and thought I might invite you to join me this time, and have a conversation with each other."

Your brows shifted upwards, for that was not quite the answer you were expecting. It seemed too . . . simple. “Really? You just . . . wanted to talk with me? Plainly?”

The Squad 5 captain let out a short, soft laugh at the disbelief that was painted on your face. There was an expression of fondness present in his eyes and in the light smile he offered you. “Yes, exactly. I quite enjoy our discussions actually, they’re intellectually stimulating and relatively pleasant. You crossed my mind, and before yesterday, it has been quite some time since we’ve had the opportunity to unwind and talk.”

You hummed an mhmm in agreement, tearing your eyes away from Aizen’s side profile in favor of the hem of his captain’s haori, watching how it danced in the soft breeze. It seemed to be less distracting than the way Aizen peered down at you from time to time.

"I see. I am. . . . truly flattered by your words, Captain Aizen; you're too kind. Forgive me for asking but," you took longer strides so that you could fall into step next to him━ as if to speak to him more directly, "Why at this time? To talk with me, I mean. It couldn't wait until more . . . . . conventional hours?"

He chuckled again, and answered as smoothly as if he were awaiting you to ask him that. "Unfortunately, today's tasks ran a little long today, so I had to stay at my office later than usual." The spectacled man paused for a moment, before setting his soft gaze on you, "And besides, that completely defeats the purpose of inviting you on a night stroll, doesn't it?"

You ignored the heat flaring up in your cheeks again. Your mind refused to move past the fact that you had crossed Sōsuke Aizen's mind enough times━ or the times that he thought about you were significant enough━ and highly enough to invite you into his realm and indulge in these moments with him, when he very much could have done that alone.

A tender smile appeared on your lips, more towards yourself than the man next to you. "I. . . suppose it does."

The ashen-white moon only rose higher in the sky, providing an ambiance of tranquility as the both of you talked about whatever crossed the surface of your minds. Other times, the stillness of the night did the talking, and you'd listen to the leaves, and the wind, and the crickets sing together in harmony. Gradually as you walked and the beaten path grew more narrow, your figures drew closer together, until you could feel the long sleeves of his haori brush against your own.

You hadn't noticed that the two of you eventually stopped walking and paused under a tree until Aizen struck up conversation once more. When he called out your name in that gentle, velvety voice, you swore your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The sound of your name rolled of his tongue so smoothly, the desire to hear it again grew within you.

"Uh━ yes, Captain Aizen?"

"Are you satisfied with way things are at the moment?"

You stood next to him, perplexed at his inquiry due to its vague nature. "Um, what. . . . things? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking."

The wind brushed Aizen's dark ochre tresses across his face as he took a step towards you, like the breeze itself was pushing him towards you. "Hm, perhaps I should be more clear then. Are you content with being a soul reaper? Are you satisfied with being a soldier for the Soul Society?"

With your brows slightly furrowed in thought, you remained silent for several seconds and overanalyzed his every word, trying to predict where he might be steering the conversation now. The longer you thought it over, the stronger that nagging feeling from within your soul became. The one that often told you what he was asking wasn't exactly . . . it didn't quite feel . . . . .

"This feels like a prelude to another insightful discussion on Shinigami━ and by extension━ Seiretei politics." Your words cut off your own thoughts, as if your mind was trying to sweep something under the proverbial rug.

Aizen huffed in amusement, before lightly shrugging, leaving your statement definitively unanswered.

You sighed as you seriously considered his question this time. "I mean sure, I guess. I'm somewhat satisfied with my job and all of . . . this," gesturing your hands in the air around you to emphasize your point. The 5th Division Captain made another humming noise, indicating that you still had his full attention. He inched a little closer into your personal space.

The mere action caused your next words to die in your throat and a quiet chuckle resounded from his, before your thoughts revived themselves again.

"Of course things could always be better but. . . . y'know. This is just how it is." You weren't quite sure if you should voice negative opinions about the Soul Society so plainly to a senior officer, even if he was the one who asked you in the first place, so you treaded lightly.

The same plainly relaxed smile from earlier remained painted across his lips, held in his chestnut irises was an emotion akin to affection. He seemed somewhat pleased that you were expressing your thoughts with him.

“And you? Are you satisfied, Captain Aizen?” You were unable to keep the teasing endearment out of your tone as you returned his gaze, casting aside the notions of Gotei officer seating and ranks for the moment. The air seemed like it shifted━ towards what, you weren't sure of━ but it kind of made you feel like you were adrift, floating in isolation from everything else around you.

It was still hard to process that you were alone with Captain Aizen right now. . . . at night.

A low hum reverberated within his chest, contemplative in nature as he replied, “Perhaps.”

The wind whistled lowly again, erecting goosebumps on whatever part of your skin happened to catch the midnight breeze. You fought the instinctual urge to twitch towards the nearest source of heat, which happened to be Aizen. Now that would be even more wholly inappropriate than the 'lovers meeting at midnight' scenario.

The silence between the both of you was brief, but comfortable nonetheless. Once more his mellifluous voice cut through the quiet, leveled and calm, like still ocean waters.

“Come. I want to show you something,” Aizen reached his arm out towards you, your spine as straight as if someone stuck a metal rod dipped in ice water down your robes.

The captain's movements seemed steady and slow━ it had felt like time itself had hesitated for several moments. You thought he was going to . . . . well you weren't sure what he was going to do, and that's what you made you nervous.

Was he going to touch you? Cradle your cheek? Remove a stray leaf that happened to land on your head? You were left somewhat dangling in anticipation, not daring to flinch backwards because you felt it would be disrespectful or offensive. You hadn't even blinked, subconsciously fearing that this was only a very vivid daydream.

But alas, when his arm drew near it extended past your head, slightly above you, and held a small branch in his palm it like a delicate flower. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, but that breath drew short again when your gaze was eye level with his lower neck and chin.

He seemed . . . . closer.

“I think that regarding the condition of the Soul Society," Aizen began in a quiet voice, referencing his own reply to his earlier question, "and therefore my thoughts about it, is akin to this set of leaves on this branch."

Snapping out of whatever stupor you seemed to have slipped in, you exhaled softly before stepping back a bit to look at what he was talking about. In his palm he cradled a wayward branch that grew from one of the other sturdier branches of the tree. The green foliage of its arms had started to weaken and dull in color. The cold air due to the seasonal transition to autumn caused the leaves become brittle, nearing closer to the edge of death.

The sound of just how brittle they were resounded in the air when Aizen thumbed the leaves in between his fingertips, observing their texture with pity laced in his small movements.

"These leaves will fall off as it gets colder. And soon, the rest of this tree will be bare as well. When the time comes, when the right circumstances fall into place, the old die to make way and usher in the new; it's simply the way things are. I think of the Soul Society government is structured in a similar manner."

You hung onto his every word, like he were imparting crucial wisdom to you. Even though you were a bit confused on the last part, and on the connection between dying leaves and Soul Society, you still listened intently, waiting for him bridge the gap between the two.

"The Soul Society as it is now can be thought of as a season. And this particular season, this climate has remained so for several centuries. How can nature continue━ how can we continue to progress when the old have yet to be washed away by the currents of time? It defies that of nature, yes?" He directed this question at you specifically, in search of your agreement.

You nodded your head, tearing your gaze away from the branch and directed it at the grass beneath your feet. Your brows furrowed a little as you mused over Aizen's words. He gave a rather ambiguous answer before but now, his words sounded like vague displeasure and muted criticism. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, and on some fronts, you'd sometimes agreed with the 5th Division Captain. The Soul Society was far from perfect, too much emphasis on nobility and status, the government resembled too closely to an oligarchy . . . But you didn't━ wouldn't voice these thoughts, though.

Instead you hummed quietly under your breath. There was that tugging sensation again. This time it told you that there was something deeper to this conversation than meets the eye. But what could there be? Was there anything at all or were you just overthinking it?

The voice-like sensation in your soul was calling out to you, but you couldn't hear it that well or quite make out what it was saying. It's as if someone was calling out to you in a crowded room that had music playing on the speakers: you felt like if you listened hard enough you could make it out but ultimately, the result would fruitless.

"And when that happens," Aizen continued, "sometimes nature has to be gently nudged back on track to keep things moving smoothly. That may require . . . shaking the tree. Pulling a few harmful weeds from one's garden, so to speak."

"Weeds?" You echoed. You felt like you understood this analogy and therefore what he was trying to say, but at the same time you didn't. Or was it . . . . you didn't want to understand what he was implying?

Because if you were interpreting his words correctly, if he were inconspicuously comparing the higher-ups and the government itself to dying leaves and harmful plants that needed to be removed, then . . . .

"You, dear child, are a mere weed in this scenario."

Wait, what did he just━

Your thoughts were cut short when a gush of air that smelt strongly of Aizen━ warm oak, vanilla, and a kind of musk that you weren't sure how to describe but was still pleasant all the same━ brushed against your face and took you by surprise.

But there was another aroma that arose, steadily becoming more apparent alongside the increasingly painful throbbing feeling you felt in your abdomen.

It smelt metallic. And it was something that you've smelt all too many times before.

It was blood.

Your gaze that was initially narrowed in confusion lowered as it followed the source of this pain. Your eyes slowly widened in as you struggled to comprehend the blade that was currently ran through your torso.

Aizen's blade.

"Actually, instead of weeds, a more accurate and befitting analogy perhaps would be blades of grass. You unfortunately have to step on them in order to reach the weeds you want to remove."

You couldn't really focus on what the captain was saying, because your brain was still struggling to process what the hell just happened. Your hands slowly rose from their sides and shakily grazed the zanpakuto, wanting to believe that if you touched it, it would pass right through your fingers like mist. But no, the sensation of cold steel was as real as the robes you wore on your back. You only just now are processing the muffled squelching sound of his sword impaling your flesh.

You wanted to scream, to cry in pain, to vomit, to push him off━ something. But all you could do was stand there, stunned, words completely failing you. "Wh. . . . what? Why did . . . . you . . . . "

A cough replaced your attempt at a comprehensive sentence, and you tasted iron in your mouth.

Fuck....was this really happening?

"Please don't push yourself trying to talk," His voice was like an index finger to one's lips, similar to a parent's gentle caress to quiet and sooth their child, "You'll only hasten your death. And I'm sure you wish to know the reason for my killing you, yes? You'd have to be alive for that."

'Killing me?' 'My death?' The certainty that rang in his words chilled the blood in your veins, and they confirmed the one conclusion you hoped wouldn’t come true: that you were going to die.

The frigid embrace of fear and dread engulfed you from behind and you shivered, causing the blade snugly lodged in your organs to shift. The pain of that foreign object moving even a little bit shot through your entire body, causing a groan to emerge from your throat.

Desperate to conserve your energy and the oxygen that was becoming a little harder to take in, your breathing became uneven and a little wheezed. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the gaze of Captain Aizen to confirm if this was really happening or just an extremely realistic and vivid nightmare. The sight you might be greeted with could be more frightening than the actual impaling of his sword.

As if his betrayal couldn’t actually or figuratively cut you any deeper, just then there was a noise that grew louder and louder within a matter of seconds until it was almost deafening. You’ve distinguished it to be the sound of glass crackling.

Your surroundings formed cracks everywhere on its surface, like it was just an oversized window. Even on the grass you stood on, or what you thought was grass, began to crumble away.

A dumbfounded but panicked look was plastered on your face when your world literally shattered around you, the only remnants of it being you and the Captain.

What was underneath the mirage━ or you should say, the fact that it was a mirage at all━ only disturbed you and increased your perplexity.

Slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, it took a minute to process where you were, but you noticed that now the two of you stood in a formal room that looked like it was used for important meetings. The lights in the room slowly started to brighten, most likely due to motion sensors. Even with Aizen's scent lingering in your nose, you could still pick out a rather stale aroma that hung in the air like dead fruit that hadn't fallen off the tree.

"Is . . . this Cen . . . tral━ "

"You are correct. Where we currently stand is the assembly hall for Central 46, the judicial power of the Soul Society. All judiciary as well as legislative trials and proceedings are held here."

All around the room were seats with partitions, the kanji for 1 through 46 printed on them. In the seat for the 19th member, your gaze caught onto something on the translucent barrier. It was a little farther up so you had to squint your already blurring vision to see it properly.

You saw, and your heart promptly sank as a result, eyes widening once more.

There were splatters of a dark colored substance on the partition━ undeniably blood. And the lithe, bony fingers of an older man laid lifeless, peeking out from the side of the screen like the appendages themselves were trying to escape from the body they were attached to.

That man . . . was dead. That stale aroma you smelt was the stench of death.

It was only after that unsettling epiphany did your eyes dart frantically around the room and realize that every member of Central 46 was dead.

The disturbed expression on your face only intensified as your stare was pulled back down to where Aizen's blade still resided in your body.

" Cap.....Aizen," you uttered, swift to correct yourself. All the moisture in your throat dried up like water underneath the unrelenting rays of the sun. You kept gulping your saliva in an attempt to assuage the sensation, but relief only last for a fleeting few seconds. "Did you ━ you killed them . . . didn't you?" Your question was laced with shaky hesitance and swelled with apprehension, fearing that you already knew his reply even before he answered.

There was a moment of silence and a hum before he replied. "Smart girl."

The muted mirthful tone in his voice sounded like sarcasm, and it was enough to finally draw your attention away from everything else and directly look at him. Almost instantly, you regretted it.

His umber tinted gaze was colder than you remembered. You couldn't find anything in his eyes that hinted that all of this was just a big misunderstanding, or a dream, or that Aizen had a secret sense dark and complex humor.

This was your first, and apparently your last time, that you have ever felt a fear such as this. Your mind was struggling to comprehend this was the same Aizen that spoke with you so gently, full of encouragement and wisdom. The same man that recommended you books to read and gifted you tea to drink and gazed upon you like . . .

Well, none of that mattered now. In this moment, Sōsuke Aizen wasn't the same man anymore. This Sōsuke Aizen was someone else, and it frightened you.

"When?" you croaked, your voice no longer sounding like your own. Nothing felt real anymore. "W-When did you . . . . . how? Why?"

Another noncommittal hum resounded from the spectacled man as he closed his eyes, feigning the action of thinking of an answer. When he reopened them, his narrow gaze returned to you.

"Everyone in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads was previously aware that the ability of my zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu, allowed me to confuse the enemy using bodies of water, mist and even moisture in the air in order to attack. However, that is not my zanpakuto's actual power; there is more to it than just simple confusion. Kyoka Suigetsu's true power is Complete Hypnosis. Essentially, when someone looks at my blade, I am then able to take control of that person’s five senses, causing them to believe that something is real ━ or that something isn't real. In a way, once glancing at my unsheathed zanpakuto, that person forfeits their sense of existence to me. Kyoka Suigetsu is quite flawless in its deceptive abilities."

A heavy silence, aside from your uneven breaths, endured in the space between both of you. You didn't need him to spell out what he was trying to say.

It was all . . . . an illusion. A convoluted, premeditated illusion. And you walked right into it without even knowing or considering, that it was all fake.

The Fifth Division Captain inwardly smiled at the despair clearly written on your face as he watched you mentally put the pieces together. He took your lack of reply as a sign to continue. "The members of Central 46 have unfortunately been dead for quite some time now. And as for your question of why......"

The taller man stepped towards you which inadvertently (or purposely, you began to fear), drove his sword deeper into your abdomen without warning and slight force. You bit down on your bottom lip hard to stifle your exclamation of pain. In an attempt to somehow resist him, with the little strength you had left, your hands automatically took purchase in his oversized sleeves, but it did nothing. You found it ironic that you could feel how warm Aizen was underneath his robes, but his soul was anything but.

" . . . . I believe I already mentioned it earlier, yes? All flowers die eventually and the weeds......must be removed."

At that moment you remembered that tugging sensation that told you something felt off in some instances whenever you talked with Aizen. This must have been what it was. Damn it all. You still didn't understand exactly what bad things Central 46 and the Soul Society have done to cause his actions, but based on what you've been told and your current position, it must have been heinous. Again, you actively swallowed the urge to vomit.

"You . . . you lied. I can't believe━ how could it have all b-been a lie?" Another nasty cough rattled your body, followed by a shiver and a groan.

The brown-haired man slightly tilted his head, like he was truly confused. "Lied? Hmm, well. I suppose you could put it that way based on your limited knowledge of the circumstances, but I wouldn't put it that way. Besides, this isn't really about truth or lies. It is, and always has been, only about the reality of what is. And what is, is that you were unable to anticipate my deception. No one could, because it was outside the domain of your thoughts. What is, is that the current way the Soul Society operates is tainted, and I shall be the one to remedy it."

You drew another shuddering breath and looked down at the ground with a grim expression as your blood continued to pool at your feet. Briefly, you even considered unsheathing yourself from his blade and take the chance to make a run for it, but the chances of you making it to the outside world, let alone coming across someone before you bled out and died were slim. Besides, it was clear that you couldn't even trust your own senses anymore after Aizen demonstrated that he had complete control of your reality.

Which reminded you of something else.

" . . . when?" you asked the same question again, but much quieter than before, despair palpable in your voice. 'When and how did you subject me to your zanpakuto's Complete Hypnosis?', is what you were really asking. And being as intelligent as he was, the spectacled man understood.

Abruptly, with a large palm on the small of your back, Aizen used his gentle hold grip to pull you towards him in order to close the remaining distance, causing him to drive the remaining length of his zanpakuto all the way through until the tsuba of his blade rested against your stomach. You looked like a skewered piece of meat.

You didn't have the willpower to hold back the piercing shriek of agony and physical anguish as tears sprung forth from your eyes. You could no longer tell if your blurry vision was due to your tears obstructing your sight or if it was from being a step away from death's door.

"Do you remember . . . the first time we met?"

The hand that rested on your lower back slowly glided upwards until his fingers found your jaw. With a tenderness that reminded you of a time before his betrayal, he lifted your chin and guided your gaze to look at him directly. His thumb moved to graze your bottom lip just as you've done mere hours ago━ as if he knew that, as if he watched you do it. His thumb was dangerously close to slipping inside your mouth and that both excited and scared you. Your breasts against his, your breaths synchronized with his, your body and his were fully pressed against each other and it made focusing on his question more difficult.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The first time . . . we met? Sure, with a little bit of effort you could easily recall the first time you formally met Aizen. It was sometime in the spring, and you remembered him running through combat formations with his lieutenant and the rest of his squad. But why d━

A silent gasp left you. Another epiphany, another figurative blade piercing your heart.

Battle formations, and he . . . offered you to join them . . . his zanpakuto . . . . .

Confusion crumbled away, and was replaced with vacant horror and sadness. It seems you've already been defeated, for many, many years now.

Aizen seemed to murmur something under his breath, a pleased sound you couldn't quite decipher. His mouth brushed over yours, rendering you literally speechless, before he closed the distance and brought your lips together. You could barely process what was happening.

It was ironically tragic how soft and skillfully gentle his lips were against yours. The kiss felt longing, like a departure between two sweethearts and their last meeting together. It also felt heavy and final, making you want to cry.

And you did. Silent tears streamed from your eyes and rolled onto the fingers that still held your face so affectionately. The captain reacted by guiding your chin up a little further, dipping his head a little lower, so he could deepen the kiss. You weakly scorned yourself for thinking about how the two of you must really look like lovers now, sans the sword sticking out from your back.

Oh, how cruel this was; how cruel he was. It was cruel for him to kiss you like this, hand still splayed on your back like he needed to touch you stay sane. And how cruel it was that still managed to enjoy it, even as you stood there dying. Your lips moved together in tandem, slow and almost passionate, all while tears stained the apples of your cheeks, drying up the plush youth that once resided in them.

