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monster-disaster · 8 months

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[tentacle] The monster under the bed

tentacle!monster x human!Reader Good to know: somnophilia, a bit of dub-con

Summary: Your aunt's house is not as empty as you thought.

A/N: For kinktober 2023, I have a new town full of monsters. Here is the masterlist.

The change in the air is thick and heavy after you leave the Welcome to Grimbrook sign behind you. You feel it in your core. It's cold and silent. For a second, everything goes quiet, and the time seems to stop. The rumbling of your car gets muffled, and the colors of the lush, green forest at your sides fade into a milky fog flowing above the ground. You can't see the tall mountains and their sharp edges in the distance anymore. The clear blue sky turns gray, and you can't find the sun anymore, either. Just a few dim rays shine down on the road in front of you, showing your way to the village next to the sea.

As you get closer, you can smell the salty scent of the water even through the closed windows of your car. It's heavy in your nostrils. The sound of the waves gets louder too. From the top of the uphill, you can see the village with its old stone buildings and the sea behind everything. It seems colorless, merging into the dark sky at the horizon. It is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. There is something in Grimbrook that you can't pinpoint but freezes your insides. The only light you can see comes from a lighthouse at the edge of a cliff. It emits a soft, rhythmic beam of yellow light that cuts through the heavy fog, casting eerie shadows over the still village. Seagulls glide through the mist above the white seafoam, waving across the dark surface.

"Okay," you hum, forcing your eyes to go back to the GPS on your phone. The blue line clearly shows your way to the house you have to reach before night falls. It leads you out of the center of the villages until you reach a small suburb with Victorian houses standing in a long row with grand iron gates and gardens.

The monotone voice of the GPS informs you when you reach the right house, and after sitting in your car for a few more minutes, you have no other option but to get out and make your way up to the porch. The wooden planks creak under your steps as you look around a bit better. The house is old, with tall walls, characterful windows, and a dark green door with a golden knocker in the middle. It's cold in your hold as you knock it against the door.

You don't get an answer, though.

The door opens, and you find yourself facing a narrow foyer with stairs on the right side. Pictures and paintings hang on the walls in dark wood and golden frames. You can see the entrance of the kitchen at the end. And on your left side, there is an arch that leads you to the living room.

"Hello?" You break the silence. Your voice is hoarse and quiet. You have to force your legs to move and not turn back to your car and leave this place immediately. "Somebody?" Your gaze lands on a small table in the corner next to the entrance door. There is a letter with your name on it.

Dear Cat, I'm sorry I can't be here when you arrive. Make yourself at home, and we will talk tomorrow. Delilah

"Great," you sigh, letting the paper fall back onto the surface of the small table.

For a second, you think about searching for a hotel or something similar to spend the night, but to be honest, it doesn't sound much better either. You know you should leave the town to feel better, but it's not an option. So you close the door behind you and wander further into the house.

You got a call a few weeks ago about your aunt you met long years ago. She died, and now you have a house. You can keep it. You can sell it. Whatever you want.

The house is old, with a lot of wood, dark colors, and golden details. There are still newspapers from months ago on the coffee table in the living room. The rug under you is faded and thin. The floor creaks every now and again. There are two rooms and a bathroom upstairs. The bigger room is still occupied with your aunt's belongings. The scent of her perfume still lingers in the air. You remember her when you were a kid. She came to your grandmother's funeral, and you never saw her again. Nobody really talked about her in the family. The only things you know are that she was kind but preferred her own company above everything else. She lost her husband in her late twenties but stayed in Grimbrook, barely leaving the town.

The guestroom is much more bare than the other parts of the house. A bed in the middle with two nightstands and a lamp. There is a drawer in front of it and a mirror on the wall. The window is slightly open, letting in the cold autumn breeze. You have a view of the street from here. It's calm and empty. The only reasons you know you are not the only person in the town are because you can see a few cars here and there and a dog barking in the distance. The fog is thick and heavy. You can't see the end of the street through it.

After wandering around the house some more, you decide to call your friend until you have no other option but to change and try to get some sleep.

Climbing up on the bed in the guest room, you settle under the thick covers. The scent of the linen is faded and mixed with dust and the night air coming through the window. It's dark outside, not counting a few lamps on the street. Their orange lights filter into the room. And everything is quiet. So quiet that your ears almost start to ring. You are not used to it. You live in the city with constant noises.

When sleep takes you, it's restless and everything but relaxing. You fidget and turn, trying to find a comfortable position as you balance between the darkness and the real world. Your head feels just as foggy as Grimbrook, and at some point, you can't decide if you are dreaming or not.

You are on your back, one arm on your stomach, and the other is next to your body. The autumn breeze caresses your skin, moving up from your feet to your ankles and calves. Shiver runs through your spine at the feeling. You want to reach out for the blanket, but even though your arms move, they do not obey your command. Something pets the thin skin of your wrist. It's soft and barely noticeable. You feel your muscles stretch as you reach up to the headrest of the bed, but you don't even know why. The cold moves up further on your legs. It curls around your flesh, spreading you in the middle of the bed. Your heels dig into the mattress. Your body tenses when your limbs don't do as you want. A frown deepens between your brows.

"What?" A hoarse grunt leaves your lips. When you open your eyes, you meet darkness, and you are not sure if you are really awake or not. Your eyelids are heavy, and not even a second later, you fall back asleep again.

The bottom of your pajama slips down on your legs. The waist stretches around your parted legs. Something slides up on your stomach under your t-shirt. It is slick and soft. A gasp echoes in your room when it flicks your nipple. The thing curls around the flesh of your tits, groping and caressing. Your nipples harden under the strange touch. Saliva? A tongue?

Where are you?

And there is something else between your legs. The muscles of your thighs tense, and the hold around you tightens.

"What?" You groan again into the silence. As you look down on your body, you see your t-shirt around your neck. Your breasts are bare. Something dark and purple curls around them, squeezing and licking. The teasing on your nipples is almost painful. At the back of your mind, you want more. Your head falls back onto the pillows, and you are asleep again.

The tentacles between your legs move up and down on your pussy. Your panties are ruined between your wet center and the slick touch of theirs. One of them flicks your clit. Your back arches at the feeling. The cold night air hits your aching pussy when the thin fabric is pulled aside. One of them stays around your clit, flicking and rubbing the hard bud. The other one goes straight to your hole.

You want to move. To get closer or farther away, you can't decide. The tendrils don't let you go anyway.

You break the silence with a sudden moan. The limb enters you slowly. It slips into you easily, stretching your walls until you can't take another inch. It fills you up.

"Fuck," you groan.

Your breasts are soaked. The slickness on your skin shines under the dim streetlights. The tentacles play with your flesh, rubbing and pinching your nipples. The pain takes your breath away every now and again until you feel dizzy.

The others between your legs move without pausing even for a second. Your clit throbs, and your walls flutter. Pleasure flares inside your veins, rushing through your body with such force you never felt before. Your lungs burn for air, and your muscles ache as you lay taut, panting.

When you open your eyes, you see the ceiling and the old lamp hanging above you. You want to force your mind to think, to panic, to do something, but your senses are full of pleasure. The only thing you can do is moan and grind against the tentacle inside your pussy. It pounds into you, reaching every spongy spot inside that makes you see stars and beg for more. The sheet under you is soaked with your mixed juices. You can feel it dripping out of your hole.

Fuck, you want to shout, but you can't find your voice. You just shake and tremble in the hold of the limbs keeping you in place on the bed. Every nerve in your body is on edge, and when it snaps in your lower stomach, you can't remember how to breathe. Your climax forces you down and stops you from moving. A thin layer of sweat shines on your bare skin. Heat burns you from the inside, and your pussy flutters and sucks on the tendril inside you. It still moves in and out. It twitches and rubs against your walls. And doesn't stop even when the darkness envelopes you again.

When you wake up the next morning, you need a few minutes to remember where you are. The sun shines through the window, casting an orange hue over the old rug in the middle of the room. As you sit up, your t-shirt falls back over your torso, but your pants are still around your knees.

"What?" You grunt out. The question is barely louder than a whisper. Your hand shakes as you reach down between your legs. Your pussy is wet, sensitive, and swollen. A moan escapes you when your fingertip slides over your slit.

Your dream is still vivid in your mind. You can feel the tentacle in your pussy, using your hole and rubbing your clit. Your center starts to throb with need at the memory. And your breasts. Your other hand grabs one of your tits. Your nipples are still hard peaks through the thin fabric of your shirt.

"Hello? Cat?" The sudden noise snaps your head up to the door of your room. The voice comes from the entrance of the house. "It's Delilah." "Hey!" You croak out. You are not even sure if she can hear you. "I will be down in a minute." "Great!" She shouts back. "I will make some coffee, and we can talk about your plans with the house." Your fingers sink into your hole. You are still stretched out. You move in and out of your pussy easily.

Yeah, you think, you need a few nights if you want to decide about your plans.

- Masterlist Grimbrook Masterlist Patreon

#monster romance #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster smut #tentacle smut #tentacle x reader #tentacle x human #tentacle monster #grimbrook #kinktober 2023

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peachesofteal · 4 months

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Prologue: The Moirai

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 1.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: modern setting retelling of Hades and Persephone A strange dream, a strange visit.

For months, you’ve had the same dream.

You’re wandering a valley, your valley, a lush, green collection of rolling peaks, sweet grass and clover nearly velvet beneath your bare feet. The sun, high in the sky, does not moisten your brow, or cause you distress. You do not thirst. You do not tire.

You only meander, feeding the earth snippets of power, growing flowers and vines, a plethora of life, amusing yourself, as you do every night.

You roam this meadow, until your eyes open at dawn, bullfrogs and crickets and the raw chirp of birds tapping against the windowpane, brightening you to the morning better than any alarm clock ever could.

But tonight, the dream is different.

You’ve never seen so much Narcissus. It paints an idyllic picture, bright petals sparkling far and wide, blanketing the hills until they swoop low in the soft belly of the dream. They draw you in, pulling you down until you’re seated amongst a mass of blooms, Asphodelus scattered throughout, honeysuckle vine curling through the grasses, more fragrant than sea spray, filling the air with an intoxicating sweetness that you can taste, crystal like dew dripping with jasmine and vanilla.

It's beautiful.

A creek babbles nearby, crooning in its own language, rushing trickle drowning out your thoughts and feelings, twisting and tugging until it’s hard to remember you’re in a dream at all.

Is this not your meadow?

Is this not your own?

The Asphodelus shivers, rocking back and forth in a cool wind, the kind that chills your skin, whips around your shoulders and tousles the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Hello.” The greeting startles you, twists your torso in the waist deep flora. Rise. Instinct booms, like your mother’s chide ringing a shrill bell for you to obey.

A figure stands in the meadow behind you, tall beside the sun, rays of golden light casting long shadow across their features. You squint, but it’s of no use. You cannot make them out.

“Hello.” You mirror, palms forward, heels digging into the grass. There’s a sharp prick, a sting that bleeds, and you curse, lifting your hand for inspection. “Acantha.” You hiss at the goddess, as if she has anything to do with your dreams.

Gold runs from the wound like the creek, slicking your palm, coating your skin in ichor, your own lifeblood.

The lifeblood of the Golden ones.

Lest you forget.

The figure kneels in the grass before you, their head bowed, black gloved hands reaching, tugging your palm upwards, dragging a thumb through the mess of ethereal life.

“I’m fine, just a prick.” You assure in the silence. There is so much light, and yet none, nothing to illuminate the face or the features of whomever it is that occupies your dream.

A fragment of your mind, perhaps. A trick of your mother’s.

Or an interloper.

“You’re hurt.” The dark pitch of the figure’s voice is startling. It’s fathomless, beautiful like the coast of the Aegean, guttural like the shout of death. Raw ruby, not quite plucked from its sanctuary, not quite finished or ready to be seen, a secret gem, only for you. The meadow rustles, thousands of faces in the little flowers leering, scowling, blue sky dimming into grey. Thunder shatters the tranquility, clapping in the distance, a garish boom sending electric shocks through the clouds, all manner of rumbles rolling over the hill.

Rot. It fills your soul in a flood, current wrapping around your ankles and tugging, like a thousand Oceanids lay at your feet, crying. Screaming.

But your hand is warm. Your hand is warm and it is held, for a moment, a moment in which you feel dramatically unlike yourself, unlike the fledging goddess you claim to be, unlike the unloved one you’re known as, and then-

it is cold. Your hand. Your heart. You. The being, the figure, is gone.

And you are alone.

The Greenhouse is quiet. An easy peace, so easily disturbed by comings and goings, friends and patrons, all manner of beings and others, stopping in and out.

They say hello. They ask for help, advice, favor. Some things you cannot give, even to some visitors who you hold close. Dearly.

These moments alone, moments of solitude in the Greenhouse, and some that you love the most. Moments when you're alone with yourself, your power, your connection to the earth. When you can feel it the most, the worms in the dirt, the roots desperate for water, the blooms aching to flourish. You are all these things, when you're alone. A power unto yourself. A goddess of life, of fertility, of Spring. The essential reawakening. The circle of seasons.

The secret weighs heavily.

But a goddess of Spring, is no mere goddess of Spring, your mother's voice echoes. A goddess of life, may as well wear a target on her back.

This morning, when the dew still refracts the light of the sun and birds are singing, no one comes. You sit alone, pruning, detangling, taming a pothos, encouraging its lovely green vine to live on its own. It protests, and you huff at it, conjuring slivers of magic, feeding it kernels as if you care for a child, trying to encourage it to eat.

“You must try, you know.” It curls around the back of your hand, lovely silver-white speckled leaves shimmering in the morning’s light. “You’re not staying here. The Greenhouse is full. I don’t have any more room.” The overcrowded shelves and carts agree, saplings and ivy and atropa belladonna all singing in unison, quivering voices rising in protest of the pothos’ weak effort. “See? You’ll make everyone unhappy.”

“You have a habit of talking to all your plants?” A musical voice chimes from the front door, and you jump from the stool, a book on your right clattering to the concrete.

“No, I…” Your voice fails, the woman in the doorway steps closer, allowing her mortal appearance to fall away, removing her Cloak and revealing her true identity.

The Moirai.

The Three who are One.

She turns her head to the east, a flash of the Maiden surveying your workbench, and then the Crone shines through, all faces eventually melding into one.

The Mother.

“Daughter of Demeter.” She inclines her head in greeting, and you blink rapidly.

“You...” What are they… is she, doing here? “You shouldn’t be here.” You swallow the fear that races in a cold rush under your skin. A frozen river runs in your bones, frigid rapids roaring, trapped beneath a thin sheet of ice, churning your power into a weapon of terror, an uncontrollable force that tries to build beneath the swell.

“Your mother is preoccupied.” She waves her hand; unease props the hair up on the back of your neck.

“What do you want?”

“To see you.” She strolls, careful, casual steps echoing off glass. “Finally, in the flesh.” The sh sound hisses, and your power pulses, pushing forward in preparation. “You are truly as lovely as they say, little Spring Goddess.”

“I’m not the Goddess of Spring.” You rebuke, and the resounding chuckle is dry wine, a tatter of bubbles that on her tongue that sours your stomach.

“You are not.” She nods. “No. You’re so much more now. You will be.” She steps closer, red lips perfectly lined and plump, pursed as she stares you down. “I’m satisfied.” She murmurs, and even though she looks right at you, it’s as if you’re not in the room.

Rain drops patter on glass panels.

“Pity.” She frowns, and then winks as a young woman, as an old one too, vanishing from sight with each step she takes to the door.

The clock ticks too loudly, and it feels like doom. Like a shattered mirror, shattered reflection, shattered life.

The Moirai have never visited you.

Why now?

Outside, a screech owl hoots, startling you backwards, a hand rocking down to the work bench in an effort to steady your trembling legs.