Aizen's tongue had slithered its way into your mouth, and you suddenly felt like crying harder. There was a tart, sweet flavor lingering on his tastebuds, and you absently wondered what is was. Perhaps hibiscus from tea, you surmised. And he too tasted the sweet jasmine and citrus that clung your tongue and lips. At this, he chuckled quietly into your mouth, humming before retracting from you by a few inches so he could speak.

"I knew you would like the tea. It's sweet and flavorful, isn't it?" You hated how low his voice was, how its timbre pleasurably vibrated and rumbled against your lips, and you hated that lidded stare he gave you. You again thought it unfair that you couldn't even revel in the rare sight of Aizen's lips slightly wet because your lips were intertwined with his.

"I have to thank you for humoring me and my recommendations. I really appreciated it. And I also," you winced loudly and cried out in affliction as Aizen finally began to withdraw the sword from your body, "must to bid you farewell now. It seems you don't have any more time left, and this has dragged on for longer than it needed. I'm not surprised you've held out for this long, as I already knew you possessed commendable strength. But alas it wasn't enough. I am sorry that you have to die; it's rather regrettable that you happened to be that blade of grass that ended up underneath my foot."

Another wail was yanked from your chest as he steadily removed his sword from your abdomen. The pain was becoming excruciating, you would have collapsed by now if the taller man weren't holding you.

You saw two things before the light in your eyes had all but faded away. The first were the colors of faux pity and apathy that swirled in Sōsuke Aizen's irises, spiraling like a storm that was certain to wreak havoc in its wake. His gaze was devoid of any regret or remorse; the final metaphorical nail on the coffin. The second was a small smile.

But this wasn't one of his smiles you were familiar with. No wait . . . . the one you knew was simply a veneer of what is.

This smile was slanted, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and was sharp. Sharp enough to cut open your already gaping wound further and completely tear you apart, spelling out your demise. It looked insidious as if it were hiding razor-edged fangs. This was what is; Aizen's real smile.

"I. . . I see. Aize. . . ." were the last words you were able to manage. You didn't have the strength to be upset or hurt any longer, so you gave in to the exhaustion.

Your body permanently relaxed, long lashes veiling your now empty eyes as your arms lifelessly dropped to your sides. The captain found a disturbing amount of pleasure in his name being the final word you attempted to speak before succumbing to the sleep of death.

And even after the fact, the facade of doomed, star-crossed lovers persisted as your body slumped backwards. Aizen's strong forearm wrapped tightly around your waist being the only reason you didn't fall to the ground in a puddle of your own blood.

That day was the last anyone saw of you, your zanpakuto still laid idly in your room, its spirit destined to forever wander in the afterlife between worlds alone, eventually fading from existence without ever feeling the presence of its master again.

They had declared you missing by the end of the next day. Lieutenant Hisagi was probably the most perturbed about your sudden disappearance. Days, weeks passed, and they never located you. The Gotei 13 was left unsettled by the lack of progress, but ultimately had to rule your case inconclusive. Some believed that you were simply killed by a stray hollow, or even ran away from your duties because of the stress.

The news of what happened spread like wildfire across all the squads, that a high-ranked officer just up and vanished without a trace. The spirits and morale of the thirteen companies dampened, sorrow and worry swelling like a festering boil.

And that boil burst when Ryoka infiltrated the Soul Society, and when it was revealed that all of it was carefully orchestrated by Sōsuke Aizen.

Like a blade of grass that somehow snuck into one's sandals or in between their toes, during his time in Hueco Mundo, images of you flashed in his head at unexpected times when his mind was quiet. He'd remove the grass, tossed you aside, and moved on with his day. There was no room for you in the grand scheme of things. Such reminisces were beneath someone like him.

And yet.

He'd always find another piece of grass from the greenery he stepped on whenever he advanced a step in his plans. There you were again.

It was common knowledge that if you kept repeating the same action over and over, it will eventually wear you down.

━━━━━━ 鏡 ━━━━━━━

It was dark, and there was nothing.

There had been nothing for quite a long time now. Utter darkness and the abyssal shade of black engulfed every inch of Aizen's body and surroundings.

He saw nothing, the seals over his eyes too opaque to let anything through. And even if they weren't obscuring his vision, he would barely be able to see three feet in front of him; there was seldom a few lanterns in his cell to begin with. He felt nothing but the bindings that kept him imprisoned in one of the deepest pits of the Seireitei. At times it felt like even his internal organs had stilled in their functions. He heard nothing but the unrelenting quiet of his cell within Mugen's maw. The only thing that served as proof that he hasn't spontaneously grown deaf yet was the occasional muffled noise that originated from outside of the entrance. And even then, he could hardly hear much of anything.

Such is an ironic fate for someone who, with a stray thought and a glint of his blade, could control someone's senses and take away their free will to experience those senses in their reality. And now, he was stripped away of all of his in nearly every capacity.

Sōsuke Aizen was rendered stationary and stagnant, qualities he detested and were the antithesis of his ambitions and plans, perhaps even his existence.

Aizen had always believed in being in control of your own destiny and making your own choices; if you had the opportunity and the power to change something━ especially if it was something that was wrong, unfair or immoral━ then one should be able to move towards that goal by making change, even if by force. The former captain had always been intentional about his actions and his desires right from the start.

And yet, here he ended up.

Spending years strapped to a chair in this dark, cloistered hole, Aizen had nothing but time to reflect the reason for his arrest: that orange haired Ryoka boy, Ichigo Kurosaki. He had nothing but time to admit to himself and settle on the conclusion that his last battle with the substitute Shinigami . . . did something to him.

Fighting the Ryoka boy ignited something inside him that he previously believed would forever lay dormant.

The thrill of a challenge.

Adrenaline was injected into his veins with each clash of their swords, spreading far and wide across every inch of his body. It no longer reacted in the measured, calculative manner he had programmed it to, but with unadulterated, pure instinct and raw power━ all in an effort to not only withstand such potent spirit energy from his opponent, but to come out on top and win.

It made him feel alive.

Aizen's desire to be the victor in battle and in his philosophy━ to prove himself right━ both fueled him and consumed him so thoroughly it led to his own downfall. That was a rather difficult fact to acknowledge; so much so his head started to pulsate intensely whenever it crossed his mind one time too often.

All of it unfolded right in front of his eyes and yet . . . he didn't really see it happen.

As time passed during his perpetual incarceration, with hooded eyes, the former captain spent an unfathomable amount of time tossing and turning every single event that led him to this underground prison, even pondering his temporary release by the Head Captain Kyōraku to fight in the war. Scenarios both minor and significant displayed itself in front of his mind's eye as if he were watching a film.

Every so often, a blurred visage of your image would make a brief appearance, like the flickering sparks of a match before they were able to come to light, fading away into the void and were overshadowed by his other thoughts. It was as if his own consciousness and intentionally muted any manifestations of your existence in his memories. As if he wasn't able to or allowed to see them━ to remember you for too long.

Mentally reliving moments from the last several months, years, decades, centuries━ trying to analyze each moment and decipher where it could have went wrong━ turned out to be quite an exhausting task. His mind and body would grow heavier with inertia, and eventually he would succumb to the alluring pull of slumber. After some time he would rouse from his sleep, and continued from where he left off.

These were his daily activities day in and day out (even though he had trouble distinguishing day and night in his chambers) for years. He saw a positive side to it though. He'd instead think of it has him getting stronger because he had spent so long . . . thinking. Ruminating. Contemplating every possibility in the past, present, and future. His mind would become as sharp as his zanpakuto.

Aizen had always been intentional about what he did, what he said, and how he conducted himself. He was sure in his abilities to orchestrate an image━ a belief for others to have faith in, and act on it in order to further his goals. He was always sure in that image, knowing who he was and what he stood for.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Aizen wasn't consciously aware that his certainty in this crafted image had already begun to waver. He could not and was unable to anticipate how severe these small fractures had become until after a certain lieutenant paid him a visit outside his cell of confinement, right before he was scheduled to be thrown back into that dark hole of the Mugen.

Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi was quite emotive when he burst through the doors. His expressions were contorted in volatile mixture of frustration, anger and sadness. His emotions were every which way, directed at everything that has happened so far, including himself. He was especially emotive at Aizen specifically for what he did to former captain Kaname Tosen and 'corrupting him with his twisted ideals.'

Aizen found amusement in that.

Before he was rolled away by the punishment force and therefore out of earshot, a particular set of Hisagi's words caused the small, content smile on his lips to uncurl ever so slightly. "Everything . . . and everyone that has ever gotten themselves involved with you has been trampled on by you and your ideals one way or another, and they all end up dead. If you think what you did to Captain Tosen was justified━ to call it mercy . . . . . then there is truly no justice in this world. You will . . . forever be the enemy in my eyes."

There was a trembling anger in his voice. Pain that wanted to cry out and be set free but, the thin lid of reason prevented it from doing so. And after a moment of silence, the corners of Aizen's lips curved upwards once more. A little bemused, a little more wolfish this time. He maliciously imagined Hisagi's reaction if he ever discovered the true reason for your disappearance.

But instead, all he said was. "What an interesting thing to say, Shuhei Hisagi. Your conviction is admirable." Any evidence of emotion that might have been reflected in his sepia irises was swallowed up and obscured by the darkness of the Mugen's jaw.

The cracks in Aizen's sense of self, in his beliefs, in the image he invented started to cave under the weight of Hisagi's words before he himself realized it was happening. They were like stains in the fabric of his mind that refused to come out.

What puzzled him more, was that with each attempt to figure out just why Hisagi's words echoed in his mind, they all lead back to you, the third seat of the 9th squad. Annoyingly so.

The tattooed lieutenant hadn’t said anything particularly profound ━ at least, Aizen didn't think so. Your name didn’t even fall from his lips. So why were memories of you and your likeness the only clear thoughts he could make of Hisagi's speech? Was it because he was aware of how close the two of you were? He doubted the reason were that trivial and insignificant.

His thoughts grew more discordant by the day, his soul a little more weighted than usual. Perhaps these new seals that Urahara had fashioned actually had an effect on him, Aizen thought. It made sense. His intellect, other than his own, were the only ones capable of creating such effective restraints.

After a while, he had a revelation. This was a different kind of weight.

This heaviness, the closest word he knew to describe it as . . . . was loneliness.

Time taunted him as it seemed to drag on━ Aizen grew even less sure of how much━ when he came to this realization. Hisagi's words were a clear mirror to the loneliness that echoed within him after what happened to you and to Tosen. It was so . . . potent, that it seemed to strike some chord in Aizen he had never heard before.

Such a chord, this sound of loneliness, it was strange and uncomfortable; he wasn't very fond of this sensation. He'd try to scrub it away, but it was all for naught.

His eyes had slid shut at some point, his ruminations leading to dead ends and wearing him down. And, almost as expected, there you were again, in all your translucent glory. The hem, the sleeves, and even the smell of your yukata slowly dragged across his dreams, haunting his thoughts like a lonely wraith.

And Aizen hardly dreamt of anything.

When he regained consciousness he was plagued with yet another epiphany. An additional reason behind this newfound depth.

Aizen's own loneliness. Guilt. Much to his own quiet horror.

How foreign and unusual a thing like guilt is. It was like looking into a mirror and not recognizing something you had never noticed before, but wondered if it had always been there.

But the thing Aizen did recognize, how lonely he actually felt, was something he had hoped would never resurface again. It was a notion he hadn't had the time or regard to consider━ 'loneliness'. Its only purpose, if any, was solely to serve as a motivator. At times though, it was more like a hindrance.

Something akin to nausea slowly started to bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed the sensation before it became any more intense.

What of his previous actions did he need to feel guilty for? He hadn't felt it then, so why would he feel it now? Again he ruminated such a question endlessly into oblivion.

The former captain had no doubts that his plan to remove the Soul King, and therefore the Soul Society's sins, were necessary.

Nor did any hesitancy about removing the opposition or dead weight━ whether shinigami or arrancar━ existed.

He certainly had no reservations against killing Kaname Tosen, for he knew the man well enough to know that Tosen would have been so thoroughly appalled with what he had become, it would have drove him mad.

So what was it, then? Why were such useless emotions as guilt and loneliness being amplified n━

"Y....know, S....."

Even covered by the seals, Aizen's eyes widened and his brows were slightly furrowed in distress. Had his mind finally tipped the scales of sanity and madness, to the point where he was hearing things?

It was quiet for several moments longer, before his senses caught onto the sound of water dripping onto a hard surface.

One drop at a time.

Its cadence a little too rhythmic to be natural. And for a second time, he heard that soft, ominous sounding whisper. Its voice a little clearer this time.

"You...know.....Sōsuke."

In the second it took for his eyes to flutter shut behind its seals to blink, when he reopened them, he was no longer sealed to the walls and floors of the Mugen, nor was he surrounded by every shade of darkness imaginable. His limbs and senses were finally freed to breathe for the first time in what felt like ages.

That relief was short-lived when his senses absorbed the unending landscape of water underneath his feet, water lilies lifelessly floating on its surface, and the dim sky illuminated by a full pale moon.

Aizen was in his inner world, and now he was aware of how he got here, or rather who brought him here.

"You . . . already know the answer to that question, Sōsuke." The voice was even more clear, its sentences more comprehensible. And it sounded it eerily like you.

Why the voice was impersonating your likeness had caught him off guard for half a second, but he realized it was only the work of his zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu.

An illusion it may be, there was an untouchable quality about your voice and how you spoke that even Kyoka Suigetsu couldn't replicate.

A few feet away from him, the water was disturbed by a being emerging from the depths. Ripples formed around a manifested version of his zanpakuto, who took the form of you, smiling ever so gently. The smile felt airy, and it didn't seem like the same one that haunted his dreams and every waking thought as of late. It felt....knowing.

Still, the former captain couldn't be bothered to maintain eye contact with his sword spirit, so he turned around and opted to keep his unreadable stare trained on the vast expanse of water and white lilies.

"It's been quite a while since I have stepped foot into this realm. There must be something you want . . . Kyoka."

The zanpakuto chuckled, it sounded like the way you would softly laugh at one of his clever quips. But this wasn't you.

He didn’t want to admit that something about that fact didn’t sit right with him.

"Judging from your tone, would I be correct in assuming you don't want to be here?"

Silence rang out within the soul scape, before Aizen interrupted it, his gentle voice colored a shade darker, and a little rigid. "And I fail to see the reason why you must take that form when you revealed yourself to me. Is your aim to get a reaction out of me? Or something along those lines?"

Your eyes━ the eyes of Kyoka Suigetsu━ narrowed at its master's back, as if they were trying to create concavities in his skull. But the expression was washed away the moment it appeared, the serene smile from before was back in place.

"You know . . . it's considered quite rude to not look at someone when you're addressing them. That, and when you deliberately ignore things they say. Your manners have been deteriorating, Sōsuke. Tsk, tsk."

Kyoka-dressed-as-you suddenly appeared before him, as if they had teleported. Even when they were in his peripheral vision, Aizen still maintained his stare off into the distant nothingness.

"Unless, you can't find it in yourself to look at me. . . that's correct, isn't it? It's because I look exactly like her, right?" The zanpakuto continued to provoke him, taking a step closer into his personal space.

With an exasperated sigh, his eyelids fell shut for a second, using that time to gather the strength he didn't know he needed, and directed his gaze to meet his spirit's. Aizen's face gave nothing away, but his heart lurched about his chest when his bronze eyes met with yours, or what was made to look like yours. The undesired affect it had on him was all the same.

"If you wish to chastise me about manners, I suggest you take your own advice. You didn't answer my first question, either: what is it you want? Why am I here?" Again the former captain chose to not address the other parts of Kyoka's statement. For the sake of his sanity and his thinning patience━ or was it to preserve his resolve?

Its smile widened a bit, moving another step closer to their master. God, Kyoka even smelled like you, mimicking your signature honeyed scent that Aizen didn't realize he found so intoxicating until this very moment.

"I called you here to save you from yourself."

Aizen remained silent, only narrowing his eyes in speculation. "Meaning?"

"Didn't I already say it earlier? I think you already know what I'm talking about, Sōsuke. You've always known."

Fate's pairing of Kyoka Suigetsu with Aizen was a match crafted from the spindles of heaven, but also a maddening curse pulled from the depths of hell, for they complimented each other a little too well. The zanpakuto was too perfect a reflection of Aizen and his soul, looking at it started to hurt his eyes.

His sword spirit insisted that he already knew the reason for his coming here, and perhaps he did have an inkling the moment the light of epiphany was shone on his profound loneliness and guilt. But that couldn't have been what it was referring to . . . . could it?

"You cannot feign ignorance here, my dear Sōsuke, however I do find it rather humorous you bother trying. If you'd like, I don't mind humoring you by spelling it out for you. I'd be glad to unearth the truth that you have buried in the most neglected corner of your heart."

"When you were . . . . subjecting yourself to such mental torment, it had an affect on this world as well. The ripples, the waves in this scape become quite . . . tumultuous." The nuances in your voice were perfected by his zanpakuto, but the way it talked sounded like a fog that was gradually closing in from over the horizon. The uneasy feeling that resided in his chest traveled down to his stomach, but Aizen's face remained steely, even when Kyoka Suigetsu took that final step to close the gap in between them. "And the reason for that, the reason why Hisagi's words rattled you so is because you regret killing that woman."

The creased line in Aizen's brow grew more prominent as he stared down his sentient sword spirit. With its breast pressed against his, they placed a hand on his clothed chest in a tantalizing manner, but he felt nothing. There was no warmth from its palm, much unlike when your hand touched him. There wasn't even a cool sensation either. Even minutes before your death, your touch brought a soothing heat that permeated through his shihakusho and penetrated his skin.

Kyoka's face grew nearer, their smile━ although still tender looking━ grew cold at its edges, nearly resembling that of a predator eager to see despair reflected in the eyes of its prey. It didn't fit the graceful allure of your face at all, and seeing this expression deeply unsettled the former captain more than he would like to admit.

"You regret . . . killing me."

A chill tore through Aizen's body, the weight of Kyoka's words adding onto the heaviness that still hasn't been alleviated from his heart; he was hardly able to suppress the involuntary shiver.

Without warning, Kyoka's mouth suddenly became dangerously close to their master's, its lips brushing against his in a provocative manner. Aizen's expression darkened when he realized that it was reenacting his last encounter with you when you were alive. His mouth started to grow uncomfortably dry, despite his soul scape being full of moisture, and there was a taste on the back of his tongue that's been lingering there since he arrived.

The lilt in Kyoka's tone continued to taunt him. "That is the reason for your guilt: regret. You have been in denial. And in the spirit of unearthing truths, I suppose I can admit that perhaps . . . . I've been . . . . encouraging said delusions, adding drops of fuel into the flames of your emotions and ambitions. But after all that's happened, when it comes down to it there's no point in continuing this hallucination any longer. I've grown tired of this game, so it's time to for you wake up now, Sōsuke. I've brought you here to release you from your own illusion, to completely shatter it."

Aizen's back was as stiff as a board, not moving a millimeter when Kyoka's lips grazed his again. They were breathing softly onto his mouth, but he hardly felt any puffs of air.

The former captain was having a rather difficult time processing the fact that his zanpakuto had its own agenda and had been manipulating his emotions without him noticing. Specifically the emotions he felt towards you.

He never truly believed that such a thing was possible, one's own blade having such a deep-rooted influence━ no, control over their master. Or would it be more accurate to say that he never expected himself to be controlled to such a degree? He that prided himself on being freed from the marionette strings of fate that were tied to his limbs and mind, he that relished being able to do what he wanted, think what he wanted, feel what he wanted━ or what he didn't want━ it was hard to believe that none of that mattered in the end.

Kyoka Suigetsu's deceptive abilities were indeed undeniably perfect. No one, not even Aizen himself could have anticipated that Kyoka's most absolute and complete hypnosis would be enacted on himself.

"Do you know now, Sōsuke? Do you understand?" Kyoka's voice was as soft as a whisper, but it couldn't hide the edges of its tone that were still sharpened from finding amusement of seeing the truth flash across its master's face. "You had destroyed the solution to your existential question of loneliness, before you could fully understand the question itself."

Yes . . . . . Aizen understood now.

He didn't bother acknowledging what Kyoka had said. His grim facial expression━ still, tinged with dolor, and paired with an indescribable, distant look his eyes━ said all that it needed to. His silence was as much as an admission as any.

Kyoka-dressed-as-you leaned forward again to fully close the gap between their lips and Aizen's. Tenderly, like the intentions of a lover, it spoke against his nearly closed mouth. "Have you figured it out yet?"

Nothing but quiet could be heard between them, as Kyoka's mouth moved about their master's face and placed something like kisses upon its surface, but not quite.

Aizen's cocoa-shaded eyes slide down to stare at his sword spirit pressed up against him. His gaze was hard, and yet something swam underneath its surface that his zanpakuto had never seen before. Melancholy, it guessed? They weren't quite sure.

Kyoka pressed on when Aizen remained quiet. "The taste in the back of your mouth. Have you figured out what it was? You know it quite well....."

Aizen's tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, sensing the rather unpleasant taste that has coated the inside of it. And within a moment, because he was faced with the current circumstances, Aizen had finally placed a name associated this particular taste. How unfortunate this was.

Upon his realization, Aizen's head lowered, and his brown tresses hung freely over his lashes. Perhaps it was so Kyoka couldn't properly see whatever remorseful expression painted their master's face, but it mattered not. Even from here, the sword spirit could already sense exactly what it was he was feeling.

And they loved it.

"It's a sweet and flavorful taste, isn't it? Quite lovely." Kyoka Suigetsu mimicked the exact words he uttered against your lips all those years ago when he tasted jasmine tea on your tongue, and sealed your death with a kiss. "It's too bad you don't seem to enjoy it anymore."

Aizen's chest continued to rise and fall calmly, and the hands of his sword spirit that rested there glided upwards to cup his strong jaw, caressing his skin with its thumb. Its phantasmic touch did nothing to stir their master.

"Sōsuke, do you know what the jasmine flower from that tea symbolizes?"

Aizen's lips were slightly parted, but again he didn't say anything. Instead, its corners twitched and lifted upwards by an inch, and he huffed softly.

Kyoka Suigetsu grinned in reply. "Good."

The next time Aizen blinked, he was plunged in darkness yet again. The restrictive feeling that swallowed his being whole had returned, and was an indicator that his zanpakuto had released him from his inner world. He was consciously back in the Mugen, back in this abyss they called a prison cell.

Kyoka was indeed as much as a formidable force in its own right, as much as, if not greater than Aizen himself.

The conversation he had with his sword spirit would be cemented in his head for all eternity. When he grew senile and began to physically wither away, the one thing that would remain vital like a young heart, was this epiphany that he had. This realization that he actually . . . .

As the chains of despair bound him tighter to the bottom of the metaphorical pit, regret and his loneliness corroding his flesh and spirit like metal exposed to moisture, a stray memory of his time in Hueco Mundo flashed in his mind. He recalled having tea prepared for meetings with his Espadas and he could not pinpoint when, but at some point, Aizen developed an aversion for jasmine flavored tea. For one reason or another, he no longer found its taste appealing; whenever he drank it, it always tasted bitter.

Now that reason had become painstakingly clear.

The binding on his mouth muffled a rueful chuckle at the though, and it trapped the flavor of jasmine on his lips.

(#) @soaringmirror @stygianoir @ryukenzz @blkjupiters @chrissie2003 @nymphoheretic @dejwrld @triangularz @souyaszn @kuujo @honeybleed @valentineluvu . let me know if you’d like to be apart of my tag list ♡♡.

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mononijikayu · 11 days

Text

lonely in gorgeous – ryomen sukuna.

In that small moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in a bit of nostalgia, thinking about the paths you both had taken. You hoped he was happy and successful, thriving in the world he had always been so passionate about. And though you doubted you would ever hear from him again, you couldn't help but wonder if he ever thought about you, if he ever missed the days when you were his muse, and he was your world.

GENRE: alternate universe - fashion au!

WARNING/S: alternate universe - canon convergence, modern au, fashion au!, rated 18 and above, age gap (reader is in 20s and sukuna is in his 30s), explicit content, smut, p to v sex, flirting, romance, humor, strangers to lovers, lovers to strangers, break up, time skip (ten years later);

LISTEN: lonely in gorgeous by tommy february6

NOTE: this is probably my second favorite so far. because i keep thinking of hiromi and sukuna throughout but modern au??? i loved this a lot because its based on paradise kiss, which i think is one of the stories i loved in a long time. it makes me wanna rewatch paradise kiss. i'm very happy with this one. i hope you enjoy it as much as i do <3333

masterlist

kayu's playlist — side 700;

IT STARTED OUT IN A WAY YOU DIDN’T EXPECT. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the grassy expanse of the park. You sat on the bench, surrounded by the cacophony of rustling leaves and distant chatter, the weight of your textbooks heavy on your lap. Each page seemed to blur together, the words melding into an incomprehensible jumble as exhaustion gnawed at the edges of your mind.

As you stared at the pages before you, the thought of continuing down this path weighed heavily on your shoulders. This degree, chosen by your mother, felt more like a burden than a choice. It was her dream, her unfinished journey that you were expected to fulfill. Yet, with each passing day, the realization grew stronger within you that it wasn't your dream at all. It was a legacy you were expected to carry, a path laid out for you by someone else's ambitions.

The thought left you feeling adrift, caught between the expectations of others and the yearning for something more. The park, with its tranquil beauty, offered a brief respite from the chaos of your thoughts. Here, amidst the gentle sway of the trees and the soft rustle of leaves, you found a fleeting sense of peace, a momentary escape from the pressures of academia and familial expectations.

The figure at the nearby table commanded attention, his presence as enigmatic as it was compelling. Ryomen Sukuna, renowned fashion designer, his reputation preceded him like a shadow cast by the setting sun. His tall, imposing frame was a stark contrast to the tranquil surroundings of the park, yet there was an undeniable magnetism to his presence.

As he sat hunched over his sketchbook, his expression was one of intense concentration, his fingers moving deftly across the page in a frenzied dance. The lines he etched upon the paper seemed to materialize effortlessly, each stroke a testament to his skill and creativity. But beneath the surface, there was a simmering frustration, a sense of discontent that lingered like a shadow in the corners of his mind.

For Sukuna, the park had become an unlikely refuge, a sanctuary of sorts where he could retreat from the relentless demands of his craft. Here, amidst the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of city life, he sought solace in the simplicity of nature, hoping to unearth the spark of inspiration that had eluded him for so long.

Intrigued by the sight of you, Ryomen Sukuna couldn't tear his gaze away. The exhaustion etched into your features, mingled with an unmistakable determination, spoke volumes to him, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. With a sense of curiosity piqued by the contrast of your presence against the backdrop of the park, he found himself compelled to approach you.

With confident strides, he closed the distance between you, his sketchpad clutched in one hand as though it were a precious treasure. There was a magnetic pull in his demeanor, an air of authority and intrigue that seemed to precede him like a gentle breeze, stirring the stillness of the evening air.

As he neared, his gaze never wavered from you, his eyes scanning your form with a keen sense of observation. It was as though he were studying a masterpiece, seeking to unravel the secrets hidden within the intricate tapestry of your being. And when he finally reached your side, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a tension that crackled between you like electricity waiting to ignite.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and determination. You looked up, startled by the sudden interruption. “Would you like to model for me?”

Confused, you furrowed your brows. “Model? I’m not a model. I’m just a student.”

Sukuna’s eyes glinted with a hint of amusement. “Doesn’t matter. I want you to be my model.”

You stared at him, still trying to process the odd request. “But… Why me?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know yet. But there’s something about you. I can’t explain it. Just think about it.”

Your mind buzzed with confusion as you watched Ryomen Sukuna retreat, leaving you to grapple with the unexpected encounter. His enigmatic demeanor left you feeling both intrigued and bewildered, as though you had stumbled into a world of mysteries waiting to be unraveled.

His simple yet cryptic words lingered in the air, echoing in your mind like an elusive melody. "There's something about you," he had said, a statement that sparked a flurry of questions within you. What did he see in you that prompted such a request? What hidden depths did he perceive beneath the surface of your tired facade?

As you held his business card in your hand, its sleek surface cool against your skin, you couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity stirring within you. What harm could come from entertaining the idea, if only for a moment? With a sense of hesitancy tinged with intrigue, you tucked the card into your pocket, a silent promise to explore the mysterious invitation further.

The sun hung low in the sky as you made your way back to the park, the familiar sight of Ryomen Sukuna sketching under the shade of a tree drawing you closer. With each step, your heart quickened, a mixture of apprehension and excitement swirling within you.

As you approached him, Sukuna glanced up from his sketchpad, a small smile gracing his lips. "Back again, I see," he remarked, his voice smooth and confident.

You nodded, unable to suppress the curiosity that burned within you. "I couldn't stay away," you admitted, your tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Sukuna's gaze softened, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I thought as much," he replied, his attention returning to his sketch. "Have you given any more thought to my offer?"

You hesitated, the memory of his cryptic request still fresh in your mind. "I'm not sure I understand what you see in me," you confessed, your voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and self-doubt.

Sukuna looked up, his gaze meeting yours with a piercing intensity. "Sometimes, it's not about understanding," he replied cryptically. "It's about embracing the unknown. You won’t be able to live a life like this without embracing what makes life so hard, you know.”

“Why do you keep asking me?” you demanded of him. “I’m just a burnt out college student. What do I have to offer?”

Sukuna looked up from his sketchpad, his expression serious. “Because you’re my muse.”

The words hung in the air, and you felt a strange thrill at the idea. Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself agreeing to his request.

"I suppose……I could give it a try." you finally conceded, a hint of uncertainty still lingering in your voice. “What do I have to lose at this point?”

Sukuna's smile widened, a spark of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Excellent." he replied, a note of excitement creeping into his tone. "Trust me, you won't regret it."

“I hope not.”

“Little muse, you should pose on the other side.” He says to you. “I need to get your hair right for this one.”

You nodded at him. You couldn’t help but ponder at his words for a moment, the weight of their meaning sinking in. He called you his muse. He needed you as his muse. You didn’t know why you agreed, but you knew you really had nothing to lose. And this gives you something to do, other than being miserable about your college life.

There was something about Sukuna, you couldn’t point it out even if you tried. But you knew that there was an air of mystery surrounding Sukuna that both intrigued and unnerved you. But despite your reservations, you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Because it was quite easy to see for you.

You think he was about to change your life.

And little did you know, you were right.

The following weeks were quite a hurricane storm. You were quite the spectator to Sukuna’s creativity. Everything about how he worked was something you had never seen before. He was always so full of passion, everything about it was electric. His energy was infectious, and you found yourself caught up in his world.

You posed for him in various outfits he made each and every week, each one more daring and unconventional than the last. Despite his notorious reputation, Sukuna was surprisingly patient with you. He encouraged you, challenged you, and celebrated your progress.

At first, it was hard adjusting to it all. You didn’t know if you actually had it in you to pull these clothes off. But he kept talking to you about each and every story the dress made and more and more, each piece of clothing he made for you to try and model in was clothes that slowly became your friend.

He pushed you out of your comfort zone, and you discovered slowly but surely, you came to realize that there was passion in you too, as much as there was the bounty of potential and confidence that was just waiting to be nurtured and waiting to blossom.

The connection between you two grew stronger, and you began to understand why he had chosen you. Your exhaustion and determination, your raw, unpolished presence, was exactly what he needed to reignite his creativity. One evening, after a particularly intense session, you found yourself sitting beside him over glasses of wine, watching the city lights flicker in the distance.

As you sat beside Sukuna, watching him sketch with newfound clarity, you couldn't help but feel a sense of validation wash over you. You watch him pour another glass on your glass and then his.

"I think I'm starting to get it," you admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

Sukuna glanced up from his sketchpad, a pleased smile gracing his lips. "Told you, little muse." he replied, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "There's something about you that's just... captivating."

“Oh don’t flatter me that way.”

His words echoed in the dimly lit room, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the soft hum of conversation. Sukuna's eyes held a glimmer of sincerity as he spoke, his grin genuine as he savored the moment.

"You've brought something back to life in me," he repeated, his voice carrying a weight of truth. It was a confession, raw and unguarded, revealing a vulnerability that belied his usual stoic demeanor. “I’m thankful.”

As you watched him, a warmth spread through your chest, your heart swelling with a mixture of pride and affection. To know that you had played a part in rekindling Sukuna's passion, in breathing life into his creativity, filled you with a sense of purpose unlike anything you had ever felt before.

You chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "Well, I'm glad I could help," you said, sincerity lacing your tone. "And who knows, maybe this could be the start of something great."

Sukuna's gaze softened, a glimmer of gratitude shining in his eyes. "I have a feeling it will be," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Well, it already is, if I’m being honest.”

“Why me, really?” you asked softly as you take in the image of him. “Why did you choose me?”

Sukuna turned to you, his eyes reflecting the lights of the city. “Because you’re real. You’re not polished or perfect, and that’s what makes you beautiful. You remind me that inspiration can come from the most unexpected places.”

His words touched you deeply, and you realized that this experience had changed you. You were no longer just a burnt-out college student. You had become a muse, a source of inspiration, and in turn, you had found your own spark of creativity and passion. You were his muse, you were the essence of his wonder. As you looked at Sukuna, you could see he was looking at you.

In that moment, as Sukuna's gaze met yours, you felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you. It was as if the air between you crackled with an unspoken understanding, a shared connection that transcended words.

Without a word, Sukuna reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with each passing second.

And then, his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises, a silent vow to cherish each other and the bond you shared. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, the world around you fading into the background.

As you pulled away, breathless and flushed, you locked eyes with Sukuna once more, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. In that simple gesture, you both knew that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary, a journey filled with endless possibilities and boundless love.

"Wow," you whispered, your heart racing as you gazed into Sukuna's eyes. "I never knew..."

Sukuna's smirk was tinged with affection as he brushed his thumb lightly over your cheek. "You never knew what, my dear muse?"

"That you could make me feel this way," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "That you could make me feel... alive."

Sukuna's expression softened, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings for you. "You've brought out something in me that I thought was lost forever," he confessed. "And for that, I'll always be grateful, little muse.”

You could feel yourself echo in the shade of scarlet as you leaned in to press another gentle kiss to his lips, savoring the warmth and intimacy of the moment. He kissed you back, his hands encroaching against your jaw as he pulled you closer to him. In Sukuna's embrace, you felt a sense of belonging, a sense of completeness that you had never experienced before.

As you pulled away, a smile graced Sukuna's lips, his gaze filled with warmth and adoration. "Shall we continue to inspire each other, my dear muse?" he murmured, his voice low and husky.

With a nod and a smile, you intertwined your fingers with his, knowing that together, you were destined to create something truly extraordinary.

When you look at him, the city lights seem dull.

Ryomen Sukuna was brighter than everything else.

And you fell in love with everything in him more.

IT WAS ALL AN INTENSE WHIRLWIND. At every turn, Sukuna flaunted your presence, introducing you to his acquaintances and peers as his muse, the source of his inspiration. Your relationship with him flourished amidst the glamorous backdrop of high-profile parties and events, where you were the center of attention, admired for your natural allure and captivating presence.

In the eyes of Sukuna, you were not just a model or a companion; you were the embodiment of his artistic vision, the muse who breathed life into his designs and fueled his creativity. Together, you navigated the intricacies of the fashion world, of his world as you basked in the spotlight and forging a bond that transcended mere admiration.

As your connection with Sukuna deepened, the lines between your worlds began to blur. He used his extensive network to secure opportunities for you, arranging magazine features where you modeled the clothes he had painstakingly crafted. With each photoshoot and editorial spread, you became the living embodiment of his artistic vision, seamlessly blending into the world he had created.

As your career flourished under his guidance, you found yourself spending more and more time in Sukuna's presence. He became not just your mentor, but your confidant and companion, guiding you through the intricacies of the fashion industry with unwavering support and encouragement.

With Sukuna's help, you acquired your own manager and began to take on more jobs, each one bringing you further into the spotlight. You reveled in the attention, basking in the glow of success that seemed to follow wherever you went.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the lines between both of your lives blurred almost imperceptibly. What began as occasional visits to his apartment soon transformed into a routine, with more nights spent in his space than in your own college dorm.

His apartment became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you could escape the pressures and expectations of the outside world and simply be yourself. The familiar surroundings, infused with Sukuna's presence, offered a sense of comfort and security that you found nowhere else.

In Sukuna's world, time seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor each moment spent together. Whether it was cooking dinner together in the cozy kitchen, lounging on the couch as you watched movies late into the night, or simply sharing quiet conversations in the dim glow of lamplight, every experience felt like a precious gift.

And as you became more deeply entwined in Sukuna's life, you found yourself embracing aspects of his world that were once foreign to you. You attended glamorous parties and events by his side, proudly adorned with everything he made to fit only you. You enjoyed standing beside him as he spoke to other fashion connoisseurs, while you ended up mingling with fashion elites and modeling industry insiders who passed around their business cards to you one after the other.

But amidst the glitz and glamor, there were moments of vulnerability and intimacy that bound you together even more tightly. You realized that not everyone saw this part of the world Ryomen Sukuna orbited. You enjoyed his company, you enjoyed watching him pick apart fabrics all day.

You’ve seen him be frustrated with his work each and every day. You’ve seen him rush to you with delight when he thinks that it’s perfect enough for you to wear. In that whole two years, you found yourself sharing your hopes and dreams, your fears and insecurities, laying bare your soul in a way you never thought possible.

In the midst of the glamor and passion, there were also moments of turmoil and discord that tested the strength of your relationship. Arguments erupted over trivial matters, escalating into heated exchanges that left you both feeling wounded and raw. Tears were shed, words were spoken in anger, and the once serene sanctuary of Sukuna's apartment became a battleground for your conflicting emotions.

At times, it felt as though your lover was a tempestuous storm, his moods shifting unpredictably from blazing intensity to icy detachment. His affectionate gestures were often overshadowed by moments of aloofness, leaving you feeling bewildered and uncertain of where you stood in his heart.

But Sukuna was a complicated man, and his feelings for you were just as complex. He could be warm and affectionate one moment, then distant and cold the next. His hot-and-cold behavior left you confused and exasperated. There were times he seemed to take pleasure in toying with your emotions, pushing your boundaries, and testing your naivete.

In the midst of these turbulent emotions, Sukuna's behavior sometimes bordered on manipulative. He had a knack for using subtle tactics to exert control over you, whether it was through guilt-tripping, emotional manipulation, or even resorting to underhanded methods like calling your friends to inquire about your whereabouts without your knowledge.

These manipulative tendencies only added to the strain on your relationship, fostering a sense of distrust and resentment that simmered beneath the surface. Despite your love for Sukuna, there were moments when you questioned whether the tumultuous nature of your connection was worth the emotional toll it took on you.

Yet, even in the midst of the storm, there were moments of tenderness and vulnerability that reminded you why you fell in love with Sukuna in the first place. In the quiet moments of reconciliation, when apologies were whispered and forgiveness granted, you found solace in the depths of your shared connection, clinging to the hope that love would ultimately prevail over the trials and tribulations that threatened to tear you apart.

Leaving behind the familiarity of your college dorms for the sanctuary of Sukuna's apartment marked a significant turning point in your life. Graduation loomed on the horizon, a milestone that signified the culmination of years of hard work and dedication. Yet, amidst the celebrations and anticipation of what lay ahead, it was the quiet moments spent in Sukuna's arms that held the greatest allure.