“Ouch!” you shriek, flipping your palm over, a pair of pruning shears dug into your skin, golden blood leaking out around their cool metallic points. “Fuck.” Your lips cover the puncture, tongue flicking against the rivulet of ichor.

The screech owl screams.

The throne room is silent. Darkness ebbs, inky webs slithering across the floor, shadowing the blood red stone that spills from the mouth of the dais, two identical, straight back chairs sitting proudly in the middle of the hall, dwarfed by columns stretching so tall Johnny swears they surpass the boundary of this realm. Their onyx marble shrouds Simon, who stands maskless, his hands clasped behind his back, peering into the pitch-black pool of liquid vibrating inside a silver bowl.

“Who is she?” There is a woman in the seeing glass. Beautiful, bright, an overflowing bouquet of narcissus, an endless melody of spring, the promise of early death. The greenhouse breathes in her presence, all nature of blooms and blossoms straining closer, desperate to be within fingertips reach. “A goddess?” He looks closer, and Simon’s amber laden eyes affix his, broad palm tenderly cupping Johnny’s cheek. His answer is a whisper, something unearthly and severe as they are: two Kings of the Underworld, two souls twisted together, two macabre fates made one. His words are a looming promise, a vow so ruinous Johnny knows the Moirai howl and the Lethe trembles.

“Our wife.”

#peaches writes #AIV(OFK)#ghoap x reader #hades ghoap #persephone reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #Simon Riley #john soap mactavish

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politemenacephd · 4 months

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Monster!Mig Vol 4. (+18)

Werewolf!Miguel O'Hara X GN!Reader

Masterlist

Content: Established relationship, Monster/human relationship, Fear kink, Hormone smelling, Oral (reader recieving), Rough PinV Sex, Size Difference, Belly bulging, Claiming Bites, Knotting, Creampie.

Notes: i got the flu real bad so we're feeling feral today boys i swear i will be back w more stuff soon Word count: 4162

‘There, nice and tight, right?’

You gently jangled the chains that you’d just tightened around Miguel’s chest, ensuring that they were immovable. They clanked a little against his rounded pecs, and while they could be moved about an inch or so they remained taut and firm.

Miguel kept his eyes on you as you checked them. ‘I’m—sorry we have to do this again’ he murmured.

‘Nah, don’t worry about it’ you said, giving him a cheeky smile to ease his worries. ‘I knew what I was getting myself into.’

‘I- I mean I did my best to warn you, but—’

‘Mhm. Mhm. You did your best, and my god, I just did not listen’ you sarcastically sighed. He let out a little snort of a chuckle in response.

‘I just want you to be safe’ he murmured. ‘I couldn’t- stand, anything happening to you.’

‘Oh my god, stop being so stoic, pup. Just relax’ you teased.

‘You call me pup again I will bite you’ Miguel grunted back, ‘and I don’t mean because of the change. I will happily do it regardless.’

‘Oo, please do. But, later. For now—voila!’

You stepped back and admired your set up. This was your so called ‘panic’ room, a totally bare attic space with enormous, shackled chains bolted into the hard brick wall. It had one window overlooking the night sky, allowing cool light to filter in and highlight the dust in the air, but beyond that there was nothing else.

It was horribly drab, however, that was for a reason, for the floor was covered in years’ worth of claw marks, and the bricks showed signs of being gnawed by giant, hardy teeth.

You looked back down to Miguel on the floor and noted the slight tint of yellow showing on his warm red-brown eyes. His pupils were already dilating.

Your dear Miguel, your beloved, would soon turn into a ravenous beast for the night.

‘I’m gonna miss you’ you said softly, your sentimental heart unable to keep up your cheerful, teasing façade.

Miguel gave a slight smile and scoffed. ‘It’s one night. One night to keep you alive. You’ll manage.’

‘Mm, I dunno. Maybe death would be better.’

‘You’re so dramatic’ he said bluntly.

‘I’m dramatic? Me?’ you said as you dramatically pressed your hand to your chest. ‘You’re the one who can’t see a full moon without murdering everyone in sight. THAT’S dramatic!’

Miguel scoffed a second time and let his head hit the brick wall. He was playing the exasperated partner, but you could see his eyes lingering on you in the dimming light.

‘Yeah. I’ll miss you too’ he said, his voice softening as he looked you up and down.

You smiled as your hands fell to your sides. You looked oddly coy. ‘Mhm. That’s what I thought.’

You carefully bent down to his level as the urge to kiss him became too strong. He strained against his chains to meet you with drooping eyes. You made it to your knees, even allowing your lips to brush, when you smelled something that gave you instant pause.

‘Is, that—’

It was. It was that familiar musk, the smell of fur and earth and beasts. You glanced at Miguel’s eyes and found them even more dilated than before.

‘Shit…’

The two of you glanced in unison towards the one rickety window in the corner. You could see that the sun was slowly setting as the sky turned from red to navy blue, the emptiness glimmering with the first few speckled stars.

The little blocks of light cast onto the dirty floor were turning from a soft yellow to a hazy white. Moonlight.

You sighed. ‘Okay. Okay, um—it’s time for me to go.’

You managed to sneak one gently kiss to his cheek, leaving a lingering little print of your scent before you reluctantly withdrew. Miguel’s sad puppy dog eyes followed you all the way to the door.

‘Good luck’ you whispered, pausing on the precipice of the doorway. ‘I’ll stay up. Make sure nothing gets out of hand.’

‘I’ll be thinking of you’ Miguel murmured back. You smiled before locking the door at your back.

…

For the rest of the night you stayed up in your room. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep so you decided to cuddle up in your loosest pyjama’s and watch videos until the early dawn.

You wanted to be able to sit beside him, but Miguel was staunchly against such a thing. He couldn’t risk the temptation of having you nearby, and you knew he didn’t like you seeing him in this form.

You knew you wouldn’t care but you didn’t want to push it. You agreed to stay separate.

As the clock struck midnight you glanced over to where the curtains on your bedroom window were lightly waving. You could see the full moon beyond them, bright and bold and uncovered by even a single cloud.

An ominous sight to someone like you.

Your eyes instinctively glanced up to the ceiling. You knew he would have changed by now. You wondered as you always did; was it painful, the change? He said it wasn’t, but you knew he could just be covering to save you the worry.

You wondered what he must think about in that state, if he even thought at all. You wondered if he did miss you. If he thought of you.

God, you really did miss him. You missed his warmth, his biceps around your waist as you spooned, his warm breath on your neck. You missed resting on his chest. You missed kissing him. You missed- well, everything.

You missed his body. You missed his soft praise and barely concealed possessiveness as he held you down. You missed his calloused hands and sharp claws gripping you tight.

You felt a soft pulse in your lower sex and shook your head. No, you shouldn’t get worked up tonight. You needed to be on guard.

But… you did miss him, so, much…

BANG.

You jumped in bed at the sudden noise.

Luckily, you were used to this. When the moon hit he always tried to escape, and it’s that which kept you awake all night. The sound of that poor beast struggling against his chains, snapping and howling. It’d been painful the first few months you’d had to hear it, then it’d gotten annoying, but now it was just normal. It was like adjusting to your partner snoring at night.

You yawned and leaned back into the pillows.

The banging continued as you’d expected. You heard chains rattling, boards being torn and ripped. You dozed through it all in a half-asleep daze, barely paying attention to the video you put on.

It was at about 2am, when the clock struck, that you heard something more alarming.

You heard metal clanking hard on the floor, and jolted upright in bed. Wait, you’d never heard that before. His chains didn’t reach the floor?

But that was definitely what you could hear. You could hear metal on wood, scraping its way from one end of the attic to the other. Your head slowly tilted as you followed the sound.

‘Shit’ you hissed.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Not tonight. Not now.

Another loud bang rang out, and this time you physically jumped in shock. It sounded like wood splintering, and it was coming from the side of the attic that you knew the locked door was on. The side opposite to where Miguel was meant to be.

A low, warbling howl filled the silence. Your heart sank.

You heard the door upstairs slowly, painfully, creaking open.

Oh no. No, no, no.

You jumped from your bed and instinctively went to hide beneath it, but somehow your luck took an even worse turn. As you jumped your feet landed directly on a loose board. It creaked, loudly, and the footsteps stopped.

‘Shit’ you hissed again. He knew you were in here.

For a couple of seconds, all was still. All was silent. In the dark you couldn’t tell what was the house settling and what was a predator on the prowl.

A low, threatening growl filled the air, and you bolted.

In a moment of panic you dove out of the bedroom and down the stairs, just barely missing the enormous muscled figure of Miguel as he dove at your head.

You had only one hope. Miguel had left his taser downstairs in the living room. It was just a precaution, one you’d never used before hence why it was in such a random spot, but you needed it now.

You stumbled into the living room with Miguel hot on your heels. You made it halfway across the room to where the taser was sitting on the edge of a table. You reached, your hands grasping, but right at that crucial moment you tripped.

Your toes went under the rug on the centre of the floor and you fell hard on your face, knocking the taser to the floor in the process.

‘FUCK—Ah, ah…’

You spun around onto your back as the floor creaked.

Miguel crawled towards you on all fours. In the dark you could only barely see his face, with the light of the moon and the red of his eyes highlighting the contours of his body. The curves of muscle breaking through his torn shirt, the ruffle of dark fur on his back and arms, the shimmering coat over his talons, all of it highlighting how deadly he was.

He still looked like him, like your Miguel. That slicked back dark hair and rough brown skin, those almond eyes and that chiselled square face, with his enormous chest and shoulders sat atop that smooth curved waist.

But you could see the monster breaking through. The fur bursting out in patches on his arms and chest, the claws erupting from his fingernails, the tufty ears erupting from his head, and most of all the teeth. His usually soft expression was drawn back into one of animalistic malice, and you could see the most enormous fangs in his maw.

He bared those same teeth and snarled.

‘Mig, Miggy—Miguel, hey, it’s me’ you panted.

He drew his lips back even further.

‘Miguel’ you repeated desperately. ‘Miguel—’

He took a few steps closer, forcing you to scurry on your back. You couldn’t run. You would never make it to the door, nor the window nor the corridor.

In a panic, you could think of only one thing to distract him. It might have seemed mad to anyone else, and yet to you, there was a lingering shard of a memory teetering on the edge of your terrified mind. The memory of Miguel mentioning the importance of scents, and how the smell of you always drove him mad.

You grabbed your pyjama pants and shifted them down.

It was just an inch at first, as you were laying awkwardly on the floor and they kept catching on the wood, but as you slid them you noticed him slowing his predatory approach.

You saw his eyes darting. He sniffed, smelling the air.

‘That’s it’ you whimpered. ‘That’s it, it’s me. You know that, don’t you?’

You lay down on your back as Miguel crawled over you. The scent of your kiss must have stuck in his nose, as he seemed to remember through the haze even a small part of you, but more than that the smell of your bare body was enticing.

He bent his head and sniffed from your neck down to your belly and finally to your thighs. He growled there, and in a panic you yanked your pants further. You pulled them right down to your ankles.

‘Ah—there, there, shh—’

He gave a grunt of what you assumed was satisfaction as you kicked them aside. He moved in, and you lay back in submission. He pressed his face right against your bare pussy.

‘F-Fuck—’ You bit your lip to stifle any noises. This was a dangerous ploy, especially as you’d made yourself so vulnerable, but you wanted to trust him. You had no other choice.

You closed your eyes and prayed.

It was then, in the dark and the cold, unseeing and tense, that you were jolted by the most abrupt spasm of pleasure.

Something long, wet and warm was lapping at your bare pussy, eagerly and curiously winding between your lips and up to your clit. Your legs spasmed at the sensation.

‘A-Ah—Mig?’

You opened your eyes and looked down, only to find that he was licking at your bare sex. He was clawing at the wood as he curiously tasted you.

‘A-Ah…. Miguel, that—mm—’

The soft little fluttering pulses in your clit that you’d tried to ignore before had left you extremely sensitive, and his rough tongue was making it hard to see. You were trying to stay on guard, wary that he might still lose himself again, but fuck did it feel heavenly.

He’d always been a fan of pleasuring with his tongue, but this was something else entirely. His increased size allowed his tongue to cover your entirely labia when flat, covering every single little spot of nerves he could get at. You whimpered on the floor.

He kept licking. Kept tasting, kept curiously flicking the tip on your clit, kept getting so close that his tongue delved right into your cunt. All the while his claws were dangerously close to slicing your ankle, and worse, his teeth kept grazing the sensitive skin of your folds.

You knew you were going to cum from this, but you didn’t want to startle him with any loud noises.

To your horror, as the pleasure rose, you had to try and bite you down.

You forced yourself to cum in silence. Your hips bucked a little, your legs involuntarily spasming as he kept licking through every ripple of pleasure, but luckily it didn’t seem to bother him. You rode out that sweet, guilty pleasure as you screamed in your mind, before slowly relaxing as your muscles de-tensed.

Thankfully Miguel drew himself back just a little while after your silent orgasm, his mouth dripping with slick and spit. He drew himself up to your head and snapped at your cheek, baying you to lay still. You did as told.

‘A-Ah… you really are still Miguel, huh?’ you said with a shaky laugh. He grunted.

You realized then, as the adrenaline and the pleasure wore off, that he was naked. You hadn’t really taken it fully in before now, but the change must have torn his clothes to shreds.

He was naked, and his enormous veiny cock was pulsing between your legs as he hunched over your body on the floor.

You baulked a little in shock. Fuck, had the change made him bigger?

You didn’t have time to ponder that as he began to push himself between your legs, his claws settling beside your shoulders. He was getting into a missionary mating press.

‘A-Ah… ah, fuck, Miguel’ you panted. He wanted to try and fuck you? Like this?

His eyes on you were still burning with that beastly haze, but you swore you saw something in them that looked like him. Something soft, something affectionate, beyond the curdled animalistic lust.

You felt his cock nudging at your tight hole, smearing the spit and slick he’d left behind as he coaxed you to take him. You could feel his bulbous member twitching.

Your eyes shifted, and you realized that the taser had fallen on the floor within arm’s reach. You could feasibly bring him down now, if you wanted. If you had to. You could grab it quick and render him limp.

But… Your eyes involuntarily drifted back. You were so sore, your pussy throbbing as your blood pulsed through it, your thighs sodden and shaky. The thought of the release, the relief, of your beautiful Miguel fucking you raw with that fat rod, it filled you with fear and unescapable excitement.

You bit your lip as he growled again. Fuck. Your hormones had certainly won him over, so, at least your plan worked, right? At least with this, you were safe. At least like this, he couldn’t go anywhere else.

‘O-Okay, you… That’s it. Stay here with me’ you stammered breathlessly. ‘Stay with me, Mig. That’s it.’

You lay still, and you let him take you.

It should have felt familiar. You’d taken him so many times before, but this? This was different. You felt the size difference immediately.

His cock was obscenely fat, and it was splitting you open as he stretched you wide. He hit a point about a third of the way down his shaft where he could get no further, and with a dissatisfied snarl he started to rut harder. He was pushing you to your limits, and as he edged deeper you felt the sudden influx of burning in your core.

‘F-Fuck—’ You squirmed a little, trying to adjust to the size, but a sharp snap at your cheek forced you back to stillness.

‘O-Okay, okay, just—careful, please—’

You weren’t sure how much of him remained lucid, but something definitely seemed to make him slow down as you winced. He started to pause between pumps, letting you shift and settle, and even nudged your cheek to see if you were okay.

He never stopped, though. He continued to pump his shaft into your cunt, easing it open inch by inch to take him, and when he finally bottomed out it was because you physically couldn’t take any more.

He managed to get most of it inside you, but he couldn’t fit it all. You were embarrassed to see a good two inches of thick, throbbing cock surrounded by dark hair still sitting uncovered, accompanied by the sight of your belly bulging where he’d settled.

You felt it nudging at your cervix. You felt it throb, you watched it throb, and grit your teeth. You were shaking, but fuck, it was good.