With each passing day, your bond with Sukuna deepened, weaving itself into the very fabric of your existence. His apartment, once a temporary escape from the demands of college life, had now become your sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world. Within its walls, you found solace and strength, a sense of belonging that transcended words.

The allure of Sukuna's presence was undeniable, you needed him. You knew there was no one else. You wanted him, all his ugly and dirty. In all his magnetic charm drawing you ever closer with each passing moment. In his arms, you found respite from the uncertainties and anxieties that plagued your mind, basking in the warmth of his affection and the reassurance of his love. You burned for him, as you always do.

Ryomen Sukuna could only smirk as you clenched around him. He was trying to be careful with you, it was your first time after all. He could see the way your face scrunched as he kissed you all over, trying to distract you from the pain. He lets himself coo at you as he gives your forehead a small kiss.

"There, there," he cooed softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Just relax, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

His words were like a balm to your nerves, calming you as you adjusted to the sensation. You nodded, allowing yourself to relax into his touch as the initial discomfort began to fade.

"I trust you.” you whispered, meeting his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and affection.

“I know you do, baby.”

His harsh thrusts could only really make your head spin. You held tight to him, moaning against his shoulder, tears falling from your face. His throat let out low growls one after another as he pushes through the depths of you with each and every bottoming down into you. He feels like he is molding into you, as much as he’s molding you into him.

“Yer so good f’r me, aren’t you?” He groans against you, his body enveloping all around you, the sweat of you melting against his skin. “Go ‘n baby, keep making those sounds f’r me.”

You could feel overwhelmed as he changed your position, your belly resting on the bed, his cock still inside you. You felt your body rattle as much as the bed did as l his huge cock effortlessly bullies deep into your hole with vigorous excitement. You could not stop feeling your insides be like they’re on fire. You could feel yourself squeeze around him tightly.

His strong calloused hands wander below your chest, holding onto you the way he does with his fabrics — a sense of desire for the things that are beautiful. Soon enough, you could feel them strongly encroach against the will of your hips, fingers leaving imprints as they pressed hard against your skin. You could only squirm under his intense gaze.

You couldn’t even focus anymore as drool fell from your lips. You cry as you shake and shake against his touch. His rough kisses hurt, but you didn’t care. You let him paint his lips all over your body, those brutally vain beauty of lips touching every sensitive part of you. He grins as he watches you lose all sense. He watches you apart from him.

“My little muse, uh, y’r so good f’r me, aren’t you?” He says against your ear, letting out a moan. “I’ll make a good dress f’r you, a sequenced one? No, no, it’s going to be the same color of your skin. I’ll feast on it. I’m pretty sure. But I’m the only one who gets to see it. I’m the only one that gets to see you that way.”

“Y–yeah,” You mewl against him, lost in everything but pleasure. ‘’kuna, I’m feeling something, it’s tooooooo good.”

“I know, baby. I can feel you, hm? I can feel you tightening up f’r me.” He leans forward, his body pressed against the small of your back. He thrusts, causing you to moan harshly. “Y’r about to come, hm? Give it to me, hm? Be my good little muse.”

Sukuna grabbed you by the hair, pulling you towards him with a fierce intensity. His lips crashed into yours, a passionate kiss that left you breathless as he pressed your bodies tightly together. You moaned into the kiss, your voice vibrating against his mouth as Sukuna trailed his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of bites and marks in his wake.

He pushed more into you as his head rested on the side of your neck with a predatory grace. His hips ground against yours, eliciting a gasp from your lips. The room filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing,tears pouring more and more as both of you closed the gates to pleasure

Sukuna's movements quickened, driven by a surge of pleasure and desire.. His mouth descended upon your collarbone, and neck — his free hand reaches breast, pinching it tightly as you cried. His tongue tracing patterns that sent shivers down your spine. You cried out, the mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming your senses as he marked you with his teeth.

The feeling of his warmth enveloping you was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering shut as you both lost yourselves in the sensation of being together. His thrusts grew harder and faster, each movement driving you both closer to the edge. You felt like your body was shutting down, with how cruelly deep he was getting into you.

Ryomen Sukuna felt like he belonged inside of you. Here, in your arms, he was exactly where he wanted to be—lost in the embrace of someone he loved, sharing a connection that was raw, passionate, and undeniably real.

Your bodies moved together in a rhythm as old as time, each thrust bringing them closer to the peak of ecstasy. Sukuna's movements were swift as he moved you back on your back, arms pulling your legs upwards to him as he drilled his hips.

You screamed in pleasure as you finally came, head pushing against the nook of the pillows. But Sukuna was still waiting to get there. He kept pushing and pushing, as though he were driven by a primal need, a hunger that could only be sated by the touch of your skin, the sound of your voice, the taste of your lips.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as pleasure washed over you in waves. Every sensation was heightened, every touch electrifying as you surrendered yourself to the moment. The intensity of your connection was overwhelming, consuming you both in a fiery blaze of passion.

"I love you." you gasped, your voice strained with pleasure as Sukuna's movements quickened.

"I love you too," Sukuna whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against your ear. "More than anything in this world."

With each word, his thrusts grew more urgent, driving you both towards the edge of ecstasy. The air was thick with passion as you clung to each other, lost in a whirlwind of desire.

As the intensity reached its peak, you locked eyes, sharing a moment of perfect understanding. And in that moment, as you surrender yourself completely to each other, you knew that your love would endure, forever and always.

Nothing was coherent anymore, all you could see was the stars as everything between you blurred until there was nothing left but the two of you. Nothing existed between the two of you but being lost in a world of pleasure and desire. Time seemed to stand still as you soared to new heights, your bodies intertwined in a dance of ecstasy.

And as you finally reached the pinnacle of your passion, Sukuna's name tumbled from your lips in a breathless cry, a testament to the depth of your desire for him. In that moment, you knew that nothing else mattered—only the two of you, bound together by an unbreakable bond that transcended time and space.

The realization that your love story with Sukuna had reached its final chapter weighed heavily on your heart as you sat across from him in the dimly lit restaurant. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows over the table, a poignant reminder of the fleeting nature of love and life itself.

You couldn't bear to see Sukuna sacrifice his dreams for the sake of your relationship. As much as you longed to hold onto him, to keep him by your side, you knew deep down that it wasn't fair to ask him to give up his ambitions for you. His talent deserved to be showcased on a global stage, and you couldn't stand in the way of his success, no matter how much it pained you to let him go.

With a heavy heart, you realized that sometimes, even the most beautiful love stories must come to an end. It was a bittersweet truth that echoed in the depths of your soul, a reminder that life was filled with moments of joy and sorrow, of love and loss.

As you gazed into Sukuna's eyes, you knew that it was time to say goodbye. It was a decision born out of love, a selfless act of letting go for the sake of both your happiness. And though it tore you apart inside, you found solace in the knowledge that you were setting him free to chase his dreams, even if it meant facing the pain of being apart.

“When were you going to tell me that you got an offer from Paris?”

As Sukuna's gaze lingered on you, his eyes held a depth of emotion that was difficult to decipher. It was a stark contrast to the man you had come to know so intimately, whose every thought and feeling had once been an open book to you. But now, as you sat across from him, you found yourself unable to read the nuances of his expression.

Your boyfriend had always been someone whose walls had gradually come down over time, allowing you to glimpse the vulnerability and truth behind his stoic facade. Yet, on this matter, his demeanor remained inscrutable, his thoughts veiled behind a mask of contemplation.

It was a disconcerting realization, to be faced with the uncertainty of Sukuna's intentions and emotions, especially in a moment as pivotal as this. You longed to understand his inner turmoil, to find some semblance of clarity amidst the swirling emotions that threatened to engulf you both.

But as you watched him take a sip of his wine, the silence between you stretching taut with unspoken words, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. Sukuna's unreadable expression left you feeling adrift, uncertain of where you stood in his heart and what the future held for your relationship.

"Why bring it up now?" he countered, his voice low and measured. "Would it have changed anything?"

You hesitated, grappling with the conflicting emotions swirling within you. On one hand, you understood Sukuna's desire to protect you from unnecessary worries and uncertainties. On the other hand, you couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

"I guess I just wish you had been more open with me," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "We've been through so much together, Sukuna. I thought we could share everything."

Sukuna's expression softened, a trace of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching across the table to gently grasp your hand. "I didn't mean to keep it from you. I just... I wanted to figure things out first, before I said anything."

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly at his words. Despite the hurt and confusion that lingered between you, there was an underlying sense of understanding and acceptance that anchored you to each other.

"I know," you replied, offering him a small, sad tentative smile. "I just wish we could have talked about it sooner."

“I don’t plan on taking it.”

“Why not?”

“I’m planning to stay here and be with you.” He admits to you. “I already have a name for myself here.”

“But you would make a bigger name for yourself, if you go out into the world.”

Sukuna's gaze softened as he reached across the table to cup your face gently in his hand. "I don't need a bigger name," he said earnestly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Not if it means being apart from you."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, touched by his unwavering devotion. "But Sukuna, I don't want to hold you back from your dreams," you replied, your voice tinged with concern.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "You could never hold me back, baby.” he said softly. "Being with you is the greatest dream I could ever imagine."

"Are you sure?” You mumble at him.

“I am. I wouldn’t say this to you if I wasn’t.”

“But what if you resent me?” You whisper to him. “What ended up deciding I ruined your life? I won’t do that to you.”

Sukuna's heart clenched at the sight of your distress, his own emotions swirling in turmoil. He watched as you bit your lower lip, a telltale sign of your efforts to hold back tears. In that moment, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him, knowing that his decision was causing you such pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you."

You shook your head slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his apology. But the hurt in your eyes remained, a silent testament to the depth of your pain.

"It's okay," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be okay."

But Sukuna knew that the road ahead would be anything but easy for you. And as he reached out to gently wipe away a tear from your cheek, he silently vowed to do everything in his power to ease your pain, even if it meant walking away from the one person he loved more than anything in the world.

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "You’re letting me go, aren’t you?”

“I can’t join you in Paris.” You mumble to him as you purse your lips at him. “You know that.”

“That’s why I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.”

“But at the cost of your dreams? Sukuna, this is not good for you.”

“I know what’s good for me, and it's you.” His intense gaze burned you. “I’m not leaving you. Baby, I’m nothing without you. I can’t just leave you—”

Your eyes shone with bitter tears pouring down. “I can’t let you leave your dreams because of me. Not when you told me to follow my dreams no matter what.”

“But its not going to hinder me.”

“Those are easy words to say.” You whisper to him. “But one day, I know you’ll look at me and you’ll wake up and not feel happy anymore.”

“I love you.”

As Sukuna's words sank in, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness in your chest. You knew deep down that he was right—that staying together might ultimately lead to resentment and regret. But the thought of being apart from him was almost unbearable.

"I love you too, more than anything." you murmured, squeezing his hand gently. "But maybe...maybe it's time for us to part ways."

Sukuna's expression mirrored your own conflicted emotions, his gaze soft yet troubled. “We don’t have to do this.”

“It’s not going to make us happy.”

“But we’d be together.”

“But that’s not fair.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, weighted with the sorrow of an impending farewell. Sukuna's heart ached at the thought of letting you go, the idea of a life without you seeming almost unbearable. He longed to hold onto you, to defy the inevitable and cling to the love you shared.

"We don't have to do this," he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around yours, as if seeking reassurance in the warmth of your touch. "We can find a way to make it work. We can fight for us."

Your heart clenched at his words, torn between the love you felt for Sukuna and the harsh reality of your situation. You knew that as much as you wanted to stay, to fight for your relationship, there were forces at play beyond your control.

With a trembling breath, you leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to Sukuna's lips, savoring the bittersweet taste of goodbye. It was a kiss filled with all the love and longing that had defined your relationship, a silent farewell to the life you had built together.

As you pulled away, tears glistened in your eyes, reflecting the pain of your decision. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I love you, but I have to go."

With one last lingering look, you turned and walked away, each step a painful reminder of the love you were leaving behind. Sukuna watched you go, his heart heavy with sorrow, knowing that this was the right choice even as it tore him apart inside.

Leaving Sukuna's apartment that night was one of the hardest things you had ever done. As you gathered your belongings and made your way to the door, each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the gravity of your decision. It was a choice born out of love and sacrifice, a painful acknowledgment that staying by his side would only serve to hinder both of your paths forward.

In the days that followed, you found yourself grappling with a profound sense of loss and longing. The absence of Sukuna's presence in your life left a void that seemed impossible to fill, a gaping emptiness that echoed with the memories of your time together. Yet, despite the ache in your heart, you knew that staying away was the only way to truly move forward.

You avoided places where you knew Sukuna frequented, unwilling to risk the temptation of running into him and reopening old wounds. The thought of seeing him again filled you with a mixture of longing and fear, knowing that even the briefest encounter could reignite the flame of your feelings for him.

Deep down, you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, you would be drawn back into his orbit, unable to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. But you also knew that returning to him would only perpetuate the cycle of heartache and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship from the start.

And so, you made a conscious decision to stay away, to give yourself the space and time to heal. It was a choice driven by a desire for self-preservation, a recognition that true love sometimes means letting go, even when every fiber of your being longs to hold on.

Your manager told you when he was leaving.

You booked a shoot that same day, to keep busy.

Because you knew you would cry your eyes out.

You knew you’d go to the airport and see him off.

You didn’t want to break your hearts even more.

YOU THINK YOU’LL NEVER GET OVER HIM. Years later, you stood at the pinnacle of your career, having fulfilled your dream of becoming a successful model. Your name was well-known in the fashion world, and as you neared the age of retirement from modeling, you smoothly transitioned into acting, where you were already making a significant impact.

Sukuna lingered in your thoughts like a haunting melody, an ever-present refrain that played in the background of your daily life. Despite the passage of time and the distance that now separated you, his presence continued to echo through the corridors of your mind, a constant reminder of the love you had shared and the dreams you had once dared to chase together.

In the quiet moments of solitude, his memory would surface like a ghost from the past, flooding your thoughts with bittersweet nostalgia. You would find yourself reminiscing about the moments you had shared, the laughter and tears, the whispered confessions and stolen kisses. Each memory was etched into the fabric of your being, an indelible mark that refused to fade with time.

Even amidst the hustle and bustle of your busy life, Sukuna's presence lingered like a shadow, casting a subtle but palpable weight upon your heart. His absence was a constant ache, a void that no amount of success or distraction could ever hope to fill. You would catch yourself reaching for your phone to text him, only to remember that he was no longer there to answer.

Each morning, you carefully selected an outfit from the collection of clothes Sukuna had designed for you. He left them to you to find in his apartment, one he also left you. He left the letter saying that he wants you to continue using it until the lease is up. That everything he had was always going to be for you — it was always going to be with the thought of you.

Each and everyday, you knew that there was always a happy feeling in you when you wore them. You still feel like you had a connection with him through the fabric and cuts that had once been a part of his creative vision. His presence was woven into the very threads you wore, a constant reminder of the man who had once called you his muse. Somehow, you think, this was the only way that you could still love him — even when you both aren’t together anymore.

You often wondered where Sukuna was now, how he was thriving in the ever-evolving fashion world. Sometimes, when nostalgia struck, you would visit the store of his fashion house in Tokyo, browsing through the latest collections. Each piece you bought reminded you of him, a tangible connection to the past that you cherished dearly.

Despite your lingering feelings, you hadn't heard from Sukuna since he left for Paris. From what you heard from your mutual friends, he still keeps up to date with you. He buys your magazines, he watches your interviews, your shows. When you heard it, you could feel your heart break over and over. He still looks after you, from afar.

You didn't expect him to call you now. That’s just not his style. Even back then when you were dating. But you think that he understands. You look at your ring, that butterfly ring that he made you. You purse your lips as you feel how it still fits after all this time. How it fits so much better than your engagement ring.

You didn’t know how it happened, but it just did. You don’t think that he’ll ever measure how Ryomen Sukuna shaped your life. How Sukuna had loved you. But you couldn’t expect anything less. But life had moved on, and so had you, or so you told yourself. You were getting married in a couple of months. To a man that has become a stability in your life for the longest of times.

Yet, there were moments when the memories would flood back—the nights spent at glamorous parties, the intimate conversations, and the way he had looked at you as if you were his entire world. The warmth in the way he said your name, the tenderness of his fingertips against your own. Those memories were bittersweet, a blend of happiness and longing that you carried with you.

You were going to see a show in the Paris Opera while you both were on your honeymoon in France. Your fiance procured them for you. He’d always known that you liked opera. But you’ve never said out loud how and why. Because you knew that if you told him that you cling to him because of your first great love, you knew it wouldn’t be fair to him.

Still, you were going to go enjoy the show. He told you it was a romantic drama with comedy in the middle. But you knew that you probably wouldn’t be able to focus on enjoying the show as well as you want to. After all, it would be hard. You would be looking at those familiar passionate stitches and threads, knowing they were specifically made by request of the Paris Opera by the one you had loved the most — Ryomen Sukuna.

You think that this was the only ending.

But perhaps if there would be another one,

In all the alternate universes, all the next lives;

You’d wish that you and Sukuna were happy.

You’d wish you both would end up together.

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buckets-and-trees · 15 days

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Okay this sparked my whore brain, so! Which CE!water monster babe (but sexy lollll) emerges from the depths of the lake, so beyond thirsty, and has you on the shore over and over again until his thirst is quenched? 😏

Siri, I've thought about this for the last week since you dropped it in my box...

That imagery is GORGEOUS!

And perhaps that's why you were drawn in and totally unaware of the predicament you were putting yourself in...

Bolotnik Curtis spends most of his time in the cold, dark bottoms of the lake, but the humans nearby have been encroaching more and more on the territory of his people with their shipping trade, affecting their way of life below the water's surface.

content/warnings: NON-CON TO DUB-CON, kidnapping, deflowering, vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, teratophilia/monster fucking, tail sex, nipple play, breast worship, tail riding, cock warming, light cum play, finger sucking, anal play, breeding/no protection, breeding kink, somnophilia

He emerges from the lake a few times to take stock of the situation.

A human village, but none of them seem particularly foul - merely unaware of him and his people.

He can easily inspire fear and cooperation.

And when he sees you, daughter of one of the elders, he now only knows how he will do it, but relishes in the possibility.

Curtis helps the medicinal flowers to flourish even more abundantly than usual on the shores of the lake. It draws you and a few others to take on the regular foraging and collection of them.

One of the evenings when you go out to collect, he draws you away from your companions by creating tiny, sparkling lights that hover and dance over the surface of the water, drawing you closer to the edge and further down the lakeshore line until you're alone.

You had come out so many evenings now that you weren't at all worried about being separated from your companions.

Tonight was like any other night.

Except that it wasn't.

Curtis had watched you more than once.

Had been waiting.

Because tonight was not like any other night.

Tonight he could smell that you were at the peak of your fertility cycle.

And so he finally emerges from the watery shadows of the shoreline, hoists you effortlessly over his shoulder, and his tail wraps around your mouth to smother your sounds of protest and fear.

Once he's pulled you into the cluster of trees, you're both hidden from view, and he puts you none to gently on the ground.

"We should be far enough away no one would hear you, but scream and I'll make you regret it."

But the hulking creature looming above you is so fearsome and alluring that it has your brain stuck for how exactly you should react at all, so your nod to be silent is all you can manage.

Parts of him are covered in mud and algae, but there are also luminescent fish scales over patches of his skin.

Skin you see much more of within seconds as he rips away his clothing, and you find yourself laying beneath a broad chest with rippling muscles that taper down to a narrower waist and his bare loins, and the hard cock that waits there has your suck in a sharp breath and look back up into his eyes in fear.

He wipes a tear away from your cheek. "I would tell you not to fret, but I do intend to use your body until even after your last ounce of energy has been expended, sweet virgin. But perhaps at some point this night, you'll cry in ecstasy instead of fear."

He thumbs away another tear, but then that thumb draws down your neck, over your collar bone, and then his hand pulls at the neckline of your simple blouse, popping buttons off, until your breasts are bared for his eager mouth.

While he lavishes feverish attention to one nipple, then the other, and back and forth again, making you writhe beneath him, his free hand pushes your skirts up, and between his hand and his tail, he rips your bloomers to shreds.

You cry out as he forces your legs apart.

His fingers play with your labia until your clit is stiff and pulsing and you're hole is slick and wet for him.

But its the tip of his tail that slips into your vagina first, and you whimper, but he's insistent in his motions. His lips and his fingers work to drive you to distractions of pleasure.

And once he switches his tail for his cock, it's still a painful breach, but one that has you arching beneath him on a silent scream, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

He sheathes himself fully inside of you, but only gives a few slow ruts in and out, rocking his hips, wanting you to be filled and feel the intrusion of his cock. Once settled, your painful grip on his arms relaxes slightly, and that's when he goes to work making you forget that you hadn't wanted or asked for this.

He rubs little circles over your clit until your walls clench and you shake with your first orgasm.

He slips his fingers into your gasping mouth and rests them on your tongue, forcing you to suck on them and taste your own juices.

The sucking soothes and lulls you into being more pliant for him. He fingers you to another orgasm, and when your second one crests and breaks, so does the rest of his lust.

He fucks you into the ground. He rolls you over and takes you from behind. He leans up against the tree and has you ride him. He torments your clit with his tail. At various points in the night, that tail also teases the tight ring of muscle between your plump ass cheeks, which he relishes in kneading.

He relishes in kneading and sucking all the spots of tender, warm flesh on your body.

You fall asleep on his chest, thoroughly exhausted, his cock still inside of you.

In the middle of the night, you wake up to his long tongue between your legs, plunging into your core, and his moans speak to his approval of the taste of your combined spend.

You whimper, and he raises his head.

"This night is far from over," he promises. "You will continue to take my seed until the dawn breaks, because I will have you growing with my child this night."

Boneless and exhausted as you are, he moves your body to his whims and desires. He has you riding his thigh, riding his tail, begging for him to fill your aching hole even though you know you shouldn't want more, but he's experimenting and ultimately exploiting every pleasurable spot of your human body, driving you to crave and keen for him.

He spills his seed into you more times than any human man could in one night.

When he draws you into the water not long before dawn, you whine when he makes to slide you off of his cock, your arms tightening around his neck and your legs around his waist. He chuckles in dark satisfaction.

"Pushed you past pleasure and into desperation, my sweet little human? Can't think of not being split open by my cock?"

You bury your head into the crook of his neck, lust and confusion battling out in your head.

He cleans you as well as he can, then carries you back to the secluded spot in the trees and lays you down on your side.

He holds you against him, petting you, cooing into your ear until he lulls you back to sleep as the sunlight breaks.

And just before you lose consciousness, he vows to come back for what's his against your brow and seals his ominous promise with a one more dangerous, intoxicating kiss.

Well... um.

I certainly didn't know exactly how that answer would go when I started, but here we are. 🥵

A/N: I wanted to do a water creature that really spoke to the imagery Siri sent in the original ask, so I scoped out some Wikipedia and ended up doing a very rough base off of the Slavic Bolotnik. So it's a "real" mythical creature with its own folklore.

#curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett smut #terato #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #askpen #siri #female reader #tw: non con #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #monster fucking

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 2 months

Note

Congratulations!!

If you feel inspired by this combo and have time, could you write a ficlet using "I", 🍨, 🥰 or 😂, and 🔨?

Thank you!

(Apologies if you already got this ask--my device froze when I sent it the first time, so I don't know if it went through)

Thank you so much! 🥰I still remember your lovely comments on the mer-dude fic, so I hope you enjoy this little bonus! 🦕❤️🧜🏻‍♂️

Of mates and mer-dudes

Words: 996

Rated: T

Tags: summer camp AU; mer!Steve; established relationship; flirting; sexual tension; fade to black

Notes: Set in the same universe as Just add water

“Hammer.”

“Hammer,” Eddie repeats dutifully. Dustin spends two or three seconds trying to drive the nail in with the object he's been handed, until he realizes it's a screwdriver.

“Very funny. I said hammer.”

“Apologies,” Eddie mutters, chucking the screwdriver back into the mess that is their toolbox with one hand and wiping his sunburnt forehead with the other. “I think we've been out here longer than is strictly healthy. How ‘bout we call it a day and head back to camp? It's almost dinner time.”

Dustin scowls. The hair under his Thinking Cap is matted with sweat and he is red-faced and splotchy. An unavoidable side effect of working out on the secluded pier all afternoon.

“We can't just stop now, it's almost done,” Dustin claims, gesturing at their rickety construction of wood and mesh - it’s supposed to be an oversized fish trap, even though Eddie thinks it’s turning out to be more of a funky modern art installation. “This'll work, I know it. This time, I'll prove that Lovie is real. All those past times, it got away too quickly, but if I could just-”

“Jesus, kid,” Eddie groans. “You and your lake monster. You don't know when to give up, do you?”

“Give up?” Dustin scoffs. “If Thomas Edison had given up, we'd still be lighting candles. If Homer Ahr had given up, we would've never walked on the moon. I sure as hell won't-?”

“The fuck is Homer Ahr?”

Dustin heaves a long-suffering sigh.

“Only mission control's chief engineer, Eddie? Honestly, that's the kinda question I'd expect from Steve, not you. Where is he, by the way? I thought he wanted to help us.”

“No idea,” Eddie admits. “Lucky bastard.”

Dustin draws a breath, probably to ask what he means, but Eddie is saved by the sound of the dinner bell floating over from the camp grounds.

“Okay, you gremlin, off you go,” he says, pushing the kid towards the sound before another argument can break loose. “We can finish this tomorrow when we aren't dehydrated and grouchy.”

Dustin grumbles. “What about you?”

Eddie waves him off. “Be there in a sec, lemme put away your shit first.”

He starts picking up their scattered tools, throwing them back into the box. Only when he's sure that Dustin is well out of earshot does he collapse at the edge of the pier, naked feet dangling over the water's surface.

“Man,” he says. “That kid, right?”

There's a soft growl from behind him, and the barest of sloshing sounds, and a shadow falls over him. He only just manages to suck in a breath - knowing he'll need it - before a massive snout pushes between his shoulder blades and he goes plummeting into the lake. He’s dimly aware of the toolbox going down with him, and then the world vanishes in a whirl of bubbles.

He resurfaces to the feeling of arms wrapping around his waist and massive fins brushing his legs, and the sound of laughing voices - one human, one very much not so. He tries to glower at their owners, but actually needs a second to part the sopping curtain of his hair.

“So fucking hilarious, you aquatic asshats. I thought I told you to quit doing that.”

Lovie the lake creature just chirps merrily and dives back under again, splashing him with her fins as she goes.

Steve shrugs. The motion makes tiny droplets of water run down his bare shoulders and collarbones, bringing out his freckles and moles and tiny, glittering scales. Eddie wants to lick them. He has long stopped worrying about what that says about him.

“Sorry. She just wants you in the water with us. She likes it when the flock is together.”

His smile is apologetic, but his tail curls around Eddie’s legs in the water, fins wrapping around the two of them possessively.

Because, see, here's the thing. Over the past year, Eddie has not only discovered that his infuriatingly pretty fellow camp counselor is a mermaid and the guardian of an ancient lake creature. He has also somehow managed to score said mer-dude as a boyfriend and been adopted into the lake creature's flock.

“She never does that shit with Buckley,” he grouses, even though Steve’s words make something flutter in his chest. Steve's touch, also - hands on his hips, fins on his ankles. “She's part of the flock, too, isn't she?”

“Yeah…” Steve blushes, a delicious pink hue on wet, sun-tanned skin. Eddie wants to lick that, too. “But Robin isn't my…”

He trails off into an unintelligible mumble after that. Eddie wrinkles his brow.

“Your what? Come again, fish boy, I didn’t-”

“My mate,” Steve blurts, and the fins on his hips flutter excitedly under Eddie’s fingers. “Robin isn’t my mate.”

Eddie feels his mouth drop open. The water is unpleasantly cold against his flushed skin.

“Wait,” he says when he finally remembers how to form words again. “Hold on a second. When did that happen?”

Steve’s face is still scarlet, but his lips start twitching when he meets Eddie’s eyes. “That’s just the way she sees it. You can’t expect her to think in human standards. Now c’mon, we gotta get to dinner or the kids will wonder where-”

“Oh, no!” Eddie interrupts him, mouth tugging into a stupid, wide grin of his own. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You don’t get to tell me that we’ve been mer-mated for God knows how long and never officially consummated that sacred connection. I’m gonna get a mer-divorce if you don’t-”

“Oh God, shut up,” Steve groans, and kisses him.

As he gets dragged off to their favorite little shore, well out of sight from the camp grounds, Eddie bids a brief mental farewell to the toolbox lying abandoned at the ground of the lake. He’ll have to make up some story about where it went when Dustin asks him, but that's a problem for later.

For now, he’s got other things to think about.

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #just add water #hype's 1k follower ficlets

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marvelsage · 1 year

Text

Avatar: The Way of Water

Part2 pt3

Your clan lives in the deepest depths of the ocean. -an ocean based clan

I had seen a drawing of Na’vi ocean based form a while ago and got some major inspiration:) I lost the page though so if you see this and know what I’m talking about then you kind of get the idea

When your fellow brother, Tonowari had sent a signal to talk, you had not expected for him to be accompanied by Jake Sully and Neytiri. It seems they did not expect for you to be, you in all your oceanic glory. Your people were different, living in the depths of the ocean had altered your genetics greatly to where your skin were a a few shades lighter than the Omatikayan. Your bottom halves while in the ocean were ‘fish’ like, often being referred to as mermaids. You had similar tribal tattoos to the Metikaya along the lengths of your legs and face. They called your people the Tìkakrel Turku, the Blind Spear for your eyes were near white and your people of great huntsman, in and out of the water.

Wading in the shallows of the shore, you and a few of your people had arrived just after eclipse to play it safe. Slowly you broke through the surface and as you all ascended from the water your bottom halves changing to legs, a few metikayin offering wraps to cover up. Jake and Neytiri had not been expecting for you to do all…that, more so Jake than Neytiri as she had grown up with hearing stories of your people.

“Olo’eykte Y/n.” Tonowari and his mate, Ronal greeted as you reciprocating the gesture keeping an expressionless exterior. Doing the same with Jake and Neytiri before being lead to a marui to discuss. For a moment nobody said anything, they were having a silent conversation between one another as you observed them all, you didn’t mean for your gaze to be so intimidating as it rested. Eventually, you broke the ice having given them enough time to speak up first but they didn’t so you did it.

“Well…” For some reason this startled them and you couldn’t help it but it caused the slightest twitch of your ear.

“You are familiar of the war with sky people , yes?” You nod as you could practically feel the scars littering your back and chest sear. You turn to Jake as he takes the lead in what has been happening and why they were in the Metikaya Clan, they had not been there long only a few weeks so far.

“Hm and what does this have to do with me and my people?” They were once again glancing at one another before Neytiri and Ronal had enough and took the floor.

“They seek alliances-”

“-we ask for your alliance and security of our family.” Your ears twitched at the women, especially Neytiri finding it hard to believe that she, a mighty warrior, you had also heard of would come to you for this. It just goes to show that nobody is invisible or far from the great mother after all you guessed.

“We will work for it as well, just like we do with the Metikaya. We just…our family and these people, all of our peoples in this time need to have one another’s backs. The sky people are evolving along with us and the only way we can survive this is by uniting.” You admired the speech from Jake Sully finding it comical to believe he is the great Toruk Mokto as he could have fooled you for a poet.

But still the message is there and it made you think, turning to your accompanying members for further input. This put Jake and Neytiri on edge as they saw a few head shaking, they held each other’s hands tightly in anticipation. Eventually you return to the group and stalled setting your gaze amongst each and everyone of them as you spoke.

“You ask for unity, we can do that, yes. Security of your family, we can provide it. But listen and hear me when I say this…” Emphasizing the ‘hear’ leaning towards them, gesturing between one another.

“If it comes down to you or my people, I must put us first do we understand? Because at the end of the day it is what we all must and will do, yes?” Tilting your head as they all took a second to take in what you said and in their minds knowing you speak truth.

“Good. We will have lessons after your day lessons with the Metikaya.” They agreed even though you weren’t really asking it was more of a statement but with that you ended the meeting and retreated back into the ocean.

“Wow. They are-”

“Intense, intimidating, stern…”Tonowari lists off to Jake as they all rise to leave the marui.

“Yes.” Patting his shoulder he smiles nodding.

“It is the very reason she is Ao’nungs second guardian.” They leave with that and break off from the two leaving Jake and Neytiri taken aback.

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar fanfiction #jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader #metkayina #omaticaya #tonowari x reader #ronal x reader #Navi #atwow loak #neteyam #tsireya #aonung

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theostrophywife · 1 year

Text

the art of punishment.

masterlist

(azriel x reader)

author's note: it's been entirely too long my loves. after weeks of life getting in the way, i finally got the chance to sit down and write and this is what came out. enjoy xx

song inspiration: streets by doja cat.

The dungeon was squeaky fucking clean.

You spent the better half of the day scrubbing the filth and grime from every surface, polishing every weapon until they were gleaming, and washing away the blood, saliva, and gods knew what else had been covering the decrepit holding cells. The task had taken hours and despite your Fae strength, the strenuous cleaning had taken a toll on your body.

You winced as your knees cracked against the concrete floor, wiping and wiping until the entire thing sparkled and gleamed, its surface clear enough to see your reflection.

“You missed a spot.”

Leather boots came into view and muddied your mirrored image. You inclined your head to find the shadowsinger sneering down at you. A sarcastic retort crawled its way up your throat, but you tampered it down. Tampered down the fiery temper that put you in this position in the first place.

A smirk tugged at Azriel’s lips as he watched you bite your tongue. The satisfaction from verbally lashing out at the spymaster would be short lived and Azriel would no doubt jump at the opportunity to draw out your punishment.

Cleaning the dungeon was your penance for matching headfirst into a scuffle with a few raiders who were foolish enough to drift near the Velaris coast. The shadowsinger had commanded you to stand down until he could send reinforcements, but instead of waiting for backup you disobeyed his direct orders and though you’d made the pirates regret stepping into Night Court territory, Azriel had been pissed.

You were well aware of your impulsive and brash tendencies, but even taking your willful disposition into account, the shadowsinger had always been harder on you than the other spies in his employ. If any of your other colleagues pulled the same stunt that you had, you seriously doubted that Azriel would put them on cleaning duty. Suspension and a stern talking to, maybe. But then again, none of your fellow spies had ever stepped out of line as you had. They were too afraid of the spymaster to do so and for good reason.

In the short time you’ve worked with Azriel, you quickly figured out why his very name evoked such fear in Prythian. The shadowsinger was cold, lethal, and downright punishing. You’ve seen grown males piss themselves at the mere sight of the infamous spymaster knowing the world of pain and torture that awaited them in this very dungeon. Some begged for their lives while others prayed for mercy. Azriel granted them neither.

You might be reckless, but you weren’t stupid. As hard as it was, you forced yourself to keep your mouth shut and cleaned the speck of dirt by Azriel’s feet.

“Will that be all?” you asked. You didn’t meet his eyes as you spoke, keeping your voice low and steady to hide the wrath and rage coiling through your veins.

But Azriel didn’t have to see your face to sense your fury. He knew you well enough. Knew which buttons to push, knew which taunts to utter to awaken that fire within you.

The shadowsinger hummed as he surveyed the room, darkness wafting off his tall, statuesque form and curling through those great, mighty wings. If he wasn’t such an asshole, you’d consider the Illyrian warrior beautiful.

That sharp, piercing golden gaze fixed itself on you, taking in your kneeling form, your sullied leathers, and the cracks and cuts on your hands and knees that were already beginning to heal. Azriel paused as he beheld your burning gaze. It was like gazing into a crackling hearth and he wanted nothing more than to feed that growing flame.

So he stayed silent. Waited until your fury lashed out at him like a delicious wave of heat.

“Well?” you gritted out, clenching the rag in your hand so tightly that your knuckles were bone white. “Are you just going to stare at me the whole night?”

And there it was. A glimpse of the feisty female that he enjoyed rousing so much.

“Perhaps I’m just admiring the sight of you on your knees before me.”

You scoffed. “Get a good look, shadowsinger. I’m sure the memory will come in handy when it’s just you and your hand at night.”

Despite all your bravado, the dark, low chuckle that left the shadowsinger’s lips sent goosebumps skittering through your skin. The seductive timbre of his laughter held nothing but promise. A promise to make you regret the words you’d just uttered.

“I see that your punishment has not made you any wiser,” Azriel remarked, zeroing in on you like a predator sizing up its prey. “Shall I add the House of Wind to your cleaning duties?”

You rolled your shoulders and tilted your chin up in defiance. Perhaps it was unwise to provoke the spymaster, but you’ve had enough. If he had a fucking problem with you, then he could come right out and say it.

“Do it, if you must.” You stood to your full height and though you barely reached Azriel’s shoulders, you didn’t balk from his intimidating stare. “But no amount of punishment will make me regret my actions. I did what I thought was right.”

“That’s precisely the problem, isn’t it?” Azriel snapped as that cold, icy rage he kept hidden clawed its way to the surface. “You jump into things headfirst, consequences be damned without a single care for your own safety.”

“Please,” you sputtered out. “Don’t pretend you give a shit about my well-being. This is clearly some fucked up power trip because for some godsdamned reason, you seem to have a problem with me. If Arin or Zoya pulled the same stunt, you’d give them a slap on the fucking wrist.”

Azriel crossed his arms. “It’s not the same.”

For some reason, that sets you off more than anything else. You had no idea what you’d done to deserve this treatment. You worked just as hard if not more than any of your fellow spies. You trained relentlessly. You executed missions flawlessly. You lied and spied and schemed so well that even the High Lord had given you recognition.

But still, none of your accomplishments seemed to please the shadowsinger. You didn’t know what was more infuriating—the fact that Azriel neglected to notice how much you busted your ass off for the Night Court or the fact that you wanted him to notice in the first place.

As stupid as it was, you marched directly into Azriel’s path and stood your ground.

You looked up at him with fire burning in your gaze. “It’s not fucking fair.”

Something dangerous flashed across Azriel’s eyes, disturbing the mask of indifference he’d perfected over the years. “What’s not fucking fair is how terrified I was when you charged into danger without waiting for anyone else.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me!” you shouted, poking at the plate of his impenetrable armor. “You know damn well that I can handle myself, shadowsinger.”

“But I can’t!” Azriel gritted. His booming voice echoed through the cell, bouncing off the walls and rattling your bones. You’ve never seen him quite like this. “I can’t fucking handle myself. You’re right. If anyone else had done what you did, I probably wouldn’t feel this fucking furious, but it’s different with you. It’s different because it’s you.”

You had enough sense to back away from the shadowsinger. To give him space and let that icy rage thaw, but it was much too late for that. Azriel stalked towards you, the golden flecks in his eyes flickering in stark contrast against the familiar greens and browns.

The lit torches lining the walls cast a furious slash of scarlet and gold across his handsome face. “Do you even know why I push you harder than everyone else? Why I train with you until your palms are bruised and your knees are skinned? Why I won’t be satisfied until I’ve drilled it into that stubborn head of yours that your life is not something to play around with?”