Miguel snarled again, his teeth bared against your cheek. You could feel him breathing a little harder as he shifted his pelvis. You knew he was feeling you, tasting you, pausing to savour the sensation of your insides squeezing him tight, and you liked it.

‘It’s okay’ you stammered. You felt his drool hit your cheek. ‘I-I’m okay. You- You can have me.’

Miguel throbbed again, a pulsing sensation so hard that you felt it in your guts.

‘Mine.’

You blinked in shock. Was that, a word?

Miguel bared his teeth a second time as he took one, hard thrust inside you, one that threw your entire body and sent both sharp pain and toe-curling pleasure through to your soul. You groaned in shock.

‘A-Ah, f-fuck—’ you whimpered.

‘Mine.’

He repeated that single, guttural word, and you knew he meant it. You nodded.

‘Y-Yes. Yes. Yours. All yours.’

He growled deep in the back of his throat, a motion which made his Adams apple jolt.

‘Breed’ he snarled. You shuddered as he dug his claws into the wood beside your head.

‘Breedable. Mine.’

You grit your teeth in anticipation. You could feel him gradually beginning to slip his cock in and out. Without another word, that enormous beast started to rut back and forth.

He was rough from the start, even when he was exhibiting some form of control. You had to dig your nails into his biceps for support as he threw your body with every thrust. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. He was happy to bend you, pushing you into a deeper mating press.

You could see his talons by your head. You could feel his hot breath, could smell the stench of fur and metal and musk. He was panting with each pump.

As you trembled and moaned, taking each deep thrust of his cock, some of that animal rage in his eyes seemed to dissipate. Did he look, hot? Was he, moaning back?

He was definitely grunting with each thrust he took. You could feel the veins on his cock pulsing against your gummy walls, begging for release.

As his grunts got louder he started to pump harder. It was all you could hear. His grunting, his panting, the sound of skin clapping skin, the whine of the wood being raked by his claws and the wet squelch of his cock moving back and forth.

He was getting close. You realized, in a brief moment of lucidity as you were fucked brainless, that he was going to try and cum inside you. All you could think was one thing: How would he even fit that in you?

It was while you tried to comprehend this question that one of his little werewolf habits reared its ugly head; the need to bite. The claiming bite.

You squeaked audibly as he abruptly bit down on your neck and shoulder, pinning you hard to the floor. You could feel the burn of his teeth as they sank beneath the skin, the pure power in his jaw. If he moved too hard, he could absolutely cause a lot of damage.

‘M-Miguel’ you whimpered. ‘Miguel—’

With your body clamped and frozen he started to buck harder, driving his cock into you with a frantic and animalistic force. You clung to him as tightly as you could.

‘Miguel—’ you cried, ‘P-please, ah—’

He thrust, and he growled, and every hair on his body stood on end. With a seething grunt he orgasmed inside you.

As you’d expected there was just no space inside you left to fill. You had to experience the full sensation of his unloading with so little room between his cock and your sensitive walls; the pulsing, the twitching, the thick spurts of cum that oozed out only to immediately start dripping down your ass to the floor. It sounded so obscenely wet.

‘Ah…. There, good- good boy, good boy’ you panted. ‘Miguel, fuck—’

Then you realized, one other little thing Miguel had mentioned to you in confidence; he was going to knot.

You gripped his arms tighter to support. ‘F-Fuck, fuck—’

Sure enough he knotted on the last spurt, plugging you tight as you squirmed. He hissed on your cheek as he did so. It was a primal display of possessive need, a sign of ownership as his cock swelled and pushed you to your limits. You could feel the thickness of his cum inside you, now unable to escape. You panted.

‘F-Fuck…. Ah, o-okay big guy, there you go. You- You okay now?’

His growling lowered to just a gentle whine, and slowly he drew his teeth back from your cheek. He simply held you there beneath him, impaled on his shaft, panting and beading with sweat from the entire ordeal.

Eventually you felt the knot releasing. It was like feeling a stranglehold on your neck finally unclench. The relief was intense, and you immediately began trying to ease yourself off.

But you barely made it an inch before being pinned by Miguel’s clawed hand. His fur brushed your cheek as he grabbed your chest, holding you still to the floor. You rushed to soothe him. ‘A-Ah—okay, okay. Shh, you’re okay big guy.’

He bared his teeth in that same territorial display. You met his gaze. You locked on to each other, naked and joined at the hip, throbbing around each other in a pool of primal sweat and cum and slick.

‘It’s okay. It’s okay’ you repeated. ‘I’m yours. I’m yours. See? Your- your little, prize.’

You gently shifted your hips to draw his attention there, and predictably his eyes did a little roll as your pussy clenched his shaft. He pulsed back, his veins pumping with hot blood.

‘Mine.’

To your continued surprise, he started thrusting again. His erection hadn’t lost any stamina, and if he was feeling overstimulated, he certainly wasn’t showing it. You, though, were showing it quite overtly.

‘MM--!’

A raspy moan escaped your lips as he winded you with the force of his insertions. His previous load was now being squished out with each thrust, but he didn’t care. He was making way for more.

‘A-Ah—f-fuck, Miguel, you—you really, need, more? MM—’

His hand pressed a little harder against your chest as he started to pick up speed. He was smacking you down against the wooden floor, his pelvis turning your hip bones numb. He tilted his head and growled.

‘Oh fuck—fuck that’s so—good—’

Your eyes rolled as that sweet dumbification kicked in. His cock easily fucked away all of your inhibitions, drowning your fear in heavenly pleasure as he rutted you raw.

If this is what it took to keep him distracted all night, then this is just what you’d have to do.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 #smut #monster human relationship #miguel o'hara smut #+18 #werewolf smut #werewolf x reader

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naffeclipse · 4 months

Text

Warm Fangs

Naga!Sun x Reader. Sickness.

As you sleep, the fever worsens. Chills hit you with a violent shudder. The heat from the sickness flees under the quaking cold. You moan softly, curling up tighter. A soft hiss shushes you but you can’t find anything warm, anything warm at all.

The smooth brush of scales loosens from around you. The outside cold slips away from your feverish skin but stays within.

“It hasn’t broken yet,” Moon murmurs distantly. Cold fingertips brush your hair, damp from sweat, away from your forehead. A whine leaves you. You hate how pathetic it sounds inside your head.

“Oh, no. I was afraid it might linger with our poor lily pad,” Sun lowers his voice but he’s not as quiet as his brother, holding a stage whisper more than an actual whisper. You might have smiled if you weren’t bothered by the mottled moonlight giving way to a blue-bright early morning sky.

It doesn’t feel warm. The sun is supposed to reheat the earth and take away the frost filling your chest with a shivering revolt.

A few quiet exchanges slip away in your near unconsciousness. Gingerly, you become weightless, lifted into the air like a feather before pressed into other arms. Heat, raw and covering, finally touches your body. You breathe out a low sigh, eyelids fluttering to peek up at the source of the heat. The form softly sways as you’re carried away.

“It’s going to be alright,” Sun hums. He looks down at you, his spiky frills flaring around his head in golden hues before the shadow of the cave eclipses the morning sun. “Don’t move, my water lily, you’re still sick.”

“Hmm, I’m fine,” you half moan. Your eyes fall close again. A tender soreness soaks into every muscle, especially at your neck and your shoulders. The deep, deep ache that refuses to go away.

You shudder with another chill. Sun clicks his tongue in concern, the forked end whipping with a snapping worry.

“You amaze me, truly. Even in the throes of illness, you’re still so stubborn.” He laughs softly, endearing but in a way that almost makes you push yourself out of his steady arms. He doesn’t get to think you’re cute. Not right now, when you feel how sticky your body is and how weak your limbs dangle as he carries you deeper into the cave you’ve made a shelter within.

“Sun,” you softly groan.

“Save your strength to fight the fever, not me.” A soft peck of his scaly mouth touches your temple. You nearly dissolve under his doting command. “You need to rest and do as I say so you can feel better. I don’t like to see you like this.”

You, in a reflective, rebellious instinct, almost try to kick out your feet and find solid ground, but Sun lowers you to the cold, cave floor. You’re seized by another icy torrent of coldness. Hugging your arms, you quietly groan. A soft swell of tears teem over your eyelids. That’s from the sickness, you tell yourself. You’re not crying because Sun and his sweet warmth let you go.

“I’ll be gone for only a moment, lily pad. Hold on for me, okay?” he singsongs.

You want to snatch the heat that had held back the torturous chills. Lifting your heavy eyes, you scour the dimness of the cave, catching sight of Sun’s long body softly slipping over the stone towards the shelves that were chipped into the wall of the cavern. The rich yellow hues of his scales are bright even in the shadows of rocks. The markings along his waist and around his throat are scarlet and vibrant with warning of his venom. You watch the outline of Sun’s defined shoulders move, taking and gathering, collecting a pale pink blossom you can’t currently name.

Pressed against the wall in a sleepy bundle of his scales, Moon watches you, eyes half lidded but attentive. You didn’t hear him enter. His hands open and close, as if to reach for you. He holds back. You frown at his distance but recall his cool scales through the midnight fever, and drowsily, in fitful half-sleep, wait for Sun.

He returns with a skim over the floor. His presence washes over you with hope.

“Don’t cry, my water lily. I’m here,” Sun coaxes with gentle mirth. A crooked finger swipes the leaking liquid from your eyes.

“Not crying,” you grumble, voice croaking like a frog. “Not a water lily.”

“Oh, I’m going to have to disagree and blame your lack of sense on the sickness,” he chirps as if you were simply the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

You pry your eyelids open for a glare. You certainly are not a beautiful and grandiose flower. Not right now in your freezing weakness.

Moon’s hissing laughter echoes. It fills you with another short burst of irate energy that lasts for only the moment of his humor. Sun tuts and shoots Moon a look before gently cradling you. The golden naga guides you upright with a tender hand supporting your back. He rests your head on his shoulder, his underside a shiny, pale cream color, and the gentle heat of his body burns away the chills holding you down.

He lifts up a small flower, pale pink and pom-pom like on the end of a slender, green stalk.

“Eat this. It’ll make you feel better,” he softly insists.

You eye the flower as if it were a venus flytrap, and you were a particularly weak fly.

“What is it?” you murmur.

“I’ve heard humans call it a sensitive plant, sometimes called touch-me-not. If you had told me you weren’t feeling well early, you could have had this sooner.” The chasiting does not evade your awareness. Sun lowers the plant closer, as if offering a rose instead of medicine. “It will help with your fever and chills.”

“Ugh,” you turn your head ahead. The thought of eating when you have no appetite rears an ugly head within you. “I don’t need it.”

“I disagree strongly, lilypad,” Sun crones in disapproval. “Once you eat it, you’ll start to feel better.”

The soft lift to his tone invades you. You want to squirm, keep turning away from the offered medical plant, but Sun’s warmth surrounds you entirely. Gently, his finger guides your cheek until you face him once more.

“Please, won’t you, for me?” His cornflower blue eyes hold you with his plea. From the corners of his wide mouth, the very tips of fangs glint, but you’re not afraid of his bite. He saved you with his venom, once.

You grimace and force your lips to part. Murmuring praises and coaxes alike in a soft, musical tone, Sun presses the flower head to your mouth until you bite it off, and chew laboriously. It tastes green and dry. He watches you, hawk-like, ensuring you masticate the soft, brittle like petals before swallowing against the vicious dryness of your throat. You gasp after gulping.

His smile grows like a sunbeam at sunrise.

“See? It wasn’t so bad.” He tenderly rubs his mouth against your forehead. “Thank you."

The heat of his affection battles the cold underneath your skin, and when you shiver, he holds you tighter. You fall deeper under his fondness.

"This will pass and you’ll be in tip-top shape again,” he says softly, brimming with heated hope.

Oh, Sun. You want to curse him. You want to tell him that he can’t talk like that, melting your insides and making you nothing but an ooey-gooey mess, but you can’t. You are swept away by his sweet tones.

No one but Sun unbalances you and catches you in the same motion. He’s disarming. He's the only thing that feels right.

You slump against him in another full-body shudder. Softly humming, Sun begins rearranging your limp form, draping your legs across his deliciously warm tail as the dark end wraps your lower legs. The tightness of his coils used to frighten you before you realized how summery and soft he is. He tucks you gently against his arm, lying down to become your personal pillow.

You are so useless. It’s a miracle you haven’t faded away by now—a miracle of two nagas, no less.

“It’s also called humble flower,” he continues with a soft note. “Perhaps you could take that aspect from it as well, my water lily.”

You moan, unable to offer a rebuttal that you are no flower, but his gentle embrace covers you entirely. His chest thrums lightly with a heartbeat you’ve listened to before. A soft hum fills his throat. He continues pressing his mouth against your cheek, the crook of your neck, and the top of your head as if smothering the clammy effect attempting to surface on your body.

“Soon, you’ll rise and we can stroll through the jungle and find more flowers, more flowers like you, and you’ll feel better. Doesn’t that sound nice?” he chatters endlessly.

You can only snuggle deeper against his chest, against his warm, smooth scales, better than any patch of sunlight, and trust in him.

#for when the chills hit and you have a nice warm naga to help you through it #i wrote this late last night again #your girl is going through it #if there are mistakes just close your eyes and don't see them ty #warm fangs #naga au #naga!sun #sun x reader #naff writing #i'll add this to ao3 later too #if i have more energy i might write a third part with a certain someone

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breadbrobin · 4 months

Note

hello, hello!! first of all, i just wanna tell you that your fics got me kickin' my feet and shi. with that said, can i request a luke castellan x gn! reader where reader is a minor god's kid and so they're staying at cabin 11 it was just this fluffy thing where luke and them are just being domestic and all that, like almost acting like parents to the younger kids? i'm such a sucker for domestic fluff it's INSANE

lego blocks

luke castellan x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[gn!child of eos reader]

summary: parental figures are hard to come by at camp half-blood, so you and luke (barely old enough to not need them yourselves) take up the mantle where you can. and, well, it’s the hermes cabin, so it’s a little more chaotic than anyone bargained for.

warnings: like two minor swear words, pure fluff, kissing, reader is called pretty (but reader is still gn)

word count: 1.4k

(hiiii omg thank you for this request it’s so cute and was so fun to write!! and thank you for your compliments ahhh you’re so sweet! AND DOMESTIC FLUFF IS WHERE ITS AT FR i can’t believe i haven’t written any before smhhhh)

——————————————

scarcely a day in the hermes cabin went by without an injury, an issue or an altercation.

just in the last week alone, you’d seen a fist fight, an argument, many stolen belongings, three bad nightmares and six threats of death or violence. it was your job (unofficially) to diffuse the tension. and it was luke’s job (officially) to have your back.

just like every morning, you woke up at dawn. as a child of eos, goddess of the dawn, you were always awake with the sun. the moment dawn struck, you, like the apollo cabin, snapped awake. it was something you’d complained with them about many times, but it eventually became something you found yourself at least trying to enjoy.

you slipped out of bed quietly and padded across the dim cabin to the door, stepping out onto the porch to watch as the sky turned from dark blues to soft pinks.

just as the sun was beginning to peek through the trees, you heard footsteps behind you.

“morning,” luke’s gravelly morning voice reached you as he rested his chin on your shoulder and hugged you from behind. “pretty today.”

“it is,” you sighed contently, leaning back into him.

he yawned. “meant you.”

you smiled and turned in his arms, pressing a kiss just beside his lips. he pouted.

“brush your teeth first, and then i’ll kiss you properly,” you teased.

he just sighed a little, a small gracing his face, before looking away to watch the sunrise.

you had only around ten minutes before you had to wake everyone else in the cabin up, and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to enjoy the peaceful quiet and sweet chirping of birds in the trees for as long as you could.

it would become hectic later, when you had to rouse everyone from their sleep and rush them to the dining pavilion for breakfast. you never enjoyed it, and you often wondered how luke had managed it on his own before you came along. so you soaked up the sun rays peeking through the leaves, watching as the world around you turned from blue to gold in a dazzling array of colours that made you ever grateful for your parentage, and relaxed in the warmth of luke’s embrace. the peace wouldn’t last for long. it never did.