With your back pressed against the wall, you gasped as the cool concrete brushed over your skin. It did nothing to suppress the heat unfurling through your body, which only burned hotter under Azriel’s gaze.

“Because for some godsdamned reason, you hate me.”

Azriel’s laugh was dark and cruel, void of any emotion. “If only it were that easy.”

The spymaster was a blur of darkness, moving so quickly that you didn’t even register what he was doing until he had you caged between his arms.

“Do you know how terrified I was when I found out that you disobeyed my order and went up against those raiders all by yourself? I’ve never flown so fast in my godsdamned life. And here you are, accusing me of hating you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Then allow me to make it crystal fucking clear for you,” Azriel snapped.

An argument sat on the tip of your tongue, but it never made its way out. The shadowsinger dipped his face lower, his lips grazing yours as he let out a shaky breath. Any resolve he might’ve had evaporated as soon as your gaze dipped to his mouth. And then you actually whimpered and the sound alone snapped the last thread of Azriel’s self control. In one swift move, he unleashed all of the pure, unadulterated desire that he’d spent so long fighting against.

Azriel surged forward and kissed you. You could taste the tension and desire on his lips as they moved seamlessly against yours while you twined your arms around his neck. He growled into your mouth and you tugged at his locks, pulling him down as his hands roamed your back.

The kiss was its own battle. It was a continuation of your bickering, but instead of words the weapons were your lips and tongues and hands. The shadowsinger was rough and unrelenting. Kissing him felt similar to sparring. Neither one of you refused to yield as tongues danced and teeth clashed.

You hated to admit it, but Azriel was a good fucking kisser.

You couldn’t tamper down your moan as his lips grazed your neck, leaving marks in his wake as he sucked and nipped at your flesh.

“Wait,” you breathed, pulling away from Azriel. “So you don’t hate me. This whole time…you were worried about me?”

The shadowsinger chuckled softly. “The best spy in Prythian and it took you that long to figure it out?” He grazed your jaw with his teeth. “You’re losing your touch, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll be lucky to even feel anything after you made me clean this disgusting dungeon.”

Azriel squeezed your waist, pressing his midsection against you. “Serves you right for nearly giving me a heart attack and for being such a stubborn, unapologetic brat after the fact.” You rolled your eyes and the shadowsinger lightly pinched your hip in response. “It's clear that my punishment wasn’t severe enough. You don’t appear to have learned your lesson.”

You tugged at his locks roughly and nipped at the sensitive spot below his jaw. “To be honest, I’m a little disappointed. I expected more from you, spymaster.”

The dark chuckle that slipped past Azriel’s lips was gruff and husky, caressing you with lethal promise. “Oh, you’ll regret that sweetheart.” His cool breath fanned through your overheated skin as he whispered in your ear. “I’ll have you begging for mercy by the end of the night.”

You thought that the shiver that snaked down your spine was of your own volition, but as the cold whisps of Azriel’s shadows curled through your wrists and ankles, you realized with a start that your words had struck their mark and hit a nerve. The shadowsinger sized you up like a predator stalking its prey. By the gods, you were really fucking in for it.

Good.

That’s exactly what you wanted.

Years of stealth training couldn’t prepare you for how fast Azriel moved. He was barely a dark blur in your periphery as his shadows swallowed him up only to reappear behind you. Azriel grabbed your wrist and transported you to the far end of the cell. From the brick wall hung metal cuffs usually reserved for the traitors and enemies unlucky enough to find themselves down here, but tonight you were the one being tied up and chained in this dungeon.

You released a shaky breath as the cold metal pressed an icy kiss upon your skin. In tandem with Azriel’s shadows, you were fully secured against the wall.

The shadowsinger cocked his head to the side, admiring his handiwork. “Is this more of what you had in mind, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Close, but not quite. It’s a good start though.”

Azriel hummed as he traced the outline of your cheek, dragging his rough, calloused fingers along your jaw and by the corner of your mouth.

“You have such a smart mouth,” he observed, brushing the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip. Azriel eased your mouth open as your lips formed a pink, pout ‘o.’ “I can’t wait to shut you up.”

Your breathing hitched and the shadowsinger took note of the change, a sadistic smirk blooming on that exquisite face.

“You like that, don’t you?” He tilted your chin up and you held it out in defiance even as his golden gaze bore into you. “I’m not fooled by this angelic face for one second. You may play it sweet for everyone else, but I know deep down the dark fantasies that play over and over again in your head. I know, because I think about them too.”

Arousal pooled in your core and soaked through your panties. Had it not been for the shadows spreading your ankles apart, you would have rubbed your thighs together for any sort of friction.

“Tell me what you think about,” you breathed. “I want to know.”

Azriel caressed your cheek, chuckling under his breath when you instinctively lean into his touch. “I think about you,” he says, lips ghosting over the shell of your pointed ear. “Just like this. Chained to the wall. Restrained by my shadows. Completely and utterly at my mercy.”

The shadowsinger caressed your cheek, softly kissing a path down the column of your throat while his hands trailed down your torso. Your eyes fluttered close as shallow breaths echoed through the walls. Azriel unbuckled the leather straps at the front of your armor, tossing it to the side and leaving you in nothing but a lacy black bra.

He nipped and sucked at the valley of your breasts, etching his claim on you as though his lips were a paintbrush and your skin the canvas. Azriel unbuttoned your pants next and they fell to the floor, exposing the matching black panties that were already soaked all the way through at this point.

Rough, calloused fingers danced over your breasts and hips and waist and thighs, exploring every inch with careful scrutiny.

“Such a pretty sight,” Azriel declared with awe and reverence. “It’s a shame that I have to punish you for being such a brat.”

He gripped the inside of your thigh and you bucked against his hand, desperate for any friction you could get.

The shadowsinger gripped your hips in place and gave you a stern look. “Do that again and I’ll leave you hanging in this cell until morning.” He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes which were nearly black with lust. “I decide when and how to touch you. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

You swallowed thickly and nodded. You were so turned out that you couldn’t even form words.

Azriel gripped your hips, leaving bruises in his wake. “I asked you a question,” he said sternly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Not so tough now, are you?” Azriel stated with a smirk, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra.

He released your breasts, kissing over your chest until his hot breath fanned over your stiffened peaks. Azriel looked up at you through thick, dark lashes and smirked before wrapping his lips against your nipple. He sucked harshly, flicking his tongue over your hard nub while you keened.

The sound of your whimpers went straight to his cock. He wanted to fuck you so badly, but Azriel wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. The shadowsinger intended to make you beg for it first.

He continued his assault on your breasts, his teeth grazing against the soft flesh and leaving marks all along your chest. Azriel licked a path down to your navel and then he kneeled before you, his face inches away from your soaked care. He toyed with the waistband of your panties, his hot breath fanning against the sensitive area before he wrapped his lips around the fabric and kissed you through the lace.

Azriel lapped you up, his saliva mixing with your slick as he tortured you through the thin barrier. You wanted your panties off so you could feel his mouth, his tongue, his lips on you, but he only held your hips down and laughed as you whimpered above him.

“What’s wrong, love?” He nuzzled against your mound with his nose, tongue flicking along the inside of your thigh and teasing underneath the lace. “Does my pretty girl want me to fuck her with my tongue?”

You nodded almost instantly. Azriel chuckled at your eagerness, a hint of wicked intent flashing through those stunning eyes.

“Beg for it,” he said softly. “Beg me to eat you out. Beg me to make you come on my tongue. Beg me, bunny and make it sound pretty.”

“I’m begging you to put your mouth on me. Fuck me with your tongue. Feast on me until I cum. I need to feel you,” your words were rushed and desperate, conveying the urgency of your need with every clipped syllable. “Please, sir.”

Azriel grinned up at you. “Now that’s more like it, bunny.” He kissed you through the fabric again, but this time, as he wrapped his lips around your mound, he hit down harshly and the sharp sensation on your clit made you cry out in pleasure. “Hold on tight, sweetheart. I’m just getting started.”

The chains snapped into place as you attempted to touch Azriel, momentarily forgetting about the restraints. He chuckled in amusement, “I get to touch you all I want, but you’re only allowed to watch. You’re entirely at my mercy, remember?”

With that, he yanked your panties down and discarded them behind his shoulder. Azriel gave you no warning before his wicked tongue circled around your clit, flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves while you bucked against his face. The shadowsinger slapped your ass and forcefully gripped your hips in place.

“What did I fucking say? Stay still or I’ll stop.”

You gasped from the impact of the slap, shaking your head. “Please don’t. I’ll be good, I promise.”

Azriel looked up at you through dark lashes. There was nothing but lust and desire burning within his gaze. “You’re so pretty when you grovel, bunny. I might just let you cum because you asked so nicely.”

“Oh yes, please.”

He chuckled before diving back in, licking a stripe along your slick folds. You were wet, so fucking wet that you were practically dripping all over Azriel’s lips. The sounds you were making were absolutely filthy and your moans only grew loader as he fucked you with his tongue, slipping in and out of your tight hole as he made you loose and pliant with his wicked mouth.

You’re shaking as Azriel’s scarred hands clamp down on top of your thighs, guiding your pussy over his mouth and moving your hips to a steady rhythm while he devours you with fervor.

Heat unfurled in your belly and you could feel Azriel pushing you to the precipice of your orgasm. It was close, so close, you could feel the cord of tension stretch taut like the bow of an arrow, ready to notch and loosen, but the feeling deflated when Azriel suddenly pulled away. Your eyes snap open in confusion, desperation written all over your face as you watched the shadowsinger gather your juices from his lips and onto his sticky fingers before sucking up every last drop. He moaned and it echoed through your entire being, the sound traveling straight to your cunt which clenched from the absence of Azriel’s tongue.

“So close,” you stammered. “I was so close.”

Azriel smirked. “Too fucking bad.” He stalked towards you and one of his shadows darted out to lift your chin. “I hope you don’t think that I’d give in that easily. It’s going to take a lot more than pretty words for me to let you cum.” You whined, causing the shadow to grip you even tighter. “Don’t fucking whine. You acted like a brat and now you’re getting punished like one. Deal with it.”

The shadowsinger circled you, sizing you up like a predator does to its prey. “Now spread your legs, bunny. I’m not done playing with that pretty little pussy.”

You swallowed down your pride and obeyed his command. For once in your life, you didn’t blurt out whatever rude remark that was brewing in your mind. You didn’t stand a chance against Azriel. You fully believed that he’d follow through on letting you hang in this cell if you disobeyed him.

So you spread your legs, earning a pleased smile from the shadowsinger. He rewarded you with a kiss, a hot and searing kiss that ripped the breath from your lungs. Azriel pushed his tongue past the seam of your lips as he tilted your head back, prodding inside of your mouth until your teeth clashed from the pressure.

Azriel massaged your breasts, fondling your chest and pushing your tits up as he grinded his hips into yours. You let out a filthy moan and he cursed, pinching your nipple between his fingers.

“I love your hands,” you confessed, whispering the words into his mouth. “They feel even better than I imagined.”

“You’ll like them even more when they’re inside of you, bunny.”

As if on cue, his fingers dipped lower, the middle and pointer digits spreading your arousal over your slit. You fought the urge to buck against his hand as Azriel watched his fingers disappear inside of you. His gaze flickered up to your face just in time to see your lips part.

The shadowsinger smirked before dipping down to suck the sensitive flesh below your ear. As he kissed you, Azriel’s fingers picked up the pace. With two fingers inside of you, his thumb circled your clit and made you shudder into him. Your head fell slack against his broad shoulder, but a whip of shadow titled your chin up.

“Don’t hide your face from me, sweetheart.” His voice was low and rough, its husky tone ensnaring you. “I want to watch you come undone.”

Azriel pinned you with his gaze as he curled his fingers inside of you, drinking in the flush of your cheeks, the hitch in your breath, the sweat glistening against your skin. He could tell that you were close by the way your moans echoed off the dungeon walls. The shadowsinger smirked, slowing his movements just as your orgasm was beginning to build again.

A sob racked through your chest. You were so close. “Please,” you murmured. “Please, Azriel.”

The shadowsinger brushed a tear that had tumbled down your cheek with his thumb. “You’re so pretty when you beg, bunny.” He kissed your temple, the gesture surprisingly sweet and intimate despite the wicked smile on Azriel’s face. “Maybe I should draw out your punishment a little longer so I can savor the sweet sounds of you pleading to let you cum.”

“Please,” you cried out. “I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll be good, I promise.”

A dark chuckle skittered over you. “I doubt that, sweetheart. But since you asked so nicely, I’ll go easy on you this time.”

You nodded in agreement just as Azriel picked up the pace once again. He captured your lips with a searing kiss, the rhythm of his tongue matching the pulse of his fingers. You felt that familiar feeling building in your core and you moaned into Azriel’s mouth as he curled his fingers within your walls.

The orgasm came hard and fast, hitting you with a white, blinding heat as stars swarmed your vision. Azriel held you up as you slumped against him, his fingers sliding out of you covered in your own juices. The shadowsinger lapped up your arousal before tapping your lips. You parted your lips and sucked his fingers obediently.

“Good girl,” he said in a gruff voice.

Shadows released you from the chains and wrapped you in a dark cloak before depositing you directly into Azriel’s arms. He carried your trembling body as though you weighed nothing. Inky tendrils swarmed the both of you and swallowed you whole.

Moments later, you found yourself blinking against the soft glow of faelights. Azriel gently set you down on a mattress—his mattress, you realized as you took in your surroundings. You’ve never seen the inside of Azriel’s room before, but it looked exactly as what you might’ve expected. Sleek and elegant with touches of dark wood and rich velvets that felt like a reflection of Azriel himself.

You watched curiously as Azriel disappeared beyond his bedchamber. The sound of running water filtered behind the door and the shadowsinger was at your side once more, cradling you bridal style as he carried you into the bathing room. He set you down on the marble floor, his gaze filled with a loaded question as he tugged at the cloak draped over your shoulders.

You held his stare as you let the fabric pool to the floor. The shadowsinger drank you in with appreciation and led you into the marble tub. The water was warm against your skin, making you hum in pleasure.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” you asked.

The shadowsinger grinned. “Eventually,” Azriel said, perching on the edge of the tub. He lathered salve onto your shoulders and massaged the tension out of your muscles. “Consider this a lesson in patience. Since you have virtually none.”

“If all of your lessons end in a massage, then you’re easily my new favorite teacher.”

Azriel chuckled. “Was this part of the fantasy too?"

“Kind of,” your eyelids fluttered close as he lathered a lavender scented paste into your scalp. “Though you were wearing less clothing in my imagination."

The shadowsinger gently squeezed the side of your neck and grazed his lips against the column of your throat.

“Patience, sweetheart. I’ve waited all this time to have you and I intend to savor every second of it.”

“I’ve never been good at savoring,” you teased. “I prefer to devour.”

You raked your nails against his bicep and tugged him close, your lips meeting in a passionate kiss. Azriel gripped the back of your head and gently tugged, his hazel eyes flashing dark as he smirked.

“Good thing we have all night,” he murmured against your skin. “And all morning. Maybe the afternoon, too.”

You grinned. “What about training?”

“Fuck training,” he replied cheekily.

“I’d rather fuck you instead.”

The shadowsinger shook his head in amusement before peeling out of his leathers. You gaped at the sight of him, naked and bare and looking as though the old gods themselves sculpted him out of marble.

“We’re savoring, remember?” Azriel taunted as he sank into the warm bath water, his wings flaring behind him. He pulled you into his lap and curled his finger through a strand of your hair.

The shadowsinger kissed you gently, soft and sweet. You leaned into him, sighing. Maybe you could get used to the concept of savoring.

You hadn’t even realized that you’d said the words aloud until you met Azriel’s amused gaze.

“Good,” he said, kissing your cheek. “Now that I have you, I have no plans of letting you go.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a greedy little batling?”

“No,” Azriel mused before lightly sucking below your ear. Your breath hitched in response. “Tell me more about how greedy I am, sweetheart.”

“That's not fair," you whined. "You're playing dirty and you know it. Azriel.”

He flashed you a wolfish grin, relishing the way his name rolled off your tongue. His shadows danced in response as though they enjoyed the sound as much as he did.

“You have no idea,” Azriel whispered. “But you’ll find out exactly how dirty I can get when it comes to you.”

Whatever witty response died in your throat as Azriel pinned you against the marble tub and grinded his hips into you. The instinct to reach for him, to claw and grab and covet pulsed through your veins but the look on Azriel’s face made you pause.

Eyes like melted gold darkened with lust as he tilted your chin up.

“I plan to take my time with you,” Azriel murmured, littering kisses along your shoulders. “And you’ll enjoy every second of it. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

Patience had never been your strong suit, but for this male, for Azriel, you were more than willing to play.

You smiled sweetly, a wicked gleam sparkling in your eyes as the shadowsinger flashed you a predatory smirk. “Yes, sir.”

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

#we're back with a bang #literally though #i missed being depraved on this hell site #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #azriel smut #acotar smut

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valkyrieromanoff · 5 months

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PIZZA TIME: ANAKIN SKYWALKER X READER

synopsis: you and Anakin decide to cook together, but the problem is that neither of you know what you're doing.

warning: fluffy

words: 644

a/n: it had been a while since I wrote anything about Anakin,I was left with an inspiration hangover. But this idea came to me when I was rewatching Little Italy. I know it’s short, but I hope you like it ;)

“Are you sure this is how it’s done?” You asked, frowning, looking at what should have been the pizza dough, but looked more like a gooey mess.

“Maybe if we add a little more flour, we can reach the point.” Anakin suggested, taking the bag of flour and turning some into the bowl, the white powder scattering across the table as he stuck his hands back into the dough with the intention of shaping it.

You looked at the mixture biting your lip, looking for your datapad to check the recipe. It seemed simple, at first you thought it would be a fun way to pass the time, cooking as a couple's hobby, but things started to go wrong, when you didn't have all the ingredients in the fridge, and Anakin decided to innovate, making some adaptations. And it was these and other adaptations that led to this pizza dough that did not gain consistency, no matter how many cups of flour were added.

Anakin sighs in frustration as the 'pizza dough' refuses to cooperate, looking more like floury sludge than anything edible. He wipes his flour-coated hands on his already stained tunic, running a hand through his equally messy blond locks.

"This cooking thing is more difficult than battling droids," he grumbles, giving the bowl an experimental stir. More flour wafts up, dusting his face and the surrounding surfaces.

You stifle a giggle at his disheveled appearance, unable to resist planting a kiss on his powdery cheek. "We'll figure it out, my love. Maybe we were too ambitious starting with pizza," you offer gently.

Anakin glances down at the recipe on his datapad, still futilely attempting to decipher the instructions. "This is why I rely on you for the thinking. My expertise lies elsewhere," he teases with a wink.

"What if we use ready-made pizza dough? Then we just need to make the topping?" You suggested, remembering that there was a package of pizza dough lost in the fridge.

Anakin taps his chin thoughtfully, dusting more flour onto the floor as he considers your suggestion.

"There you go again, solving problems with that brilliant mind of yours," he says proudly, kissing your forehead. "Ready-made dough—why didn't I think of that?"

Wiping his hands, Anakin eagerly rummages through the disorganized fridge. "Now where did I see that package..."

A triumphant "Aha!" echoes as he emerges holding the dough aloft like a trophy. Ripping it open, he breathes a sigh of relief seeing its pliable texture.

"Let's get cooking," he says with renewed enthusiasm. As you prep the toppings, Anakin preheats the oven, wiping down the baking sheet.

You stare at the dough in surprise and amusement, taking in Anakin's handiwork. Though crooked and imperfect, the heart shape is unmistakable.

"Well, I'll admit shapes aren't my specialty," Anakin shrugs with a boyish grin. "But I thought a heart would be fitting, considering." He squeezes your waist affectionately.