“tom, put the knife down!” you called across the room as you moved a chess piece along the board. a groan came from a few bunks over and the sound of a knife hitting the floor echoed. “and, max, will you please stop trying to fight jennifer? she’s gonna kick your ass again, and i’m not even gonna tell her off or patch you up.”

a disappointed, “fine!” came back in return, followed by jennifer’s teasing.

“jennifer!”

“sorry!” she replied.

your chess opponent, a young girl you were almost sure was a daughter of athena, scowled at your move and studied the board, giving you a chance to look around at the hermes cabin.

it was your scheduled downtime between activities and dinner, and while some of the residents of cabin 11 were out around camp, many were inside playing games or hanging out. so, that was where you were—diffusing the tension every time you had to and pretending to enjoy chess because sandy really wanted to play, and who were you to deny her hobbies?

two hands landed on your shoulders and a kiss pressed to your cheek. you could smell the familiar scent of pine, sword polish and leather—luke.

“hey, babe,” he said softly. “any issues?”

sandy moved a piece on the board. “check.”

“again?” you leaned forward in shock. “okay, uh… yeah, the only issue is how i win this game, actually. oh, and tom’s got that knife back somehow and he won’t stop threatening khalid with it. i’m a little concerned about them. max and jen should be fine now, but maybe check on them? oh, and make sure callie hasn’t stolen any snacks again? last time, she got really sick and—“

“and we stayed up all night making sure she was okay, i remember. i’ll check on presley too. make sure he’s not drawing on the walls again.” luke patted your shoulders gently as he stepped away. “i got it. you focus on winning.”

“i’m trying,” you pouted. realistically, you weren’t too bad at chess. however, you felt like it was only fair to give sandy a chance to show off, since she’d been in the hermes cabin, unclaimed, for a month now. you knew how that felt. before your mother claimed you, you’d been unclaimed for just under two months. in all fairness, you’d always flown under the radar, until your sunshine and smiles reputation breached the walls you’d attempted to build up and you started dating the golden boy of camp half-blood. the second that had happened, just over seven months ago, everything changed. suddenly, you had respect, appreciation, love, family. so maybe you didn’t have your own cabin. and maybe you were stuck in one that was full to the brim of kids. and maybe you had to be somewhat of a parent for many of those kids—those who missed their families, who had never had families, who had never had a place to call their own. but did you mind? not at all. it would have been impossible without luke though. it was like he could read your mind sometimes. he knew, just as well as you did, all of the ins and outs of the kids in your cabin, how to appease the older kids, entertain the younger ones, and make sure the cabin was still standing by the end of the day. you’d never know what you did in a past life to deserve him, but it had to have been something goddamn saintly.

finally, you moved a piece. you knew it would easily put you in checkmate, but you didn’t mind.

sandy’s eyes lit up. she moved her knight into position and looked up at you, grinning widely. “checkmate!”

“no way!” you protested. “how did you even—?”

“i’m good at chess.” she blushed a little.

“uh, yeah, you are.” you extended a hand over the small table to her. “good game.”

“good game.” she shook your hand with a smile and skipped away to gloat to her friends.

luke’s arm slipped around your shoulders as he sat next to you. “you let her win?”

“no, of course not,” you lied with a smile. “and if i did i’d never compromise my dignity by telling you.”

you could see his smile out of the corner of your eye. “sure. my bad.”

you hummed and turned to kiss him, but just before your lips could meet, a resounding “ew!!” echoed through the cabin.

you pulled away to see what was going on. maybe another bug needed dealing with? or someone had thrown up or wet their pants? no. everyone was staring at you and luke. you frowned. “wait, what?”

“you guys were about to kiss,” tom cringed, somehow holding a new knife. “that’s gross.”

luke laughed while you shook your head in amusement.

“it’s not gross!” you protested. “and put that knife down.”

“it is!” one of the slightly older girls exclaimed as tom dropped the knife on his bunk with a groan.

murmurs of agreement followed.

you laughed along with luke as he cupped your cheek in his hand and kissed you, deliberately slow and sweet, much to the chagrin of the campers around you.

you pulled away first, laughing, as someone threw a lego block at you and luke, hitting you in the arm lightly.

“hey!” luke laughed and tossed it back in their general direction. “no one throws lego blocks at my partner.”

before either of you could do anything, lego blocks were flying.

through your laughs and trying to hide behind luke as a shield, you could only feel love for your boyfriend and the kids you both chose to spend your time looking after. despite the fact that they threw legos at you, and despite the fact that you weren’t related to any of them. this was your family. a messed up, too big, far too crowded unit of kids and teenagers, all crammed in one room, connected by two things alone: the fact that you were all thrust into this messed up magical world with no preparation, and love.

and lego blocks, apparently.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell

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leaentries · 5 months

Text

late nights | nico hischier

summary: soft kisses with nico and his girl

warnings: none (this is insanely sappy)

a/n: sorry if this was too cheesy, i was in a mood

the captain’s girl masterlist

The night was peaceful, inky black coating the once blue sky. The curtains to the balcony were slightly open, letting in a soft breeze. A single lamp on the corner table provided a warm glow to the room.

A soft hue provided by the dim light of the TV flashed over the back wall, behind the couch where you rested, straddled over Nico’s waist comfortably. His hands held your body to his, as if he was scared you’d disappear. Your own tangled themselves in the soft, dark locks at the nape of his neck.

You softly tugged at them, mindlessly occupying your fingers. Nico’s deep brown eyes poured into your own, love dancing around the both of you. Lovesick smiles wore down your mouths. A welcomed silence adorned the apartment, neither of you wanting to disturb the intimate moment.

His chest rose slowly, meeting your hoodie-clad body with every breath. Your nose brushed his as you brought down your forehead to rest on Nico’s. Shutting your eyes, you relished in the bliss that was Nico Hischier. Everything about him was intoxicating. The way he talked, the way he smelled, even the way he would tease you. You could never quite get enough of him.

Not that you’d ever want to.

Loving Nico was the single most greatest privilege you could, or would ever have. Having him like this, body pressed against yours so tightly was a blessing. You were convinced Nico was made just for you.

He loved you, cared for you, but most of all, he understood you. Being able to release every emotion or thought without the worry of being judged was something that came so naturally with him. Loving him was as easy as breathing, and you needed him like you needed air.

You knew you could never love anyone else. Nico occupied your entire heart, mind, and soul. He was your person.

Nico’s nose nudged your cheek gently, pulling you from your thoughts. It was almost scary how easily he consumed you.

You opened your eyes, looking into his warm awaiting ones. He flickered down to your lips, silently signaling what he wanted. An amused smile found home on your face, before leaning in to slot your mouths together softly.

Nico kissed back immediately, quietly humming in satisfaction.

Although Nico was your everything, it could be argued you meant more to him. His entire world spun for you, and without you he wouldn’t exist. You were the sun, being able to brighten his life by just simply being. He would fall in love with you a million times over if he could. He would choose you in every lifetime.

He never understood what it was like to be able to bare your soul to someone until you. Nico honestly didn’t know if he could survive you, but his heart was having a hell of a time doing it. You took over every aspect of his life in the best way, Nico finding pieces of you in everything he did. There was something so beautiful, so everlasting about the way he loved you. The expanse his heart goes for you is infinite.

His love for you is infinite.

Your lips moved against his in a soft rage. The warmth of his lips spread from your head to your toes, igniting a wonderful dull flame in your belly. His face chased yours every time you slightly moved, not wanting to lose the tingling sensation you brought to him.

You swallowed every sigh that left his throat, drinking him up like he was the last drop of water. He was addictive, and you were hooked.

Eventually, you pulled away to regain your breath. Nico’s chest heaved slightly, matching you. His lips were red and swollen, his face stuck in a blissed-out daze. No doubt you looked the same. He brought a hand up to your jaw, pulling your head back to him.

If Nico was water then you hoped you didn’t know how to swim because, oh, how you wanted to drown in him.

#the captain’s girl au!#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fluff #nh13 #njd #new jersey devils #leawrites💋

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notthefirstfallenangel · 8 months

Text

Memories IV

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, amnesia

Summary: You had your memory wiped after a messed-up mission. All that you remember is your childhood and fragmented glimpses of your teenage and adult years. Poor Simon, your would-be hubby, is left to pick up the pieces when you can't even recall his existence.

Words: 3.6k

A/N: Hey there! Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I know the fandom has been going through a tough time lately, and I just wanted to remind you to take care of yourself, especially your mental health. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. Stay strong! ❤️

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

The blood-red sun sank slowly below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the world. The sky was a tapestry of oranges and purples, fading into blue and black as night began to creep in. You stood at the entrance of your home, feeling strange tingles in your chest as you paused on the threshold. Simon was behind you, his tall frame blocking out what little light remained outside and casting a long shadow across the front hall.

“Welcome home,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

You stood there, unable to move. You felt like your limbs were made of lead and rooted to the spot. Your mind was a tempest of emotions; you were grateful to be free from the hospital walls, but deep down, terror lurked. Nervous anticipation rose inside as you feared what truth lay ahead about yourself that could shatter the delicate mirrors of your own reflection.

Simon seemed to sense your hesitation and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“You alright, love?” he asked, concern in his voice.

You nodded slowly, staring into his dark eyes, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him. Simon had been by your side every step of the way, watching as you slowly pieced your life back together. He had been there for every physical therapy session, every doctor’s appointment, every setback and triumph.

He had remained a constant in your life, a source of strength and support when you needed it most.

You slowly turned to face him as Simon’s hand remained on your shoulder. You looked up at his face, illuminated by the dim light coming from the living room, and took in his sharp features. His jawline was chiselled, and his eyes were piercing, exuding a sense of confidence and ease that you found reassuring. You felt a sudden urge to lean in and kiss him, to feel his lips on yours and forget about the world outside. But instead, you stepped back and shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts.

“I’m okay, thank you. It’s just strange... being back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Simon nodded in understanding, his hand still on your shoulder, and gestured for you to follow him into the living room. You walked past him, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own, and took in your surroundings.

After months in the sterile hospital room, everything felt surreal now that you finally got to come home. The world outside looked different as if it had changed in some way while you were confined to the hospital bed. You felt a sense of trepidation as you took in the sights and sounds of the city around you. It was all so overwhelming, so unfamiliar. You didn’t know how to navigate this new world without your memories. But as you stepped inside the house, a sense of comfort washed over you. The scent of lavender furniture polish wafted from within the house, helping to ease the tension in your body.

Simon placed your bags down with a thud like an anchor being dropped from his shoulders. He seemed to sense your unease and gently steered you towards the living room. The familiar surroundings filled you with warmth and peace, and for a brief moment, everything felt just right.

The living room was bathed in soft light, its walls lined with framed photos and paintings, some of which seemed vaguely familiar. You began to explore them, feeling an odd mixture of surprise and recognition as your gaze swept across each face in turn. Some were of Simon and you together, others were friends you had no recollection of. Yet still, something about them made your heart feel warm.

As you studied the photographs, Simon watched quietly as if waiting for you to come to some realisation. But the memories remained just beyond your reach. You could almost taste the bittersweet nostalgia on your lips, yet nothing solid materialised.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you let your fingers brush over the frames, tracing the outlines of the people in the photographs as if trying to remember them.

You stopped at one picture, a group photo of Simon, you, and several others at what appeared to be a night of celebrations. Everyone was smiling and laughing, their faces filled with joy. You looked at each person in the photo, trying to place them in your memory, but nothing came to mind.

“Who are they?” you asked, pointing to the group in the photograph.

Simon came over to stand beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “These are your teammates— our teammates. The ones who’ve got your back in the field and in the mess. They’re family.”

You shook your head, “I don’t remember them,” you said with a hint of frustration.

Simon placed a hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly. “It’s, uh, it’s alright, love. You’ll remember soon enough. Take your time. It’ll come to you, alright? So no need to be too anxious.”

But will I really? You wondered silently to yourself.

With a sigh, you turned away from the wall and towards Simon with an uncertain smile.

You noticed that he had changed out of his usual hoodie and was wearing a black leather jacket with a white shirt, looking more put-together than usual, as if he was trying to impress you. The tattoos on his forearm peeked out from under the sleeves of his jacket, adding to his edgy persona.

He frantically spent the day before scrubbing and scouring the house until it shone in perfect preparation for your long-awaited arrival. He felt like a nervous teenager on his first date, desperate to make a good impression. But he knew that this was different. This was about making you feel at home, helping you regain a sense of familiarity in a world that had become so foreign.

You turned to look at another photo, this time of Simon and you with a dog. The memories suddenly came flooding back, and your eyes lit up as you remembered the dog’s name.

“That’s Riley!” you exclaimed, feeling a slight sense of victory in finally remembering something.

“Riley! Here, boy!” you called.

But there was no barking, no sound of paws running across the floor. The house was eerily silent, save for the sound of your own breathing.

Simon’s expression turned grave as he looked at you, his hand still resting on your back.

“No, that, uh...Love,” Simon he said softly.” He... He passed, somethin’ like years ago.”

Your heart sank at Simon’s words, and tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You felt a sense of overwhelming loss, as if a part of you had died with the dog. You tried to remember the last time you had seen Riley. Still, the memory was elusive, like a dream that faded upon waking.

Simon saw the tears in your eyes and stepped forward to wrap you in a tight hug. You breathed him in, the smell of his cologne mixed with something else, something comforting like home.

You attempt to grasp at Riley’s memory, but your mind is foggy, and all you can recall is a faint trace of his affection. The anguish seizes you as you try to imagine the days spent together, playing fetch in the park and snuggling up on the couch, but all that remains are empty spots in your heart and mind. Burying your face in Simon’s chest, a harsh truth crashed down on you: You couldn’t even grieve properly because you didn’t remember the moments that connected you and Riley.

Simon’s stomach churned with guilt as he watched you suffer the same agony of Riley’s loss all over again. He had been so busy trying to make everything perfect for your return that he failed to factor in how hard it would be for you to come to terms with what had been taken away. Yet, despite the sorrow and regret, a glimmer of optimism flickered in his chest that perhaps you’d find the strength to remember even more. But for now, Simon knew you needed space and time to come to terms with everything that had happened.

As the two of you stood there in silence, lost in your thoughts, Simon’s grip on you tightened, and he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and it calmed the storm raging inside you.

When Simon finally pulled away, he gave you a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t wanna spring that on you.”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the loss. “It’s okay,” you said. It wasn’t.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No, not now,”

Simon nodded, his gaze softening. “Alright... listen ‘ere, love. You have been eatin’ those crappy hospital meals. You wanna get something new in your body and your system, yeah?” he said gently as his fingers brushed against yours in a comforting gesture.” I’ll cook somethin’ proper. You’re gonna love it.”

You nodded in agreement, not having the energy to argue. It had been a while since you’d had a home-cooked meal, and the hospital food left a lot to be desired. You followed Simon into the kitchen, taking in the warm, cozy space. It was small but had everything you needed, including a small dining table and chairs. The countertops were cluttered with various kitchen appliances and utensils, but everything was clean and tidy.

Simon rummaged through the fridge and pantry, his eyes scanning the shelves for something to cook.

As he gathered the ingredients for a simple pasta dish, you watched him move around the kitchen with ease. There was something about the way he moved, with such grace and purpose, that made you feel drawn to him. He was like a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless in his pursuit of whatever he wanted.

You noticed how his muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he chopped vegetables, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of attraction in your chest. You almost felt guilty for feeling this way about a man you didn’t remember. You knew you two were engaged, but it felt strange to be drawn to someone you had no recollection of. Being with Simon felt familiar, like coming home even though you couldn’t remember why. It was as if your body recognised him before your mind did.

The hospital breakdown was a pivotal moment in your relationship, and it seemed you two had struck a deal.

And yet, even though your memory didn’t seem any clearer, there was still a sense that your outlook had changed.

You seemed more vulnerable, more reliant on him for comfort and guidance. The barriers and walls you used to keep him away with were crumbling, and the two of you were starting to form a real connection.

This is progress, Simon told himself, hopefully. This is an improvement.

Simon felt both terrified and excited by this newfound closeness. He was scared to get too close too soon, scared of the pain of rejection if your memory did return and you chose not to stay with him. But at the same time, he could feel himself falling even deeper in love with every passing moment.

He wanted to give you some space, but his heart ached for yours.

You wished there was some way to go back in time and remember who you used to be together—but there just wasn’t. You didn’t know how to be the person Simon remembered, and that scared you. You wanted more than anything to make him happy, but it felt like no matter what you did or said, it wouldn’t be enough for him.

After dinner, he showed you the bedroom. The room was simple but elegant, with a queen-sized bed in the centre and a large window overlooking the backyard. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the bedding was white and fluffy, inviting you to sink in and drift off to sleep.

“I...I don’t want to take your bed.”

Simon smiled warmly at you. “It’s our bed, alright?” he said, his hand reaching out to take yours. “I ain’t gonna fight you over who needs to sleep where. I have a couch; lemme sleep on it.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said, looking up at him with a small smile. “Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping on the couch?”

Simon shook his head, his hand still holding yours. “Look, love. We’re both tired here. I want to take care of ya and make sure you’re comfortable. So, you don’t gotta fight, and I ain’t gonna be arguing, or I’m gonna have to tie you down, and force a sleep mask over your eyes, yeah?”

“Okay, Okay,” you laughed. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Simon leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Alright, you rest up. I’ll see ya in the morning,” he said before turning to leave the room.

You watched him go, feeling a sense of longing wash over you. You wished you could remember what it was like to be with him, to feel his touch and his love.

Laying in bed, the day’s events replayed in your mind like a movie reel. The memory of Riley’s passing still weighed heavily on your heart. Still, there was something else tugging at the edges of your consciousness. It was like watching a horror movie with the sound turned down low; you could sense fear and trepidation from the dimly lit scenes playing out before you, but you couldn’t make out any details.

Your heart raced as you tried to piece together the fragments of this unknown memory, but it slipped away as quickly as it came, leaving you even more frightened than before.

You tried to sleep, but deep in your chest, you felt the beginnings of fear build. You turned over and over again in bed, growing more agitated by the minute. The shadows on the wall from the lamp beside it stretched out like malevolent spirits that wanted nothing more than for you to be afraid. Nothing to see here, they would say as they writhed and clawed at you with their formless hands, almost touching you before receding back into the darkness. Your feet move slowly through the darkness. The floor is cold under your feet as you step lightly through this unfamiliar place that once was your house.

“Damn it,” you said, the fear in your voice palpable in the silent room. You reached for the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and flooding the room with light. The shadows scattered, leaving nothing but the familiar sight of the bedroom. You took deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart.

It was just a nightmare, you told yourself. It’s just a silly, irrational fear.

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Something was lurking in your subconscious that you couldn’t quite grasp but knew was there. Something that made your skin crawl and your heart race.

You got out of bed, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.

Your feet move slowly through the darkness, the floor creaking beneath your weight. You move towards the door, your hand reaching out to grasp the doorknob. As you turn it, the door swings open with a low groan, revealing the dark hallway beyond.

Your heart thunders as you take the first step into the hallway. The darkness seems to encroach on you, swallowing up the light from the bedroom. You take another step forward, your eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. You could hear the light snoring coming from Simon on the couch, but it didn’t bring you any comfort.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something lurking in the darkness waiting for you.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the darkness consuming everything in its path. You felt like you were walking through a nightmare, one that you couldn’t escape from. You tried to call out for Simon, but your voice was hoarse and barely audible.

Suddenly, you heard a sound from down the hallway. It was faint, but it was there. A soft whisper, calling out your name.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You couldn’t see anything, but you could feel a presence in the darkness. You could feel its breath on your neck, its fingers brushing against your skin.

You turned around and ran towards the couch where Simon was sleeping when you saw a figure emerge from the shadows. It was a woman, her face twisted in a grotesque grin.

You could feel your feet sinking into the ground as if the floor was swallowing you whole.

You tried to scream, but the darkness choked your voice. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were sure it would burst out of your ribcage. And then, suddenly, the darkness lifted, like a veil being lifted from your eyes.

Just a dream, a nightmare that left you gasping for breath as you sat in bed. Your heart still raced, and your skin was slick with sweat.

You looked around the room, relieved to see that it was just a dream. But the feeling of terror lingered, its tendrils wrapping around your heart and refusing to let go.

You slid out of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. The air was thick with a sense of dread, and you needed to shake it off.

You moved quietly to the living room, past the vase of flowers on the table, their petals soft and pliable beneath your fingers.

Simon lay asleep on the couch near the window, bathed in moonlight that filtered through the blinds. You approached him, hovering over his still form like a guardian angel. The outline of his face was sharp yet softened by shadows; you could see the rise and fall of his chest under the comforter he had kicked off while sleeping. As you considered waking him, his eyes fluttered open.

“you good?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep and concern.

You jumped, startled by his sudden awakening.

“Oh, I’m... nothing,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I just couldn’t sleep and wanted to come out here for a bit.”

Simon frowned, his eyes dark with concern.

“C’mere,” he said, lifting the edge of the comforter. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was a good idea, but the weight of loneliness was too much to bear. As you nestled closer, his arms wound around you, and the press of his chest at your back reassured you that everything would be alright. His breath on the nape of your neck mingled with the scent of lavender fabric softener, and his heartbeat against your spine slowed to match your own. His touch calmed your racing mind until all that remained were the gentle brushstrokes of his fingertips along your arm.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle in the darkened room.

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with your fears, but then decided to tell him. “I had a nightmare,” you said softly, feeling embarrassed.

“You want to-?”

“No,” you stopped him. You didn’t want to talk about it, not wanting to relive the terror of the nightmare.

He didn’t push it. “Okay... If you have that nightmare again, I’ll kick that thing’s arse, I will. Now, close your eyes. You need your sleep, darlin’.” his voice was low and soothing.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his protectiveness and felt a sense of security as he pulled you closer to him.

“Sweet dreams, okay? And close those eyes of yours, dear,” he murmured, kissing your head.

You smiled, and soon, with the warmth of his body next to yours, you fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of a shushed argument coming from the front door. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up, groggy and disoriented.

You got up from the couch and walked towards the front door, your bare feet padding against the hardwood floor. As you got closer, you could hear the muffled voices growing louder.

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should interfere, but curiosity got the better of you. Slowly, you pushed the door open, and sunlight streamed through the opening, flooding the dark living room.

“Go away. Now.” Simon said, his voice ringing with anger, “I swear to bloody god, I’ll break your fakin’ nose.”

He was a silhouette in the murky morning light, feet planted firmly as he stood before an unfamiliar figure. His shoulders were tense, and a single bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His face was concealed by the usual black balaclava that melded seamlessly into his dark clothing.

The other man seemed taken aback by Simon’s outburst. Still, he quickly regained his composure and stepped forward, revealing himself in the dim light.

“C’mon, I just want to see ‘er”.

The Scottish lilt pierced through the thick silence like a knife, sending a shiver down your spine.

Like an electric shock, you felt a sudden jolt of energy as images of the past suddenly emerged from the fog of amnesia. Images, sounds, and conversations flooded your mind as fragments of memories all clicked into place, and you remembered him.

“Soap?”

Tags: @8sy-errah8 @yyiikes @spencerreidisbae123 @oranoyaora @sae1kie @originaldeerhottub @cr4shposts @caramlizedtomatoes @ilovehyperfixating @ghostlythots @dotcie

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x female reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #task force 141 #ghost cod #mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x female reader

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dc418writes · 1 month

Text

✨Pairing✨: felon!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader

Summary🪄: Surprisingly, you’re Ari’s first stop when he gets out of prison

🚨: 18+ NO MINORS!! Ari (first and foremost because hello☝🏾lol), angst, talks of prison, allusion to violence (male-male), allusion to childhood trauma, a few bad language words, unprotected happy adult fun times (everyone please be safe!)

A/N🎤: Hi! So this is my entry for the Cum Together Extravaganza created by the amazing, talented, wonderful, whore-mone inducing @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 lol, and I hope everyone enjoys☺️! *This idea is loosely based off Nicolas Cage’s character from Con Air (if you know you know✨)

*DISCLAIMER!: although visual was created by me via Canva, I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest*

Prompt: Pining + Running into each other after a long time apart + Frantic Kisses

His heavy boots stop just a foot or two away from the familiar steps he’d climbed plenty of times before. A mix of emotions swirling through his brain causing a tightness in his chest.

He shouldn’t be here.

Not after he’d all but physically pushed you out the visitation room that day. A common tactic of self sabotage he developed over the years, along with his way of trying to protect you from the eventual hurt he knew he’d put you through.

You were so angelic that day. Your natural glow competing with the sun outside shining through the window against your soft skin seemingly made of gold. Brown eyes full of worry, yet still holding that sparkle Ari had never experienced from anyone before. This wasn’t a place for you to be. A place that would soon tarnish your purity - so white the freshest snow, having fallen directly from the sky above, seemed dirty.

“You’re hurt,” you stated wanting so badly to reach out and try to do something for the blue and purple bruise on his cheek. To clean the dried blood around the stitch in his right eyebrow, but you keep your hands to yourself following the strict “no touching” rule.

He only shrugged. Clearly uncaring of whatever happened, but there was also a dimness to his spirit.

Since your first meeting, you could tell there was something hidden behind the walls he’d built. Sense a complicated past before he felt comfortable enough to tell you some of what he’d gone through. However this was different. Past the point of reverting back to the old Ari that was known as a troubled, aloof hermit, it’s almost as if this was a completely different man.

“I uh wanted to bring you cookies, but the officer said no,” you started again, trying to change the subject since Ari wouldn’t tell you what happened. “Something about possible contraband smuggling? As if I could sneak something in a small cookie. Plus it’s me of all people! Where would I even get-,”

“Don’t come back here,” he finally spoke in that gruff voice. It takes you back at first, lightly chuckling to yourself thinking he was joking. His serious eyes - somewhat dark and with new adjoining bags from his lack of sleep - tell you otherwise quickly causing a furrow to your brows.

“Wha-What do you mean-?”

“You don’t need to be waiting for me. Just…leave.”

“B-But I love you Ari.”

He shakes his head before standing to his feet. “We’re done,” he calls over his shoulder as he reaches the metal door. Whoever was in charge apparently heard him from the pad shining green to grant him entrance back to the waiting hall where another officer met him to reapply his cuffs and escort him to his cell.

All the while ignoring your cries of his name and how you pleaded for him to talk to you.

But later that night, staring at the discolored white ceiling as he lied in his top bunk on an uncomfortable, lumpy mattress, it’s all he could hear. Those same tears that ran down your cheeks now silently running down his.

“Fuck,” he silently curses to himself while his fingers pass through his almond strands as he turns away - now hyper aware of how strange he probably looked to your neighbors just standing in your yard. He should’ve just gone to the halfway house he’d been recommended from the transfer counselor.

Try to stay far from you and this part of town for that matter.

He was slowly realizing though, that the heart he thought was closed off desperately craved attention only you could give. Only wanted your warm touch and smile that soothed a childhood ache he’d long suppressed.

Just as he moves to descend your stone path, the front door creaks open to staccato taps on your wooden porch. There’s a continuous clink of metal followed by excited barks as the black dachshund runs down the steps and around Ari’s feet.

“Barry! You can’t run-”

Beautiful as a painting in a museum, there you stood in your cut off jean shorts and some older looking shirt. Your hair much shorter than the last time he saw you eight years ago, but the pixie cut only brought more attention to your gorgeous face and adorable cheeks.

Other than that, it’s as if you hadn’t aged a day.

“A-Ari?,” you stammer stepping further out onto your porch.

He has to clear his throat to get rid of the nerves blocking his words from escaping. “I…I’m sorry for just showin’ up like this. Would’ve called, but when they gave me my phone back it was dead.”

“So..you’re out?”

“Yea,” he softly smiles. You don’t return it though looking as if you’d seen a ghost while staying planted on the top step. Even Barry had returned back to your side, circling a couple times until he felt comfortable enough to lie down. “This was a mistake. Clearly she doesn’t want you here.”

“I’ll uh leave then,” Ari says nervously scratching the back of his neck after a long - and awkward enough - moment of silence between you two. “I didn’t mean to bother-”

Before he can finish, you’re running down the steps - not caring of the dirt and grass on your bare feet. He’s prepared for your deserved anger, whether that be yelling, shoves, or even punches. Instead, your fists clasp the front of his shirt as you pull him down to meet your lips.

After years apart his hands still automatically find their usual place on your body bringing you closer. Ari’s right on the side of your neck, tilting your chin however he needed to gain the access to your mouth he missed, while his left dragged from your hip to the middle of your back holding you to him.

Your moan hitting him in a deep, long ignored place that has him embarrassed like a teenage boy how fast his blood runs southward.

The need for air has you both begrudgingly parting, while your foreheads stay connected. “I’m sorry..for everything,” he whispers letting his thumb graze along your petal soft bottom lip. It’s as if he thinks you’ll break he’s so gentle - like it’s a fragile piece of artwork he dared touch.

"I didn't-"

"Shh," you reply leaning up to peck his lips once more. "Later."

Your lips barely separate journeying the short distance from your front door to your bedroom. Both of them red and swollen, yet neither of you attempt to stop as your back hits the light blue comforter - fluffy and soft as a cloud.

His hands grip your thighs curling along his sides, yet fail to move where you need them most making you whimper as his mouth slides to your neck. Taking matters into your own hands, you pull his shirt over his muscled back - silently giggling to yourself and filling with a sense of pride hearing his pleasured groan as your nails rake against his warm skin.

They’re set for his buckle next, but Ari’s quick to use his rougher and stronger ones to pin on either side of your head. “Ari please,” you whine eagerly trying to grind your hips so your soaking core can get some type of relief. You know he’s desperate for something too briefly nudging the tent formed in front of his pants.

“I know, I know.” He unsuccessfully tries to kiss the pout from your lips. “I..I wanna take my time tonight. It’s been eight years sweetheart.”

The deprived and needy part of you wants to counter, urging him for the opposite since it’s been so long. Instead, you nod letting him completely take control.

Slowly, he helps remove your clothes before open mouth kisses and taps of his tongue flow down from your neck and across your heaving chest to your stomach. You moan arching your back to lift your breasts closer to his face when he returns there taking his time attacking one nipple with his tongue while the other is groped and plucked in his free hand.

By the time he finally reaches your waiting and wet core, it only takes one lick and your sweet release is covering his beard.

“S-Sorry,” you stammer feeling your skin heat even more from shame not wanting that to happen so quickly.

“Sorry?,” he softly chuckles before leaving a kiss on your mound. “That’s what’s supposed to happen.”

The sound nearly has you in tears knowing your Ari was back. The one you knew loved you just as much as you loved him.

Having had a taste after going so long without, he can’t wait for more switching between his skillful tongue and fingers until your juices flow again, His mouth attached to you; greedily slurping everything you could give him. Your fingers are seemingly locked in his hair as he rises enough to remove his pants. Grunting as he grabs the base - past the point of painfully hard - to direct himself inside you.

“Fuck,” he moans into your neck feeling you rapidly pulse around him. So warm and tight he has to restrain himself from taking you like a wild animal.

Not that you would mind.

“M’not gonna last baby.”

“Spose to happen,” you slur clutching around him urging him to move.