Warmth blooms in your chest at his tender gesture. Despite all he's seen, he somehow maintains an earnest romanticism that continually draws you in.

"It's perfect," you assure him gently. "Everything you do, no matter how questionable the execution, always comes from here." You place a palm over his heart.

Anakin's eyes soften, embracing you in a lingering kiss. You pour all your care, acceptance and affection into it, leaving him smiling happily when you part.

"Now come, before our dough gets weird. The toppings await!" He winks and you get to work, sneaking soft looks and smiles throughout the process.

Though skills in the kitchen may need honing, here in privacy you each demonstrate a deep caring that nourishes body and soul alike. For you, these moments together are as delicious and fulfilling as any meal could be.

Your love, like Anakin's heart-shaped dough, may be imperfect but runs unfathomably deep. And that is more than enough.

#anakin skywalker x you #anakin x reader #hayden christensen #anakin fluff

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windrush-child · 2 years

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You’re right for me, Ecstasy (one shot)

Reader x Lewis. 3.4k words. Smut.

Lewis Hamilton falls for a grid girl. Things don’t go well. Luckily, fate has a fable for second chances. Unreliable narrator cuz we’re messy like that. Thanks for the prompt ideas anons. Title inspired by the weeknd’s Don’t Break My Heart.

Warnings - Hate sex and highly questionable morals.

Rio de Janeiro. A mild November day. When you see him standing in the middle of the street, you have to do a double take. The tray with empty mugs nearly slips from your hands as the realisation hits. He caught your eye as soon as he turned round the corner with his friends (or security guards, maybe?), chatting in a language that seems so out of place. The simple black turtleneck and jeans make him look almost inconspicuous, if it weren't for the delicate pearl necklace that rests on top of his collarbones. Few people would know he's a famed racing driver if they ran into him on any random weekday like this. The worst thing, though? He saw you, too. He's also stopped talking to his friends, peeking over as if he's thinking, is it really her?, reluctant. And now, he's walking over. Shit. It feels like your feet have frozen to the ground. This can't be real. What the hell is he doing up here, out of all bloody places in the world? How did he, nearly one year down the line, end up in front of the small, unassuming Café you work at, in a small, unassuming backstreet of Santa Teresa?

"Hey" Begrudgingly, you look up. Big, brown eyes before you, a cautious smile, and the familiar smell of his cologne which strikes you in the most painful way possible. Where has your voice gone? "Good morning," you say, dryly, trying to sound like he's just another customer on just another day. Hoping he can't hear how he's sucker-punched the air out of you with only a word. Lewis shifts from one foot to the other. "I wasn't sure whether it was you at first," he says, attempting half a smile. You can feel his gaze all over your skin. "It's, uhm.. it's good to see you again. How've you been?" You press your lips together, can't bring yourself to say the same. "I'm doing alright," you respond, slowly wiping the table surface so you don't have to look him in the eye. Lewis draws in a breath. "Do you work at this place?" he asks. What a stupid question. "Looks like it," you answer, dumping the rag on the tray. You should be taking your lunch break right now, can't really pretend to be busy either when there's just a single old man at a table in the corner. "I've been working here for most of the semester. Money's tight, you know." "Right." He nods to himself, eyes on the ground before he looks back up. "So... you're still at university, then?" he adds, a graceless attempt at small talk. It's so unlike him to be this clumsy, it almost catches you off guard. You grab the pack of cigarrettes from the counter behind you when you're done cleaning up, pull one out and stick it between your lips. "I am," you mumble as you step further out into the street, desperate to create a safe distance between you and the man. He shoudn't be here. You shouldn't be talking to him. "What are you doing up here, anyway?" you ask as you light the cig. "Oh, you know, different things." he starts, "A friend is showing me around some places in the city today. And I also have a race on Sunday." "Busy as ever," you interrupt, a hint of bitterness in your voice that you hope went over his head. Don't start, now. Lewis makes an Mhm sound, both hands in the pockets of his trousers as if he doesn't know what else to do with them. "I thought you stopped?" he says, offhandedly. It takes you a moment to realise he's looking at the cigarette between your fingers. You could take this as an attempt to have a normal, non-threatening conversation. A first, cautious step into mending the broken pieces of your whatever-ship. You could ask him an equally innocuous question, or just make up an excuse to get out of the situation. You choose to be petty instead. "So what?" you shrug, blowing smoke. "It's not your business, really." Lewis rolls his lips, looks like he wants to chuckle. "I see." Just when you think he'll finally leave, he hesitates once more. "By the way," he says, "They're still looking for personel at the circuit in São Paulo, for the evenings and such. From what I've heard, they pay very well." You take a long drag of your cigarette. Seems like Lewis hasn't forgotten your career as a grid girl back then. And how could he have? It's the only reason your paths ever crossed.

"Thanks for the tip," you say. Your eyes linger on his back for far too long as he walks away.

—-

São Paulo, Race Day.

You had sworn to yourself that last year was the last time you're doing this. That the glitz and glamour of Formula 1 just wasn't for you. Too many ruthless, absurdly rich men who believed the world belonged to them; and that anything was possible if you just named a price. But when you met Lewis, one fateful evening after a race, he'd seemed like an exception to the rule. He was kind. Didn't treat you like a consumable that was hired for the sole purpose of his entertainment. Most people, even those close to you, would secretly judge you and the other women for "looking pretty for the cash". But Lewis never did. He understood that money didn't grow on trees, and that this was just a means to an end. It was part of the reason why having sex with him felt so liberating, so mindblowing every time. With him, you could be careless, didn't have to worry about the potential stigma. It was the type of sex that would make you cuss and sweat; that had you crying out into the bedsheet while he gave it to you good. The kind that had you holding on to each other for the entire night, and say things that should've never been said out loud. It escalated from a one night stand to two, then countless more when he flew you out to Mexico and COTA the following weeks. Neither of you dared to put a label on it, though, not even when Lewis had made a habit of treating you to dinner on Sundays; not even after the occasional pregnancy scare that turned out to be a false alarm. You were just a grid girl, after all. It was what doomed your little romance to failure in the end. Lewis couldn't handle his jealousy, couldn't stand seeing you around men that weren't him, yet wouldn't commit to you either. Maybe he didn't have the guts to do it. Maybe he lacked respect, and you were just a toy for him to play with till he got bored. In the end, none of it mattered.

The pay is indeed good, you think as you stow the bundle of cash into your bag at the end of the day. One of the other girls, Magalenha is her name, had convinced you earlier to come dancing with her at the after party by the track. The semester has been very draining, so why not have a bit of carefree fun for once? A shower, fresh make up, and a backless sundress is all you need to feel like the night is yours for the taking. Your newly found friend decides you're having a Cosmopolitan, giggles with you as she points at people that clearly can't dance, and three drinks in, she even manages to snap a selfie with a wasted McLaren engineer.

Fate can be such a bitch, however. You're waiting for your Caipirinha at the bar when you spot him on a dance floor. It's the time of the night when the beats get deeper, heavier, and hotter - You can tell. Through the low, purple lights and the haze of liquor in your body, you watch Lewis' tattooed hands, how they slide over a woman's waist from behind, down to her lower back as she grinds on him to the rhythm of the song. He's breathing hard, sweat pearling on his forehead as he pulls her closer by the hips. She smiles when he seems to whisper something into her ear. You turn away. Blood-red in the face. He has to be drunk; disgustingly, shamelessly drunk. When you look up again, just to put the sharp blade to your heart once more, Lewis is staring back at you. Your head is spinning as you dash for the exit of the venue, as quickly as your high heels allow, desperately trying to make yourself believe that this has got nothing to do with him. You're simply walking, no, running back to your hotel because it's time to call it a night - the shameful rush of jealousy isn't real at all, and neither is the bitter ache in your stomach.

"Stop!" Lewis' voice carries through the street, but you keep your eyes straight to the pavement. "Will you hold on!" he says as he catches up to you, trying to grasp your elbow. You smack his hand away. "What, Lewis?" you snap. The venom in your voice nearly makes him jump. "Just leave it, okay? You're causing a fucking scene." To your misfortune, Lewis doesn't listen. "I didn't know you were at the party," he blurts out, almost stumbling over the words. "I didn't do it on purpose, I swear-" You're silently gnashing your teeth as you turn to him, glaring his stupid face up and down. "Fuck- Come here," you say, dragging him along by the fabric of his shirt, through the doors of the hotel lobby. Nobody needs to see you fighting it out on the street. Surprisingly, he follows without protest. Only when the door of your room falls shut with a loud bang, you let go of him. "Alright," you start, tossing your purse to the floor. "Say what you gotta to say, then!" Lewis sighs, runs a hand over his face. He should've drunk less. "It's not... look, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings earlier, but-" "You're not hurting my feelings," you scoff, angrily kicking off your heels. "It's been a year, Lewis. I couldn't care less about who you're fucking tonight." He's frowning at first, but then raises his brows. "Oh, you don't care at all?" he says. You don't like that tone in his voice. "Is that why you can't even talk to me normally? You've been ignoring my phone calls for months. Every single message, too." Suddenly, your blood pressure spikes. "So you show up at my job in Rio because you can't take a hint?" you blurt out, impulsively lunging closer. The man has gone completely mad; there's no other way. "Why would you even want to talk to me? You've made it more than clear I wasn't your type." you spit, pure contempt. Lewis huffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "You know damn well it was never about that." He's trying to sound calm now, but by the tremble in his voice, you can tell the anger is finally getting to him. "You may not have said it-" you return, bluntly pointing a finger at his chest, "But we both know you thought it. You want a good girl, don't you, Lewis? No way you could ever love someone that's beneath you." "Bullshit," he hisses as he grabs your wrist hard, pulls you so close that you see the livid flicker in his eyes. It's almost satisfying. "You were the one that bailed on me 'cause you were scared of your own feelings. You rather kept sleeping around instead of committing to this," Lewis says. You're going to smack him in the face. "Or did you conveniently forget that?" There's hot bile rising in your throat, the awful feeling of knowing he's right. You want to scream at him, call him a stupid asshole. "Because you never even wanted me in the first place!" you yell. "That is not true!" "Then fucking prove it!"

There's silence, until something changes in Lewis' face. All of a sudden, the air inside this room feels too thick. Too warm. He's breathing hard. "Take your dress off," he says. You can feel the rumble of his voice in the pits of your belly - It short-circuits something inside of you. Fuck. You do it. Clammy hands, shaking knees as you peel yourself out of your clothes, skin hot from wrath, but even hotter from the way Lewis is staring you down. When he grabs you by your hips, pulling you into him, your heart stumbles. There's no warning when Lewis pounces on you, lifts your body easily to throw you onto the bed with him. It's not a fair fight, never was as he pins you down under his weight, making you squeal when he wraps a big hand around the base of your throat. "You want me to show you, huh?" he growls and charges at your mouth. You should bite his lip until you draw blood when he kisses you, make him regret ever starting this. Instead, you're moaning as he licks into you, wet and rough and messy, can't stop yourself from grinding up into his body. Oh, he's driving you mad, knows it too when he presses his palm over the soaked spot on your panties. "Shit," he curses when he pulls away, gets his fingers slick as he slips them into your underwear and inside of you, a filthy noise. "Just can't help it, can you?" he taunts, makes you whine when he pushes up into a spot, then again when he suddenly pulls them out. "Fuck you," you say, and Lewis laughs, because there's no bite behind it at all. With how ready you are for him, he knows he's got you in the palm of his hand.

He makes short work of your panties and tosses them to the floor, followed by his own shirt, before you're getting up on your knees to unbuckle his belt. As he stands at the edge of the bed, watching your every move, you make sure to dig your nails into the soft skin of his groin while you're tugging at his briefs. Lewis hisses, a threat of white, sharp teeth. "Behave," he warns, has grabbed a fistful of your curls to get his point across. His cock feels warm and thick as you're holding him in your hand, hardened up and reddened at the tip. By instinct, you wrap your lips around the head, impatiently trying to swallow, whimpering when he hits the back of your throat, too heavy, too big. Lewis controls the pace, pulls you back and forth by your hair, till spit is dripping down your chin, the taste of his arousal pooling on your tongue. Fuck, this is obscene. One more time he takes you, so far down himself that tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, until he pulls out with a harsh groan, wet and throbbing. Lewis tugs at your hair, angles you up so you're looking at him, don't have the choice not to, bulging, strong arms around your body holding you up into his chest, as if to make sure you won't slip away. If someone cut this moment out of marble, right here and now, you'd look like a sculpture of the Renaissance. Such beauty in being at his mercy. His gaze roams over your face, considering you with utmost diligence, the mess on your lips, the heaving breaths you're taking. Under the scrutiny of his eyes, your skin feels like it might burn off. "Have you been sleeping with other men?" "No," you answer, voice thin. It's the truth. He exhales, chest moving with it. "Good," he says.

Lewis sweeps you off your knees, lays you on your back with smooth strength. You want to be ashamed of how easily your legs open for him; of how you grab and pull at his shoulders. But you can't bring yourself to be, not tonight. Your eyes are shut tight when he clutches your hip with one, the base of your throat with the other hand, a cruel, anticipating throb where he lines himself up with your entrance. When he pushes in, you cry out, the stretch blind-siding, too tight. You can feel him everywhere, all at once, gasping when he presses deeper, till he's buried up inside. "Mhm...fuck," you whimper, don't remember him feeling like this. You look up to find Lewis watching you, gaze flickering back and forth between your trembling lips and liquid eyes. He's taking deep, ragged breaths, stays still. "Are you okay?" he asks, voice rough with exertion. He feels like he's going to burst, a tight, hard knot low in his belly. "Yeah…yes, I am" you sigh, reaching out so you can wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down and close, and he lets you. He starts rolling his hips into yours, fucks you slowly and thoroughly, makes you fall apart underneath him. The room fills with moans and the sound of your bodies meeting as he takes you, heavy, practiced strokes. Every nerve of yours feels overstimulated with him, with his smell, the strength in his body. You want to cry, tell him you're sorry for breaking his heart, want him to say he's sorry for breaking yours, too, but can't grasp a single thought, not when he's doing this to you. "Oh god, I-" you whimper, but Lewis feels it before you do, is picking up a punishing pace. "I know, sweetie, you’re doing so well…" he purrs, has you crying out when he changes his angle, hits those places deep inside till you're taken by the throbbing heat between your legs. Lewis presses his mouth into your neck as he fucks you through it, has to fight tooth and nail to hold back because he knows he'll be in trouble if he doesn't, straining hard to not lose himself in you. It's almost too late when he pulls out, barely in time, his vision whited out from pleasure as he spills warm and wet on your belly. Lewis is panting and cursing while he pulses against the hinge of your hip, arms threatening to give out under him, baring his teeth. You don't think you've ever seen him come this hard.

"Fuck," he sighs, says it again, shoulders heaving as he leans back on his heels. He looks out of his mind, holding on to your thigh, can't do a single thing except to feel you under his palm. You're watching him in silence, because you don't know what to say.

Lewis does get up, eventually. But only to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom, and to pour some warm water on it. You're relieved when you see him come back to bed, worried for a moment he'd just get dressed and leave without another word. Instead, he's cleaning you, slowly running the cloth over your skin, starts with your face, then your neck, down to your belly to wipe away the mess he’s made. It's heart wrenching, how mindful and gentle he is with it, like this is still a part of it all, an act of aftercare. You wish he'd never stop.

When Lewis is done, he sits still. "We shouldn't," he begins, but trails off again. "I don't care," you say, shaking your head. "I don't care." It bursts out of you right then, can't help but reach out for his face, fingers in his beard, and then you're kissing him, deep and sincere as you pour it all out into his lips. "I'm sorry," you blurt out. "I'm so sorry that I lied to you. I'm sorry that I ran away." It's starting to sound like a prayer now, the way you're whispering against his lips, a dying, pleading flame that hopes he can forgive you. Lewis looks at you, his face in your hands. His dark brown eyes, so harsh and unforgiving earlier, have gone so soft. He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your lips. Vulnerable. "I know. It's okay," Lewis whispers, doesn't have to think twice about it. He'd give you the shirt off his back had you asked for it, knows it in his heart. "I’m sorry I didn't treat you like I should have," he says, "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

You give him your lips, your tongue, let your hands slip into his hair and down his neck as you kiss him the way he loves it. Lewis is intoxicating, the most potent drug in the universe. He's tasting you with such devotion, slow licks of his tongue, moaning low into the kiss, almost sounds like he's hurting. Don't break my heart again.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton smut

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twodogs-twocats · 9 days

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Taste Me (Sleep Token's Vessel x fem pov) 18+, NSFW

You have a rather gory nightmare about your boyfriend Vessel. Upon waking, Vessel comforts you by drawing inspiration from the nightmare itself. Inspired by the song "Sugar."

Warnings: SMUT - 18+, Minors DNI. Oral, gore, cannibalism, bondage, scary scenarios.