His hand tightly pinning your hip to the bed, his thrusts start slow yet hard before gaining speed the closer he feels. Simultaneously, your cries of his name get louder as well while his mouth and tongue move along your neck and earlobe.

“Shit, I feel you right there baby come on. Come with me.” You can’t comprehend anything with your brain in this foggy, love drunk state, yet somehow your body complies when his thumb finds your swollen and throbbing nub squirting against his skin and down to the sheets below. “Mm good girl.”

His final pumps have you filled until no more can stay. A small mix of both your releases leaking from your hole with every surge of his hips until he’s drained.

Exhausted, he carefully tries to pull out but your whines have him stopping. Softly smiling to himself while slowly lowering until he’s comfortably laying on top of you. “Calm down I’m here.”

Soon your even breaths fill his ears and he’s able to lie on his side - gently moving you with him- to completely take in the area surrounding him. His fingertips mindlessly tracing along your thigh as he reacquaints himself to your bedroom. It was fitting for you in every way, from the light yellow of the walls to the books lining the shelves he built for you long ago. Your few stuffed animals in a wicker basket in the corner as if they were prepared for bed themselves.

Ari notices one in particular - a white bunny with long ears and pink bows he bought you during a trip to the store one day - on your dresser next to a framed picture you must’ve secretly took. He appeared to be taking a break from something dressed in a gray tee, dark jeans, and work-boots with his utility belt on his hips. A bottle of water in his hand lifted to his lips as he looked off somewhere in the distance. Now that he thought about it, he was watching a bird peck the ground trying to find bugs or seeds to eat.

And he looked so peaceful. So calm for once in his tormented life. He had you to thank for that being kind and willing enough to share your light when he fought so hard against it.

In the bit of moonlight peeking through the blinds, he can make out ‘Home’ in the corner of the picture causing the slightest curl to his lips as he holds you closer.

“You kept putting up with me,” he quietly speaks pecking your temple. “So patient even after everything. Know I’m never leavin you again sweetheart. I’m home for good.”

#CT 2024 raffle entry #ari levinson #ari levinson au #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x black!reader #red sea diving resort #ari levinson x woc #chris evans #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x woc!reader #CT 2024 community extravaganza

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dilemmaontwolegs · 9 months

Note

danny ... finding out the boy in the picture ... is the v card thief !!!! Kicking my feet and giggling !!

The Taste of Temptation || DR3 {7}

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst, smut, fluff, soft!danny WC: 2.5K F1 Masterlist Story: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight Snapshots: One || Two || Three || Four || Five Fic Playlist: Die A Happy Man - Thomas Rhett

The colour behind your eyelids dimmed and you opened them wondering where the cloud had come from in the endless blue sky. You immediately sat up and looked around for Danny when you found the cloud in your day was actually Andrew towering over your sun lounger.

“Uh, hi,” you said as he smiled and leaned in to try to hug you. “Woah, what are you doing?”

“We haven’t seen each other in like five years.” His arms were still open expecting to embrace you.

“Exactly.” You grabbed your towel and wrapped it around your body after seeing his eyes roam the skin that was visible.

“Hey baby, is this guy bothering you?” Daniel arrived at your back, his hands cold on your shoulders from going to the lakeside cafe and getting some iced drinks. “Wait, I recognise you - you’re the perv from the picture.”

“What?” Andrew chuckled in confusion.

“You were checking her out at the bar last night.” Daniel opened his phone and shook his head as he saw the picture again, confirming it as he turned it around. “Seriously?”

Andrew laughed and looked at you with a smirk. “I thought it was you but I couldn’t see your face. That ass though, I’d recognise it anywhere.”

“Danny!” you gasped as you leapt to your feet, turning and planting your hands on his chest at the first sign of movement. “There’s a crowd, you know what Christian said.”

“You think I care, kitten?”

“I think he isn’t worth it.” You looked over your shoulder to see an incensing remark about to be sent Daniel’s way. “Andrew, please leave.”

“Andrew huh?” Daniel echoed before his arms curled around your waist and he stared him down from where he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“She told you about me?” he asked with a cocky grin.

You sighed at the stand off you found yourself in the midst of and narrowed your eyes at Andrew hoping he would get the message to piss off but he wasn’t looking at you and seemed content to ruin your day. More and more cameras were coming out as the tension seemed to ripple across the surface of the lake.

“Did she tell you I was her first?” he taunted with a smirk.

“So? I’ll be her last,” Daniel laughed as his hand splayed low across your abdomen, his fingertips dancing across the top of your swimsuit bottoms and drawing Andrew’s eyes down to the movement. “That’s all that matters.”

“Drew, move it along,” your father stated as he arrived, soaking wet from leaving the lake to intervene when he noticed the three of you.

“It’s public property, sir.” Daniel snorted at the switch in character while your dad found his phone with his belongings next to yours, already starting to dial a number. “Who are you calling?”

“Your father.” Andrew was gone before he could hit ‘call’ and he tossed it back on the sun lounger with a shake of his head. “That boy never knew when to walk away.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“It’s not a family reunion without some drama, last time it was Nessa and that boy - what’s his name? - I lose count,” he said with a roll of his eyes before pointing a finger at Daniel’s hand. “I know you’re marrying her, but she’s still my daughter, hands above the waist, son.”

His palms had warmed on your skin and they quickly shifted up to your ribs with a stiff nod. “Yes, sir.”

With your father heading back to the water, Daniel couldn’t resist whispering in your ear, “Imagine if he knew all the bad things I had done to his little girl.”

“I don’t think they are bad things,” you whispered back. “I think they are very, very good.”

“That’s because you are a filthy little minx, my kitten.”

You turned in his arms that remained firmly above your hips and bit your lip as you thought of all the filthy things you wanted him to do. “Wanna head back early?”

His smile turned to a chuckle and his head tilted slightly. “To an empty house? It would be very quiet.”

“Not for long, I’m sure you can change that.”

His hands started to drift to your ass and he swallowed as he watched your tongue wet your lips. “Just how will I do that?”

“I could tell you, or...I could show you.”

“Any other ex-boyfriends I should know about, kitten?” Daniel asked on the drive home from the airport.

“Nope, funnily enough I wasn’t all that interested in dating and men before I met you.”

His eyes to you, quickly reading the honesty on your face before returning to the road. “Then how did Douche-Bag-Drew get a shot?”

You shrugged at the question and tucked your leg up on the seat to rest your chin on your knee as you watched the city come into view. “Naivety, YA books, I don’t know. I thought it was an experience you were meant to have before going off to college or uni. It wasn’t because I was ready or in love. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much, it was horrible.”

He reached across the seat and took your hand, bringing it to his lips so he could kiss your knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

Your brows pinched together in confusion at the apology. “Why?”

“Because you deserved better,” he said softly as he laced his fingers with yours and drove with one hand on the wheel. “I would have laid you down on a bed of rose petals and kissed every inch of your body. I would have made you comfortable and ready for me. I would have made sure you came before I even entered you, gentle and slow.”

His words were sweet and filthy, both making your chest swell with emotion and your pussy throb in reaction. “And that’s why I fell in love with you.”

You weren’t even home for 10 minutes before Daniel was out the door on an errand so you unpacked your bags before taking a shower after the flight left you feeling icky. You took your time assuming he would join you after hearing him pottering around in the apartment but after running out of things to wash and shave you turned the water off. After towelling off, you stepped out of the bathroom and gasped at what you found waiting in the bedroom.

Scented candles lit the room with the curtains drawn shut, the orange glow of each flame spilling across the quilt that was covered in red petals. The playlist you had made with love songs for your wedding was playing quietly from the speakers in the ceiling and Daniel hummed along as he entered the room with two wine stems filled with the special reserve wine of his you loved.

“Baby…” you choked as your eyes began to well with unshed tears and he handed you a glass.

“No bad things tonight, kitten,” he promised before sealing it with a searing kiss that almost made you forget you were holding a glass. You started to place it down on the drawers but he pulled back and lifted it up to your lips. “There’s no rush, love.”

The hint of cinnamon notes in the wine mixed with the rose petals on the bed and Daniel’s woody cologne drove your senses wild as you took a sip. This time he followed you as you placed the glass down, letting you set the pace as you took his hand and walked backwards to the bed. His arms curled around your waist and he picked you up to gently lay you down on the petals. They crushed beneath you and their scent grew stronger as Daniel started to kiss his way down your body.

“That tickles,” you giggled as he made it to your ankles before starting to make his way back. He smiled as he draped one leg over his shoulder and kissed your calf while his hand ran up and down your other leg, the contrast of his hard fingers stark against his soft lips. “I love your legs, kitten, they are stunning, especially when they are wrapped around me.”

Warmth prickled across your skin as his words filled your heart until you were certain it would burst with everything you were feeling. This was the side of Daniel only the people closest to him saw. Everyone else saw him as a comedian or their competition. Few saw the compassionate and caring man that was in front of you. There was a seriousness with his determination to make you feel the best you possibly could that he didn’t even have on the track.

“Let me wrap them around your hips then,” you dared as you wriggled closer, but he just chuckled and shook his head.

“Not yet, I’m taking my time with you.” His hands caressed your thighs, his thumbs drawing soft circles that brought him closer to your core each time as he settled between them. His lips found each stretch mark and blemish, kissing them with sweet murmurs of your beauty and erasing every insecurity you had felt over the years. “I am the luckiest goddamn man in the world, kitten.” Your head fell back onto the quilt as his breath blew across your core and his palms reached the supple skin on your inner thighs, his thumbs spreading you open for him. “Only an idiot would let you go.”

You could only just think clearly enough to comprehend the shade thrown at Andrew but it was forgotten when his tongue teased your entrance, dipping inside to taste your essence before he hummed in contentment. He kept his promise and took his time, keeping you teetering on the edge of bliss until you were lightheaded from the shallow breaths you just managed to gasp. Only when you were begging him, your muscles constantly tense and shaking from how tightly wound up you were, did he press his tongue to your clit and give you the pressure needed for the orgasm to break free.

The room reverberated your cries of pleasure and his tongue was there to lap at the fruits of his labour and elicit every last drop until he was drunk on your taste. Rising to his knees between your legs, you could see his jeans struggling to contain his erection and you begged him to hurry up and rid himself of the clothes he still wore.

You tried to help, reaching for the zip as he unbuckled his belt, but he stood up out of your reach to pull his shirt over his head and then kick his jeans off.

You couldn’t believe this was the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with, he was more than you ever imagined a husband to be when you cast your eyes over his body and watched him fist his cock in his hand. Somehow you had been lucky enough to find a man who would not only die to protect you, but make you feel alive with every breath he had left; a man who could go 300 km/h on the track but take his time loving you in bed.

“Daniel, I love you,” you whispered as if it were a confession and not something you told him everyday - but this was different. He was giving you the experience you should have had the first time, when you lost your virginity too soon and to someone you didn’t love. “I’m ready.”

The weight of his body on yours was reassuring and comforting as he lined himself up, still content to take his time, easing slowly into you until you both moaned when your bodies were completely joined. Your breath mingled as he pressed his forehead to yours and felt your hands dance along his spine, his eyes staring into your soul as he started to leisurely roll his hips, deliberately unrushed despite the primal urge to chase his own release.

You had never felt such a shattering release as you did when his hand travelled down your thigh, gripping the underside of your knee and pulling it so you could wrap your leg around his hip. There was something so intimate in the way his hand glided over your skin, finding the swell of your ass and caressing it with the same softness that sent goosebumps rising along your skin and your heart fluttering erratically.

“Danny,” you moaned as you tried to tell him what was happening, but the words were lost as he felt it for himself, your core clenching around him before erupting in undulating waves that tipped him over the edge of his own self-control.

Your name tumbled from his lips as you felt his cock pulse with his release, feeling the heat of his seed as it filled you and he dropped his head to your shoulder with a peppering of kisses. “Now I’m your first and last, kitten.”

Click here for the next part.

Taglist {1}: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19 @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @ohthemisssery @eviethetheatrefreak @kimi240302 @andydrysdalerogers @formula1mount @storyteller-le @dakotali @daddyslittlevillain @elijahslover

#daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 11 months

Note

Bestie could you pls write something about dadrry taking care of his sick toddler. Just him cuddling them and dotting all over them 🥺

Sick On Tour.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

authors note - this was actually such a cute concept to write about! feel free to send in some concepts if your own by clicking here.

word count - 3.8k

in which, touring europe was meant to be a fun thing to do as a family, but when your toddler suddenly developes a sickness bug, you watch with fond eyes as your husband takes care of your little one, nursing them back to full health.

You stood by the hotel room window, the sun casting a warm glow across the room, as you watched a vibrant blue sky stretching as far as the eye could see.

It was a beautiful day outside, but inside your heart was heavy with concern.

Your three-year-old daughter, Willow, lay curled up in bed, battling a nasty stomach bug which had developed during the middle of the night when she came running from her adjacent hotel bed and onto yours and yours husbands.

The tranquility of the night was abruptly shattered when a soft whimper filled the room, jolting you awake. Your eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dim light, as you turned your head towards the sound.

There, in the faint moonlight, you saw your three-year-old daughter Willow standing by her bed, her little face etched with worry. Instinctively, you sat up, your heart pounding, and motioned for her to come closer. She hesitated for a moment, then shuffled her way towards you, her tiny feet tiptoeing across the carpeted floor.

She crawled onto your bed, her small body trembling. The scent of vomit wafted through the air, and you immediately understood the cause of her distress. Panic surged through you as you glanced at Willow's bed, confirming your suspicion.

"Oh, sweetheart, you've been sick," you whispered, gently pulling her closer. She buried her face against your shoulder, her cries muffled against your nightgown.

Harry stirred beside you, awakened by the commotion. His sleepy eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. Without a word, he reached out to Willow, drawing her into his protective embrace.

"What happened, love?" Harry asked, his voice filled with concern.

Willow hiccuped through her sobs, trying to form words between her tears. "I... I feel... sick," she managed to say, her voice quivering.

You looked at your husband, worry etched across your face. "It's alright, Willow. Mommy and Daddy are here for you," you assured her, rubbing her back in a soothing motion. "Let's get you cleaned up, my love."

Harry carefully lifted Willow from the bed, cradling her against his bare chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as if he were her lifeline. The three of you made your way to the bathroom, where you began the process of cleaning up the mess.

As you gently wiped away the traces of illness, Willow gazed up at you, her wide, tear-filled eyes searching for comfort. "Mommy, I don't feel good," she whimpered.

You kissed her forehead softly, offering words of reassurance. "It's alright, sweetheart. Sometimes our tummies get upset, but we'll take care of you. Daddy and I are here to make you feel better."

Harry, ever the rock in times of need, interjected, his voice filled with warmth. "That's right, princess. We'll take care of you until you're all better."

Returning to the hotel bed, you settled Willow between you and Harry, cocooning her in your embrace. She nestled against her father's chest, seeking solace in his familiar heartbeat. His arms enveloped her, providing a sense of security and protection.

Willow's sobs slowly subsided, her trembling body finding solace in her father's warm embrace. Harry's gentle voice continued to offer words of comfort, soothing her worries as she drifted back to sleep, nestled against his chest.

You had been eagerly looking forward to an afternoon out with Sarah and Glenne for months, when Harry had told you that he was going to be touring in Wales, the three of you were going to go and look round at all the different sights that city had to offer, but now the thought of leaving Willow alone in her weakened state weighed heavily on you.

Every parent hated seeing their child sick, every toddler was bound to get sick just like when you all had the flu and Harry had to cancel some of his shows, you were all suffering with the flu but Willow took it exceptionally hard due to the fact she couldn’t exactly voice all her thoughts and feelings.

Just then, your husband Harry walked into the room, a sympathetic expression on his face which made you snap out of the daze you appeared to be in.

He understood the dilemma you faced and was determined to find a solution.

"Hey, love," Harry began gently, coming over to stand beside you. "I know Willow isn't feeling well, but you've been planning this day with Sarah and Glenne for so long. They've been looking forward to it too. Maybe we can find a way to make it work?"

It was true, seeing as this was one of the only days where you didn’t have anything planned, Harry had told you that it was fine that you go out with the girls and see the city of Cardiff but that was before Willow got sick.

You didn’t want to let your best friends down but you didn’t want to leave your daughter all high and vulnerable.

You turned to face Harry, the sunlight highlighting the worry lines on your forehead. "I can't bear the thought of leaving Willow like this, Harry. She's so sick and uncomfortable. What if she gets worse?"

Harry reached out, taking your hand in his, his touch providing a sense of comfort. "I understand your concerns, sweetheart. But remember, everyone’s here with us., and they all love Willow as much as we do. If I need any help, Mitch is next door who has a toddler himself, he can help take good care of her while you're gone."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Harry, your voice filled with worry. "What if she needs me? What if she feels scared and doesn't understand why I'm not there?"

Harry's voice softened as he pulled you into a reassuring embrace, the warmth of the sun's rays wrapping around you both. "I promise you, love, if Willow needs you, I'll call you immediately. We'll make sure she feels safe and loved. And sometimes, kids surprise us with how resilient they can be. Right now, she needs rest and care, and you deserve a break too."

You hesitated for a moment, torn between your desire to be there for your daughter and the longing to spend time with your friends.

Eventually, you took a deep breath and nodded, drawing strength from Harry's presence. "Okay, Harry. I trust you. Let's give it a try, but just know that you’ll be getting a text at least every twenty minutes to check on Willow.”

A genuine smile lit up Harry's face as he squeezed your hand gently. "Absolutely, love. I’ll keep a close eye on her, and if anything changes, you’ll be getting a call straight away to come back immediately. Sarah and Glenne are waiting for you, and they'll understand if you need to leave early."

With Harry's unwavering support and reassurance, you made your way to the door, the sunlight filtering through the window like a gentle reminder of hope.

"Remember, I love you, and you're just going to be just a phone call away," Harry whispered, his voice carrying a reassuring warmth. "Enjoy your time with Sarah and Glenne, and know that when you return, Willow will be in your arms, feeling better."

With one last glance at Willow, who lay sleeping peacefully, you let the sunlight guide you forward, casting aside your worries for a few hours. The day outside held the promise of healing, and you allowed yourself to immerse in the present moment, trusting in Harry's words and the love that surrounded Willow in your absence.

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Harry stood in the hotel room's small kitchenette, a pot of soup simmering on the stove. The aroma of warm broth and vegetables filled the air, creating a comforting atmosphere.

Once the soup was all cooked, he settled it next to the sippy cup of water on the tray and made his way over to where the hotel bed was.

With a tray in his hands carrying a bowl of warm soup. Willow, his three-year-old daughter, sat propped up against the pillows in the hotel bed, her small frame wrapped in a cosy blanket.

Her cheeks were flushed from the fever, and she looked weak and tired.

"Hey, angel baby," Harry greeted her softly, placing the tray on the nightstand. "I made you some soup. It's going to help make you feel better."

Willow mustered a weak smile, her voice frail. "Thank you, Daddy."

Harry settled himself on the edge of the bed, picking up the spoon and gently blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it down. "Here, sweetheart, open up. Just take small bites."

Willow obediently opened her mouth, allowing Harry to feed her a spoonful of the warm soup. She tried her best to swallow it, but a wave of nausea washed over her, and she coughed, spitting the soup back into the bowl.

"Oh, it's okay, Willow," Harry reassured her, his voice filled with empathy. He grabbed a tissue and gently wiped her mouth. "We'll take it slow, alright? No rush."

Tears welled up in Willow's eyes, frustration evident in her voice. "I don't want to be sick, Daddy."

Harry's heart ached for his daughter as he gathered her into his arms, holding her close. "I know, sweetheart. It's not easy. But we're here with you, and we'll do everything we can to help you feel better."

Willow nestled against her father's chest, seeking comfort in his embrace. Harry stroked her hair soothingly, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Let's try again, okay? Maybe just a tiny sip this time."

Willow nodded, sniffling softly. She took another small sip of the soup, her face scrunching up in discomfort. She swallowed, but her body rebelled, and she vomited once more, tears streaming down her face.

Harry held her tightly, wiping away her tears. "It's alright, Willow. You tried, and that's what matters. We'll find something else that won't upset your tummy."

Willow's voice trembled as she spoke, her disappointment evident. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I just can't."

Harry kissed her forehead, his voice filled with love and understanding. "You don't need to apologize, my love. It's not your fault. We'll find another way to nourish you. How about we try some dry crackers or toast? Something lighter that might be easier for your tummy?"

Willow nodded, finding solace in her father's words. "Okay, Daddy. Maybe that will be better."

Harry gently guided her back onto the pillows, reaching for a plate of crackers and a slice of toast. He placed it within Willow's reach, his voice soothing. "Take your time, sweetheart. Whenever you feel ready, you can have a nibble. And if you're not hungry right now, that's perfectly alright too."

Willow nodded, her energy depleted. "Thank you, Daddy. You're the best."

Harry's heart swelled with love for his daughter as he caressed her cheek. "You're welcome, my brave girl. I'll always be here for you. We'll figure this out together, and you'll feel better soon."

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Harry stood in the bathroom, a concerned look on his face as he carefully prepared a warm bath for his three-year-old daughter, Willow, who was battling a stomach bug. He adjusted the faucets, ensuring the water was just the right temperature to provide some relief to her discomfort.

Taking a deep breath, Harry glanced at the assortment of bath products on the counter. He reached for a bottle of soothing lavender bubble bath, knowing its calming scent might bring some comfort to his little girl.

"Alright, Willow, we're going to have a special bath today to help you feel better," Harry said, his voice filled with gentle reassurance. "Let's make it extra relaxing, shall we?"

Willow, her face pale and tired, nodded weakly. She clutched her stomach, her tiny body aching from the persistent bug. But she trusted her dad to make things a little easier for her.

"Alright, Willow, we're going to have a special bath today to help you feel better," Harry said, his voice filled with gentle reassurance. "Let's make it extra relaxing, shall we?"

Willow, her face pale and tired, nodded weakly. She clutched her stomach, her tiny body aching from the persistent bug. But she trusted her dad to make things a little easier for her.

Harry knelt down beside her, placing a hand on her back. "I know it's been tough, sweetheart, but we'll do our best to make you feel a bit better, alright? The bath will help soothe your tummy."

Willow mustered a faint smile, grateful for her dad's comforting presence. She leaned into him, seeking solace in his touch.

With great care, Harry helped Willow undress, taking his time to ensure she felt safe and comfortable. He selected her favourite towel, soft and fluffy, ready to embrace her delicate skin.

"Alright, Willow, we're going to have a special bath today to help you feel better," Harry said, his voice filled with gentle reassurance. "Let's make it extra relaxing, shall we?"

Willow, her face pale and tired, nodded weakly. She clutched her stomach, her tiny body aching from the persistent bug. But she trusted her dad to make things a little easier for her.

Harry knelt down beside her, placing a hand on her back. "I know it's been tough, sweetheart, but we'll do our best to make you feel a bit better, alright? The bath will help soothe your tummy."

Willow mustered a faint smile, grateful for her dad's comforting presence. She leaned into him, seeking solace in his touch.

With great care, Harry helped Willow undress, taking his time to ensure she felt safe and comfortable. He selected her favorite towel, soft and fluffy, ready to embrace her delicate skin.

As Harry prepared the bath, he added a few drops of the lavender bubble bath, watching as the water transformed into a frothy, fragrant oasis. He swirled it gently, creating a cloud of bubbles that floated atop the surface.

"Look, Willow! We've got magic bubbles today!" Harry exclaimed, his voice filled with playful excitement. "They're here to make you feel all cosy and relaxed."

He lifted her into the tub, ensuring her body was well supported. Willow winced as she eased herself into the warm water, the discomfort evident on her face.

Harry sat on a stool next to the tub, a washcloth and a gentle, fragrance-free soap at hand. He dipped the cloth into the water, wringing it out before carefully washing Willow's body, mindful of her sensitivity.

As he washed her, Harry maintained a soothing conversation, speaking softly and tenderly. He distracted her with stories of their favorite adventures, trying to ease her mind from the uneasiness caused by the stomach bug.

"Remember that time we went to the park and fed the ducks, Willow?" Harry asked, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "They quacked so loudly when you threw bread to them!"

Willow managed a small smile, her eyes flickering with fleeting joy. "Yeah, Daddy. They were funny."

Harry continued to cleanse her, moving with gentle strokes and utmost care. He avoided any sensitive areas, mindful of her discomfort. Willow leaned into his touch, finding solace in her father's loving presence.

As the bath went on, Harry noticed Willow's fatigue growing. He poured warm water over her hair, gently massaging her scalp with his fingertips. Willow closed her eyes, surrendering to the soothing sensation.

"Daddy, I don't feel good," Willow murmured, her voice barely audible.

Harry's heart ached, his love for his daughter shining through his eyes. "I know, sweetheart. I wish I could make it all go away for you. Just a little while longer, and we'll get you out of the bath and into some cozy pajamas."

He carefully rinsed away the soap, making sure not to get any water in her eyes. Once Willow was clean, he lifted her out of the tub, enveloping her in a soft, warm towel. She leaned heavily against him, seeking his support.

Harry carried Willow to her bedroom, laying her on the bed. He dressed her in the softest, most comfortable pyjamas he could find, being extra gentle as he handled her delicate frame.

"Almost there, my brave girl," Harry whispered, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. "Now, let's get you settled and rest up."

"Daddy, can we cuddle on the sofa? My tummy hurts," Willow requested, her voice soft and vulnerable.

Harry's heart melted at the sight of his daughter in need of comfort. He nodded, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "Of course, sweetheart. Let's make you feel better."

Harry carefully lifted the duvet from their bed and spread it over the sofa, creating a cozy nest for their cuddle session. Willow eagerly climbed onto the sofa, nestling herself against Harry's side. He wrapped the soft duvet around their bodies, cocooning them in warmth.

"Are you comfy, my little princess?" Harry asked, brushing a strand of hair away from Willow's face.

Willow nodded, her eyes lighting up with anticipation. "Yes, Daddy. Can we watch 'The Little Mermaid'?"

Harry couldn't resist her request, knowing that the familiar story would provide a soothing distraction from her discomfort. He reached for the TV remote and found the beloved Disney film, adjusting the volume to a gentle level.

With the movie playing, Willow nestled closer to Harry, finding solace in his embrace. She rested her head on his lap, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

As the film unfolded, Harry couldn't help but marvel at Willow's innocent wonder. Her eyes were glued to the screen, captivated by Ariel's underwater adventures. He smiled, knowing that even in the midst of her illness, her spirit remained resilient.

Halfway through the movie, Willow's eyelids grew heavy, her body succumbing to exhaustion. Harry continued to stroke her hair, his touch gentle and soothing.

"Daddy, I'm tired," Willow whispered, her voice barely audible.

Harry's heart swelled with love and tenderness as he looked down at his daughter. "It's okay, my love. Rest your eyes. I'll be right here with you."

Willow snuggled deeper into her father's lap, finding comfort in his presence. Within moments, her breathing steadied, and her little body relaxed into a peaceful slumber.

Harry couldn't help but smile, his heart overflowing with affection. He watched as the characters on the screen continued their enchanting journey, but his attention was solely on his sleeping daughter. He marvelled at her innocence and the depth of his love for her.

It wasn’t long before you were walking through the hotel door.

You turned the doorknob and stepped into the hotel room, feeling a mix of exhaustion and excitement after a day of sightseeing in Cardiff with your friends.

As you entered, a heartwarming sight awaited you - your husband and your precious daughter fast asleep on the sofa, their peaceful expressions revealing the toll the stomach bug had taken on your angel baby.

A soft smile graced your lips as you quietly approached them. The scene was too precious to resist capturing, so you reached for your phone from your back pocket, snapping a photo to cherish the love and vulnerability that filled the room.

It would most likely become your wallpaper later.

After taking the picture, you leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to both Harry and Willow's foreheads, whispering, "I love you both more than words can say," as your lips met their skin.

The soft touch of your kiss stirred Harry from his slumber, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. He blinked a few times, a sleepy smile forming on his face.

"Hey, love. You're back," he murmured, his voice laced with warmth and held a slight rasp due to the fact he just woken up.

You settled down beside them on the sofa, grateful for the comfort of their presence.

“Yes, I'm back. How was your day here with Low?" you asked, your voice filled with curiosity.

Harry shifted, making room for you on the sofa, careful not to disturb the snoozing tot.

"It was eventful, to say the least," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Willow had a bit of a rough time with her stomach, but we managed. We watched 'The Little Mermaid,' as she requested, and cuddled up together. She fell asleep just a little while ago."

A mix of relief and concern washed over you. "I'm glad she had you by her side, Harry. You always know how to make her feel safe and loved," you said, admiration evident in your voice.

Harry smiled, his eyes shining with love. "She's my little princess, after all. Taking care of her is the most important thing to me."

You took a moment to gaze at Willow, her tiny frame nestled against her father's. A surge of gratitude filled your heart for the incredible bond they shared.

"How was your day with Sarah and Glenne?" Harry asked, curiosity evident in his eyes.

You recounted the adventures of the day, sharing stories of the places you had visited and the laughter you had shared. The joy in your voice was contagious as you reminisced about the memories made with your friends.

As you finished sharing your day, you turned to Harry, your eyes filled with concern. "And how was Willow? Did she have a tough time today?"

Harry nodded, his expression filled with reassurance. "It was a bit challenging at times, but we managed. She had her moments of discomfort, but we made sure to give her the care she needed. She's a strong little girl, just like her mum."

A warm feeling spread within you, grateful for Harry's unwavering love and dedication to your family. You placed a gentle hand on Willow's back, feeling the rise and fall of her breath.

Love On Tour.

More like Sick On Tour.

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monster-disaster · 7 months

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[incubus] Darian

incubus!Darian x human!Reader Good to know: ass play, oral (f receiving)

Summary: You go to Darian for a massage session.

You can feel the warmth of the ground even through your flip-flops. The bright rays of the sun burn the back of your neck, caressing down on the soft line of your shoulders. The thin layer of sweat on your heated skin shines under the hot globe at the top of the clear blue sky. Even the thin towel around your body seems too much in this weather. Your fingers tighten on the soft fabric to keep it in place while you wait for the door in front of you to open.

Your gaze turns from the small hut to the pools nearby. The gentle ripples of the water glint as the humans and monsters move around in it. You can hear the splashes and laughs.

The plants and exotic, colorful flowers bloom in the heat all over the resort. Their scent mixes with the dryness of the desert. The dunes stand tall in the distance.

Your attention snaps back to the door when you hear it open. The creak is quiet and light. Your gaze meets with a bare chest first before dragging your eyes up to a smiling face. It's mischievous and dangerous. His dark blue lips seem soft around the pearly whites of his teeth. His tongue peaks up for a second as he licks one of his canines. They are pointed but not like the vampires'.

"Hello," you break the silence when you find your voice. His dark eyes crinkle with amusement at the hoarseness of your voice. "Hey," he greets you, stepping back from the door to give you enough space to enter. "You are Amanda, I believe?" "Oh," you gasp, reaching out your hand. "I'm Amanda. It's nice to meet you." "Darian at your service," he says, holding your hand in his much larger one. His touch is warm and firm. His lips are soft as he leans down and kisses the back of your hand.

You thought the small hut would give you protection from the heat, and even though the air is much better here, the presence of the incubus makes it hard for you to breathe. His tall form hovers above you, and your gaze drops on his nipples every now and again. They are pierced. The small silvery bars glint under the dim lights.

"Are you ready then?" He asks, and when you nod, he continues. "You can get comfortable."

He turns his back to you, busying himself with something to give you a moment to relax and settle on the massage table.