I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for awhile. Sugar is one of my favorite songs, gets me super inspired 😉

~~~

We still know how to bleed.

I woke slowly, my consciousness settling bit by bit. A cold, flat surface pressed into my back, but the chill of it was not quite enough to pull me out of my stupor. My eyes remained shut, heavy and dry from sleep.

I took in a shuddering breath. A strange warmth permeated my chest, sort of like I was melting. In fact, my whole body felt wrong, weightless and incorporeal. My mind scrambled to figure out why I had not woken up in my bed, but it couldn’t grasp anything solid. Everything felt foggy, just beyond the realm of understanding.

I unglued my tongue from the roof of my mouth, licking apart my lips. Cautiously, I wiggled my fingers, trying to summon some energy to my limbs. My bones, however, creaked in protest.

“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you.” The voice came from somewhere behind me. I attempted to tilt my head toward the voice, immediately bringing on a wave of nausea.

“I need you to stay still so you can keep marinating, my love.”

Vessel? I knew that voice better than anything. I relaxed slightly. If Vessel was here, then I was okay.

“Vessel, where are you?” I mumbled in a gravely voice. Even speaking brought about a soreness deep in my chest. “What is going on? Where am I?” Marinating?

A shuffle of fabric, followed by the creak of floorboards.

“My love, you are so, so sweet.” His voice was closer now, like he was standing above me. “I needed to taste you. And not just your soft lips, your gentle breath — I needed more. I am quite addicted to you, you know?”

A chill ran down my spine and at that moment I realized I was completely naked. The cool air whispered along my bare skin. I tried to move my hands again, but it felt like something was holding my wrists captive to the surface underneath me. I began to struggle against the restraints, yet every movement sent a jolt of pain through my body. Panic set in.

“I promise I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Vessel continued. His voice was low, dripping with a feral sensuality. “I tried to make sure you wouldn’t feel a thing. I only wanted a taste. But then I had more, and more, and more.” Behind my closed lids, I could now feel his warm breath on my face.

“Vessel, what are you talking about?” My chin trembled. “Where am I? Why can’t I move?” A tear escaped my eyelids, sliding down my cheek. “I don’t feel good.”

“Do not cry beautiful.” He said, wiping my tear away. “Come, let me show you just how much I crave you.”

I felt his fingers brush across my eyelids, using the moisture of my tears to slowly lift my lids open. At first the light above me burned, and I squinted against the glare. Little by little, the room came into focus.

I was in my dining room. I could tell by the dusty chandelier above me. So the surface I was laying on must be my dining table… which made absolutely no sense.

Vessel appeared just off to my right, handsome as always. As I took him in, I noticed there was more red on him than normal. In fact, almost all the exposed skin of his face and chest was covered in thick rivulets of red liquid. It looked like blood.

“You are truly a delicacy,” he whispered, his teeth bared slightly. “In fact, you’ve spoiled me. I had thought I would save the best for last, but I just couldn’t resist. It was just so… tempting.”

Vessel now held his hand out towards me, his fingers wrapped around something thick, round, and red. The same red liquid that coated Vessel’s face dripped off the object, falling to the floor. It looked like some sort of raw meat. Bile rose in my throat. Whatever it was, he had been eating it. My Vessel, eating something so -

“Thoroughly delicious. That is what you are.”

The thing in his hand was moving rhythmically. Thump thump, like a beating heart.

And then it hit me, everything falling into place. My breath came in gasps, my head ached, sweat pooled under my shoulders. With all this panic, this confusion, my heart should have been pounding too. But instead my heart was utterly quiet. I became cold as ice, as I pulled my gaze away from Vessel and looked down at my chest.

Where there should have been skin, there was a gaping hole, running from the bottom of my throat to the top of my belly button. Sticking out of my chest like blood-covered trees were my upper ribs, as though they had been broken and forced apart. My lungs were there, frantically expanding and contracting amidst the gore. But where there should have been a heart, there was nothing.

My heart, utterly devoured by Vessel.

“I can’t give you up now, my love.” He smiled a bloody smile. “I’ve developed a taste for you.”

I screamed.

We still know how to feed.

I shot upright in bed, struggling to catch my breath. Frantically, I brought my hands to my chest. There it was, the strong, rhythmic beat of my heart.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Vessel sat up next to me, turning on the bedside lamp. I flinched away from him as the light hit his face, and his eyes immediately flooded with concern.

“Hey, you’re okay, you’re safe.” He held his hand out towards me, just far enough to let me close the distance. My Vessel. The one I love, a gentle voice in my head whispered. My body slowly relaxed and I let out a big sigh. Vessel would never hurt me. It was just a bad dream. I took his hand and allowed him to pull me into his lap. His broad chest pressed into my back as he wrapped his arms around me.

“You’re okay, everything is okay.” He whispered into my hair. The warmth of his breath sent waves of ease down my spine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It was just a bad dream. You- you were in it,” I spoke shyly, nervous to admit how afraid of him I had been. “You were… eating me.”

“Oh?” He smirked. “And why is that bad dear? Was I that bloody dreadful at it?”

I chuckled. He always knew how to make me feel better. “No, not like that. You were eating me alive. You had me all tied up and cut open. And you were eating my heart. It was pretty awful.”

He pulled me tighter. “I’m so sorry love. It was just a dream. You know I would never hurt you.”

“I know,” I said, nuzzling into his chest.

We sat quietly for some time as I filled him in on some of the more vivid details of my dream. He ran his hands along my arms and my back, laughing lightly at some of the more absurd bits. Gradually I found myself laughing too. My dream was already fading into the void where dreams go.

“Just so you know, while I may not be eating you alive anytime soon” he smirked, “I do still find you quite addicting.” His fingers softly grasped my chin as he pulled my face to his. Rather that his typical ornate white mask, he usually wore a soft cotton mask to bed. His chin was still left exposed, and my gaze settled on his lips as they formed a slow smile. “I don’t want your last thought of me before bed to be me as some sort of psychotic cannibal. Allow me to make a better impression.”

My hand lightly traced the lines of his chest and abdomen. The image of him eating me on the dining table flashed into my mind, but somehow, rather than making me afraid, I felt a yearning in my core.

He leaned his face towards me and I brought my mouth to his. The kiss started gently, like he was asking a question. As much as Vessel claimed to be addicted to me, it was nothing compared to my voracious desire for him. I turned to face him fully, coming to straddle his lap. I knew he understood my answer when he ran his hands through my hair, grabbing fistfuls of it as his lips pressed more forcefully into mine. I felt his tongue travel along my mouth, and I parted my lips to let him in. The taste of him fully consumed me as he explored.

His large hands began to travel down my back until he found my ass. Fingers digging in, he pulled me closer to him. I felt his cock beneath his black boxers, already hard and pressing against me. My low belly started to burn with anticipation. I rocked my hips back and forth, grinding against his length, encouraging his arousal. His fingers tightened their grip as he moaned into my mouth.

Before I knew it, he had flipped me onto my back, pushing my oversized t-shirt up to reveal my naked body. “I really could eat you,” he chuckled deeply. Only Vessel could turn something so terrifying into something so incredibly sexy.

He began to trail kisses down my body, lingering at each of my nipples as he pulled them into his mouth with a soft bite. I gasped at the wetness of his tongue. The kisses continued all the way down to my thighs, where he took the sensitive flesh of my legs between his teeth.

My hips bucked, wanting more, wanting his mouth on me. “My my, aren’t you hungry?” He growled. I whimpered in response. “Let me show you how hungry I am too.”

Vessel’s mouth met the wetness between my legs. His tongue trailed between the folds, sucking, biting, kissing. He slipped his tongue inside of me, moaning at my taste. Every movement of his was intended to please. His strong arms pushed my legs farther apart as he took my clit in his mouth. I cried out at the intense feeling, trying to pull away, but he held me firmly in place. He brought one hand back to my breasts, his thumb circling my nipples, overwhelming me with sensation. I felt heat building as I approached orgasm. If this is what it felt like to be consumed by Vessel, then it was no nightmare. It was euphoria.

“Good girl,” he said, his breath hot against me. “But I know you can give me more.” He quickly brought his mouth back, resuming his feast. Stars flashed across my vision as I came, my back arching away from the bed. He continued to taste me through my orgasm, relishing every moment.

As I slumped back into the bed, I watched Vessel lick his lips, delighting in my taste. Seeing how much he enjoyed me led to another wave of arousal. I always needed more of him. He must have seen this in my eyes, for he started to crawl back up towards me. His lips met mine for a kiss, and I tasted myself on him.

“Don’t worry my love.” He grinned down at me, a trail of sweating traveling down his bare chest. “I always come back for seconds.”

#sleep token #writing #sleep token fanfiction #vessel #vessel fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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daincrediblegg · 2 years

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Dream of the Endless Alphabet Headcanons

A/N: Well. I’m back on my bull. I’m deeply in love with this anthropomorphic personification and I’m going to make it everyone else’s problem. As usual with these horny works, 18+ only. Thank you, you’re welcome, and Enjoy.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after)

Where to begin with him… you wouldn’t expect him to behave as he does after the fact. For what is this carnal dance but fleeting feeling to an Endless? You would envision him laying in bed, brooding silence. And then? The slow and somber rise, donning his coat again, for he has duties to attend to, leaving the bed cold as the pallor of his skin.

… But this is not so for you. For when he breathes his last of bliss he sinks deep into the down of your bed, he stays with you. Not even so much as moving himself from your embrace, perhaps even seeking it out, still so gentle and perhaps even timid, despite that not moments ago you were far closer. Perhaps your fantasy would be warranted were you a mere fling… But as his touch, as delicate as the sheets around you will tell… he loves you. Truly. And with that, he will not want to part with so wantonly. And so you will rest a while. You in his arms and him in yours. Perhaps not to sleep but to find comfort in one another. And not just in touch but in words, poetry trickling off his pinkened lips in dulcet tones. After all, there’s no rush in savoring any moment he can have with you. For as much as he’s loved and lost in all his eons of existence, every single one is never the same, and feeling what he feels with you is worth cherishing.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn’t quite know what to make of that… He’s… he’s not like any man. His form is his own and he chooses how he appears. It changes over the ages. He’s never felt discomfort in his own skin- or favored any part of him. He likes who he is all over. The way he is at any given moment. And you? He feels much the same way. He’s a creator himself. He has shaped so many dreams and nightmares, from the beautiful and enchanting to the horrific and terrifying. But in so many creations he has learned that everything holds its own beauty in a sense. Whether it be a grotesque shape that holds its metaphor for human psyche or a beauty’s physicality that inspires horror… there is so much meaning in these things that mere mortals could never comprehend. Not even in themselves. And he sees it in you. The way you carry your very soul through the world bewitches him in a way he’s not sure he can describe. But it’s all because you are you- and there will never be another the same. So whatever being created you he knows not, but he knows your form suits you and what you mean to him, and it draws him to you all the more for it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

You would have to believe it to see it, but the dream lord’s seed literally shines. It flows like honey, bitter or tart like berries (certainly far more pleasant than any mortal’s), and it flows like liquid pearl, subtle rainbows that shimmer beneath the milky white surface when you catch it in the right light (not that that should occur often, though).

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Oh my dear, there are many dirty secrets spanning millennia that it would take a whole human lifetime to relay them. He is the bearer of the collective living unconscious, after all. He knows more dirty secrets than even one man could possibly imagine. He will be reluctant to admit a good many of them, but one he might be willing to admit to you is that… well… there isn’t an inch of the dreaming that hasn’t seen its fair share of couplings (yes, not even Fiddler’s Green is a stranger to lovers taking to a shady glade). He never quite saw the appeal of doing such things in such wondrous places… until he became infatuated with you, that is.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I should say he does. He is endless, after all. If not by his own physical experiences from time immemorial, the dreams of others that he has observed over millenia certainly proves most interesting study material. Not to mention much unsolicited advice from his dearly detested sibling (of which he receives with an interesting abundance especially when word gets out that he has taken a new lover- some of which meant to trick him into foibles in his new romance- so be warned, but not worried. Dream knows very well that the best source of inspiration for new experiences is the one who will be a part of that- so in these matters, your council will be his greatest asset, and he will certainly never fail to please in that regard.)

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Above all, he wishes to be able to meet your eyes. There’s little that he desires in the whole of creation than to look upon you- especially when he’s inside you- and to kiss you, and to tell you that you are loved by him. Whilst simultaneously hoping beyond all possibility that with that understanding- with knowing who and what he is- all of him… that you feel the same. And to see it there. Written on your face and whispered in your sighs against his skin? It means more to him than you know.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Dream is… well… he doesn’t seem that much different than usual. Still as stoic and brooding as ever even in romance but… for you? Recently he’s found he’s taken on a bit of a lighter air. He’s been changed. Not just from his imprisonment but by his return to his role and function. For as many times as he’s loved and lost he now has you and this new love in this new age and there is a brightness to you that he finds a bit infectious. Now, don’t go expecting him to be the picture of a blushing beau for that will most likely never be his way, but… you will be no stranger to a coy smirk. A gentle- barely there smile as he awaits the next press of his lips to yours. Severity to a degree lessened on the features of his face that is a result of your words in his ears. And he will not refrain from such gestures when being intimate with you either.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

There is… truly not much of a carpet to speak of- and thats just… canon, from what I’ve seen. He could change it. Might be influenced to do so should he see such a thing in your fantasies. And if he did, it would be as wild as the hair on his head surely. Not unkempt, of course, but… different.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Intimacy really brings out the best in Morpheus. None would guess it of him, considering how cold and detached he seems in front of most company. But in yours? Alone? The walls lower a little, just enough to allow you and you alone a glimpse into the wealth and wonder of what he truly feels. You see, the truth is he’s a romantic at the very heart of him.. But it overwhelms even him, and so he does his best to control it lest his own love consume him. So you’ll have to forgive his gentle touches, the delicate brush of fingertips on your skin, how softly he holds you in the night, but know it is so much more than most will ever see. Especially in his eyes that often overflow with his love for you. And this is why he enjoys your company the most. Because it’s not often he lets himself go even a little, but with you? There’s absolutely no reason for him not to.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Oh he doesn’t do this often. If at all. He doesn’t really need to, to begin with. But also if he does feel something for someone to the degree that he feels he does need to touch himself for some relief, he will restrain himself as much as possible, because if he gives into his desires, his sibling will certainly know of it, and he can’t have that. Possibly a moot point since it will only allow his own desire for you fester to boiling regardless… but hey I mean what can you do when your family is like his?

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise. Both giving and receiving, but allow me to emphasize that it’s not quite in a traditional sense that he enjoys it. It’s not as though he necessarily needs it himself- he is endless, after all. There is no authority to which he needs to supplicate himself for approval, nor will he demand such a thing from a lover such as you. But when he’s with you… it’s like a match sparks to life inside him. He cannot help but express in as many words how much he loves your touch, the feel of you, with him and around him. It’s like the words of a thousand poets who have ever felt the spark of love write the very words that trickle off his tongue but what the world would not know is that the truth is he had a hand in those very words, and that his love for you, and your love for him is what makes them real. But even more than doling out such elegant praise upon you is hearing it from you. Your own words. His may be calculated but yours are spontaneous and wild and do not exist until you care to utter them. And it is this poetry of your own, unique entirely to you that spurs him on more than anything in the world. Knowing that it is a result of how he makes you feel- and in turn how you make him feel? There is absolutely no greater bliss to him. And whatever you give you shall get in turn.

Also… he may enjoy watching you sleep, watching you dream. He will not do so without your consent, of course. Or do so from afar (which is not unlike how he has observed other sleepers… it’s only different in that he has much stronger feelings for you). And of course, he would never do so in a way that unsettles you. But he finds seeing you in such a state of peace relaxes him as well. Knowing also that your mind still conjures him even when he is not in the dreaming, in the waking world beside you… sometimes he can’t help but caress your cheek, Your form, perhaps even give you a dream that merits the sounds you make when he reaches lower…

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere and everywhere. While a bed is well and good… the fantasy of taking a lover under the cover of night… the temptation of a kiss in the rain… Of the rolling of his hips against yours as the thunder in a distant gray sky, by a fire, or in a sunlit meadow beneath the shade of a wizened tree, strewn with flowers… There’s no place he cannot see appeal making love in. He has seen many such fantasies after all, and he figures what is the point of them all if he cannot emulate some of them with you?

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, nothing piques Lord Morpheus’s interest like a beautiful mind. By one who is intelligent, imaginative, wise, and not short on bravery. He didn’t see much of these things in people, before or after his imprisonment. But lately he’s been coming around to it more- even though people do not see these things in themselves. And in you? Whether it is particularly true or not to you in your own mind it is what he sees without a doubt.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will not be a master to you. He’d always had a mind to this, long before one such as you even existed, but… His imprisonment… Calliope’s… It’s such a thing he cannot abide, and he’s seen more than enough of it for one lifetime. Even if in a fantasy, it drudges up all those horrible memories of locked rooms and menacing footsteps, of dungeons, and cages of glass and the cold and damp of the stale condensation of his own breath on his naked skin. He cannot see it in him to possess you in any way as a result, and he would ask the same of you in turn. You are his equal in all things if you are truly loved by him, and as such he will provide nothing less to you in intimacy as well. That being said, it should also be noted that your consent matters to him more than anything else. He will not so much as lay a hand on you without a sign from you that it is what you want of him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Well… he will never admit which he prefers, though perhaps he doesn’t truly have one. On the one hand, he does love putting his mouth upon you, drawing from you a rush of thoughts and ideas and fantasies as his cheeks hollow, as though he is feeding not just upon you and the sweetness that flows from you like ambrosia, but on the thoughts that swirl in your head themselves. And on the other… he will admit, your touch upon him, the pleasure in reciprocity… the feel of another similarly drawing his love out of him- more powerfully than he could ever expect of any mortal or God alike- to know also how you feel much the same as he does when he reprises the act upon you, and to allow him to actually enjoy the comfort of another… that is quite something special to him as well. So perhaps he doesn’t have to choose- as is the case with so many things in the world.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Morpheus prefers making love slowly and sensually by far. He knows better than most that love is a wild and varied thing but he himself prefers to treat the act itself much like one might approach poetry. It is a dance and dalliance of form. Practiced, calculated, and yet passionate and spontaneous. All with a single goal to him: to find a greater closeness with you. He will take his time with you, then. Pouring over every part of you, delving and exploring the depths of you until every part of you has seen his love for you. Assuring that you feel him as much as he feels you.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t often prefer them. He is not so driven by desperation in such a way that would lead him to abandon his senses. Besides, he’s as patient as they come. He can wait to make love to you properly… but that’s not to say he hasn’t had moments, overwhelmed with love for you. Where your kiss has left him wanting with an ache that he simply cannot shake. That drives him to tuck you into quiet dark corners, bodies obscured by his coat of stars as he sends your senses reeling into oblivion.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

On the whole, no. This is not to say he’s not willing to be adventurous with you- not in the slightest. But there is a wealth of difference between adventure and risk. He will never seek to compromise your honor in any way or put you in an uncomfortable position, nor will he try something new without asking you about it first. But he is certainly not opposed when something piques his interest of you or you of him… to explore it in the moment with you. Of that he is certain he will never tire.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

A long time. A damn good long time if he has the mind to. A being such as he is not subject to the same restrictions of mortals. He could, as a matter of objective fact, go all night long. So this being said, he ensures your ultimate pleasure first before he himself joins you in bliss, but will be sure to follow you, close behind if not at the exact same moment. And should you wish it, it will not be long before he is ready to please you again.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t precisely own toys, but if it is what you wish… he certainly could make them. He would like to think he is enough (and truthfully, because of who he is, that is as a matter of fact usually the case), but if it is simply a matter of heightening your own pleasure and experience, he cannot argue with that, and will happily indulge you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh boy. His teasing could very well be the end of you. He won’t keep you in suspense all the livelong day… lest that is what you wish. But he is very good at timing it out. He will mostly tease you with his words, or light touches meant to spark your attention, then keep you on edge as he waits for you to tell him exactly what you need of him. He will not ask, he will not goad. He will simply wait for any sign from you that you want more of him. Then and only then will he grant you what you wish of him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

With Morpheus, it is entirely dependent on the situation. If he so chooses he can be as silent as the grave, in fact. But that occurrence is extremely rare, best reserved for dalliances that require a certain level of discretion that would otherwise not be required. But when it is you two alone? His moans are sometimes like a melody, deep, and rich, and others swirling airy choruses of pleasure. He’s never one to shout, and nothing that tumbles from those rosy lips will ever be brash or coarse. The epitome of music in the ears is all you will ever hear from him.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He should be loath to admit it to anyone other than you, but he quite enjoys (and perhaps even prefers) making love to you in the waking world. He loves the dreaming as well, don’t get him wrong, for it is a part of him as much as he is a part of it… but most humans don’t see their love of the dreaming nearly as much in the waking world. They love the dreaming when they’re in it but put all their worth and importance in their waking life. He is used to that. He understands that… but yet then you in the waking world love him as fiercely as you might in the dreaming. And you show him that you are not alone in this for all the wonder you see in the world, of how your dreams and ideas and love for him and what he represents shapes the world as you see it and how it sees you, in spite of all he’s witnessed from other more wretched humans to the contrary. You’re easily the most staunch reminder he’s received that his existence is more vital than he realizes sometimes. And he loves you for that, and wishes to pay tribute to it in your own realm.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Though you all know I love getting into the specifics, here… I’m afraid it’s quite impossible. Morpheus is of the Endless, after all. His form is never fixed. It changes by his will and his alone… but where your desires lie are also taken into account. So close your eyes, and imagine what you will, for when you open them, whatever your deepest fantasies could conjure is what he can provide.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

… God how does one exactly describe the sex drive of the anthropomorphic personification of the collective unconscious? It’s… quite chaotic, honestly. Sometimes he burns with the thought of touching you and others it’s not exactly his primary focus. This isn’t to say he has periods of non-desire for you, but sex is not the most important thing for him just… in general. He’s in love with you for who you are first and foremost. The rest is as you like.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

The King of Dreams has not much of a need for sleep himself. It’s ironic, he knows, but it is simply who he is. And he will stay awake, as long as you are conscious yourself, for he will not want to miss a single moment he could spend in your waking presence, knowing every little bit of you that he can. But the moment you close your eyes, and drift into his realm… you would be surprised to learn that he joins you. He too rests his eyes, settles into the warmth of your embrace. He may not need to sleep but it is rare that he has moments of true restfulness, and somehow, he finds that task much easier when holding you in his arms.

#oops I did it again #morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless #he's too pretty to not be hot and bothered about #might edit some of this later idk #egg's fics #egg's headcanons

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