You take a deep breath from the air that smells like oils and candles as you drop the towel onto a chair nearby. You are bare and flustered. This is your first time being here, wanting a massage that can escalate quickly. The male hasn't even touched you yet, and you are already moist between your legs.

You lay down on the comfortable but firm table. Your chest presses against the leather, and your arms rest next to you. Your face is in the hole on the headrest.

"Just relax," Darian says after a few seconds. You see his legs when he moves closer. His feet are bare. "And tell me if something hurts or you want to stop." "Okay," you reply, forcing your body to relax.

He starts slowly. His hands are large and clever. He draws small circles on the back of your neck, going down to your shoulders and shoulder blades. His fingers dig into your skin, massaging your muscles and working through your body. Darian traces the line of your spine with his thumb, watching your every reaction.

"Is it good?" He asks even though he already knows your answer. The scent of your arousal is potent in the air. "Yes," you reply, groaning when he reaches a spot.

He isn't in a hurry. By the time he reaches your lower body, you are already relaxed and putty under his hands. You melt into the mattress, enjoying his long fingers gliding over your bare skin. He goes to your legs, working himself up on you from your toes and claves. He massages your muscles, drawing circles and long lines with his fingers. The incubus's palms are warm on your thighs. His thumbs go up on your inner thighs once, twice, three times.

You are excited, and you know he knows. You fidget every now and again, wanting more but not being brave enough to ask for it. The male smiles at your struggle. He can almost feel your pleasure on the tip of his tongue. You are sweet and needy.

"What do you want, Amanda?" He asks, smirking. His hands grope your ass cheeks, almost pulling them apart to see you better. "From the front," he continues, letting his thumb slip over your wet slit. "Or from the back."

A gasp leaves your lips when you feel his finger around your other hole. He draws small circles around it while he waits for your reply. Your legs pull apart automatically to give him more space.

"From the back," you reply breathlessly. Heat burns your cheeks at your answer, but Darian isn't shocked or repulsed by your wants. His eyes are on your hole, licking his lips.

"Good," he hums. "Very good."

He continues to massage you, teasing but never really reaching where you want him most. Long minutes pass by like this while your breathing gets heavier. The incubus feeds on your every moan and groan. He sees the small movements of your hips as you try to stay in place and not push your bottom up to him to take.

"Demanding little thing, aren't you?" He jokes. "Don't hold back, Amanda. Give me everything you can." "Please, Darian," you gasp out. "What do you want?" He asks, his voice coming from much closer than before. His breath is hot on the side of your neck. Goosebumps run through your skin that shines with a thin layer of oil under the dim, relaxing lights when he licks your pulse. His tongue is warm and wet. You can feel the tingling his saliva gives you immediately. It goes straight to your core. The table is probably already messy under you. "I want you to…" you gasp. He starts to go lower on your body. He kisses and licks your back, letting his saliva relax you even more. You tremble and fidget. You want to know how his tongue feels in your holes. "Yes?" He hums. "Do you want me to eat this ass?" He grips your asscheeks, squeezing and jiggling it. "Yes," you gasp. "Please." "I will devour you, do not worry," he promises, moving back to the end of the table to grab your hips and pull you up. Your bottom is in the air while your face is still on the bed. You can smell yourself on the fabric. Your pussy pulses at the familiar scent. "So pretty," he hums, opening up your lips to see your pussy better. You soak the tip of his fingers within a few seconds. "So warm and delicious." "Oh, god," you groan at his words, wiggling in his hold with anticipation. The vulnerability of your position does nothing but spike your arousal higher. You are open and ready in front of his eyes. The thick globes of your bottom shine with the oil he used on you, and your cunt drips, making a mess between your thighs.

You moan when his thumb grazes your puckered hole in circles, groping your cheeks with his other hand. He pulls on the flesh, opening up you more. Your whole body trembles under his touch. His hot breath fans over your pussy, making you pulse and flutter around nothing.

A muffled squeal escapes your tightened throat when you feel his lips closing around your clit. His plump lips are hot and firm around the small bundle of nerves as the male sucks on it. Every nerve in your body focuses on that small spot that makes you go crazy. He flicks his tongue against it, licking up on your slit and gathering your juices on his tongue. "Oh, fuck," you groan when he barely pushes inside your cunt and continues his way up between your cheeks. His fingers dig into your flesh for better access to your asshole. He is warm and wet on your skin. The male soaks you in his saliva until you can feel your tight muscles relax and his tongue dart inside your hole. Your eyes fall shut at the tingling feeling on your pussy and asshole. Just the effect of his saliva would be enough to make you cum, but the incubus demands more from you and your delirious body. He fucks his tongue into your hole, darting in and out until your muscles lose enough under his assault. "You are delicious," Darian groans, intoxicated by the energy that radiates from you in thick, heavy waves. His cock is hard in his white, loose pants. With every moan and scream that leaves your lips, his shaft jerks, leaking precum. "Fuck," you breathe out, panting. "I never want you to stop." Your words are followed by a deep, satisfied chuckle. "You are so sensitive," Darian hums. "Responsive," he adds, pressing his thumb into your hole. Even after his saliva-soaked rimming, you are still tight around his finger. You moan at the feeling of him filling you up. He pushes in and out of you a few times before changing his fingers to reach deeper inside you. You drip onto the bed, your cunt and ass flutter with pleasure. At this point, the sounds leaving your chest are constant noises in the small hut that smells like desire and sex. "The others probably can hear you outside," the male smirks down at you, watching you drooling onto the table. "They can hear you scream as I finger that sweet ass." "Darian!" You scream, shaking. When you almost reach your orgasm, he stops, and you fall back from the edge with a pained cry. "Not yet," he says. "I want to taste your cunt again." Your pussy clenches at his words. "Ohgodyes," you groan. "Please!"

The male's free hand that isn't busy with your asshole finds the wet slit of your cunt. He grazes your sensitive flesh lazily, feeling your plump pussy under his touch. Your clit throbs and aches with need. "So wet," he says. "I just want to drink you up. Slurp up every drop you can give me until I'm full and satisfied." "Ohplease," you gasp, gripping the edges of the table to keep your balance as you push your bottom back to him.

Your hoarse begging is the sweetest sound for his ears as he leans down and shoves his tongue into your pussy immediately. The world spins around you at the overwhelming feeling under Darian's pushes and licks. He fucks your pussy with his tongue, drawing small circles on your clit and still pushing inside your asshole. Your sweat mixes with the oil that you can't smell anymore under the thick scent of your arousal.

Darian devours your pussy while fingering your ass. You open up for him obediently, letting him explore your depths with two thick fingers.

"Don'tstopdon'tstop," you chant desperately, feeling the familiar spasm jerk your body and curling your belly into a tight knot. You shake and twitch as your climax blinds you for long seconds. Your asshole squeezes around his fingers, not wanting to let him go while your pussy gushes into his hungry mouth. Your heart beats in your ears, and your lungs burn for air. Sparks of pleasure burn your whole body as you come down from your high. Darian has to help you to lay back down on the table, still on your stomach.

"Can I write you up for another session?" He asks knowingly. His long fingers trace slow patterns on the back of your head, playing with the sweaty strands of your hair. "Please."

- Masterlist Mirage Resort Masterlist Patreon

#monster smut #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster fucker #monster lover #incubus smut #incubus x human #incubus x reader #mirage resort #monster x reader #monster x human

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vampyrsm · 6 months

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‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER FIFTEEN | SUGAWARA MICHIZANE

‣‣ Synopsis: Something terrible awaits the former Shogun's daughter, trapped in the maw of her enemy. The Shogun promises nothing but misery for one, and a marriage proposal for another. Eyes of blue see the true depths of her soul, and he bestows judgment upon her.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 7.3k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, descriptions of torture, descriptions of wounds, death, the Shogun has his own warning, as do the Zen'in clan, threats of noncon (it's very brief), misogynistic views, beatings with weapons.

Seas of rolling silver, a soft breeze that rolls along the tops of the Chinese Silver Grass, stray tops of the long flowering leaves fluttering along to be lost in the world. The grass is long enough to provide shelter, an open-topped enclosure away from the harshness of the outside world.

Your fingers brush along the feathered tops of the grass, watching it fall away and break away to float into the unknown. It was awfully peaceful here, a sense of serenity that could only be achieved in such a beautiful place. It has your lungs shrinking deeply to release a long breath, your muscles relaxing along with it.

The trees in the distance were a brilliant orange, leaves of Autumn falling away with the gentle breeze that rolled away. Autumn was always a favourite season of yours, to watch the leaves change colour and then to fall away when it was time.

A shifting in the grass next to you has your eyes drifting away from the golden horizon, and down to the man next to you.

Sukuna lays on his back, two hands tucked behind his head and the other two resting atop the lightly coloured kimono he decided to wear today. His face was the picture of bliss, his muscles entirely relaxed and if you looked close enough, the corner of his lips were lifted in a very subtle smile.

The sun painted him in a gorgeous softness, across his features and melted into the pink tones of his hair. His tattoos were such a stark difference to the light and yet he looked devastating. You wanted to reach out for him, to trace along those tattoos with the tips of your fingers until you could retrace them with your eyes closed.

Love. That’s what you felt for him. Fully and truly, you loved him with every ounce of your being. And that’s why it hurt to stare at him, to see the softness on his face that you knew he would never allow himself to feel. His chest barely moves beneath his kimono, a gentle exhale with an even softer inhale.

Then his eyes crack open, peering up at you through a squinted glance. The sunlight only amplifies the red of his eye, intensifying it until it looks like pools of crimson blood swirled there. The flecks of maroon were lost in the sea of red.

“Kill him.” He says, and his voice sounds like it’s a mile away. Like he’s whispering on the wind that brushes against the bareness of your face.

You open your mouth to reply, to ask him what he means by that, who is ‘him’. But instead, something icy cold washes over you from head to toe. Your body jolts at the sensation, and an ache blossoms in your upper arms and wrists. Your head slams back against something hard enough to cause your vision to swim momentarily.

Gone is the lightness of the autumnal sky and instead, you’re greeted with damp walls and dim lanterns. Your body shivers in the cold, and the sound of shoes on stone flooring has you looking around in the darkness. A man stands before you, a bucket in his hands that was most likely filled with the ice water that had been thrown on you.

“Welcome back to the Land of the Living.” He laments, chucking the bucket into one corner with a horrendous bang in the barrenness of the room. He takes steps towards you, and you can’t help but bristle.

You try to lurch your arms forward, to throw everything you have at him but you only move a few inches before you’re stuck in place. The metal tightly bound around your wrist hisses against your skin, or rather, it burns against the use of your cursed energy.

“Keep that up and you’ll have no hands left.” The man in front of you crouches suddenly, and you jolt at just how close he suddenly was. “So how about you relax, and listen to what I have to say.”

You lift your gaze from the long metal chains that you were bound with, and you smack the back of your head once again against the stone brick wall behind you. The man all but grins at your reaction, crystalline blue eyes dance with mirth.

Sugawara Michizane.

“Long time no see.” This close you can see the divine power that rests within those eyes, they swirl with something powerful and dangerous. Something that makes your stomach clench and that snarling darkness within bares its teeth in defiance of such power. “I bet you thought you killed me, huh?”

“No.” You manage to grit out the word. His cursed energy output was crushing, to say the least, and without your own to battle with his—it was like you were being crushed beneath a mountain.

“Oh?” He still smiles with white teeth, sharp canines on show. His hair is long, even in the bun he has it swept back in, stray strands flop over his eyes slightly when he tilts his head to follow your head when you droop in your restraints. “Did your husband tell you that?”

It takes everything within you to not spit in his face at the taunting tone of his voice, it certainly wouldn’t make your current situation any easier. So you let out the breath held in your lungs through a shaky exhale, and Sugawara seems pleased even with that. His eyes framed with white lashes dance between your own, and it’s no different to the first time you’d met him.

He’s not actually looking at you, but rather through you; into you. Picking you apart like a vulture would until it finds the juiciest part to eat.

Thankfully he doesn’t goad you further, instead, he stands up to his full height. You have to crane your head up to look at him, he wasn’t nearly as tall as Sukuna but even for a simple human man, he was exceptionally tall. Something about every aspect of him was different.

“You should thank me for being the one to wake you up.” He comments, brushing a hand over his hair to brush the stray hairs out of his face. You squint at the state of his hair, it certainly wasn’t the mandated style that the Shogunate had to adopt—he wasn’t a puppet of the Shogun, it seemed. “There’s a few people here who want to see if they can tame the demon whore.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you don’t have access to your cursed energy anymore.” He scuffs his sandals on the floor as he drags the bucket back over towards you, flipping it over to sit down on it before you. “You have no way of fighting back. That’s how the Shogun wanted it.”

Bile burns at your throat. He wanted you completely helpless and vulnerable. A reminder of your position in the world.

“And you?” You try your hardest to not show the emotions that flitted through you. “Do you have no plans to break me?”

Sugawara is quiet for a moment, the light in his blue eyes a faint glow in the darkness of the room. You can feel the thrum of his cursed energy, it laps at your body like that of waves on the beach—he was reigning it in, he had no need to posture anymore.

He clears his throat, a shake of his head before his eyes dart down to look at the floor. “No. I wanted you dead, not because you were a traitor but because anything is better than being back in the hands of the Zen’in clan.”

“Then let me go–”

“Don’t be so stupid.” He snaps back in return, enough venom on his tongue to make your spine straighten. “You’re never leaving here. You’ll die here.”

“Kill me.” You seethe the words, jaw locking with the flex of it. Sugawara stares at you, the slight widening of his eyes tells you even he is shocked by your words. “Kill me before he makes a show of me.”

You don’t want to think of what you’re saying truly means. To die would be losing a part of yourself, you’d lose not just your life but Sukuna in the same breath. It pains you to even think the words, let alone speak them but it’s nothing but the truth. You’d rather be killed by a Samurai than paraded around by the Shogun until he inevitably mounted your head on a spike as a message—a message to those who harboured thoughts to disobey him, and to Sukuna.

“Don’t be foolish.” Sugawara snaps in retort, his nose scrunching up in disgust. “To kill you is the same as raising my weapon against the Shogun—I’d be as good as dead.”

The air grows uncomfortable between the two of you, a tension that could snap with the lightest of breezes. Your fingers curl into your palms painfully, the shackles holding you to the wall hiss at the flexing of cursed energy beneath your skin.

“Coward.” The word lands against his face with the bloodied spit that you aim in his direction. Sugawara rears back suddenly, gone is the composure of a Samurai and instead in his place is a man scorned. “I’ll kill you first.”

Sugawara moves far quicker than you can keep up with, it takes half a millisecond for him to cross the space between the both of you. Your head rattles for the third time since reawakening against the stone wall, a warmth blossoms there. His fingers are cold as they curl around your throat, and you can feel a buzz of something at the edge of his fingers.

He holds you there, just an inch between your nose and his own. His eyes are wide, the blue within almost blinding with how close he is to you. And despite how close he is, and how quickly he moved, his breaths are calm and collected. The energy that curls around his body protectively buzzes to life in the stale air of the cell, it bites into your skin and presses you further into the wall.

It’s crushing you.

Blood pools on your tongue, dripping from your mouth in strings of spittle when you grin up at Sugawara. That chained darkness within stirs awake, itching at your bones to be released. The shackles holding you whine beneath the pressure of both your own energy and the pressure of Sugawara’s.

Your lips tingle from the lack of oxygen, the pressure behind your eyes is nearly enough for you to concede—to give into the pressure and let it crush you. But Sugawara had chosen to bow his head to a Shogun he feared, a wolf with his tail between his legs is no wolf at all… instead he’s just a scared dog.

But as quickly as the pressure came, it was taken away. Sugawara takes three steps backwards and stands as straight as a metal pole. His energy vanishes as if it weren’t crushing you into the wall behind you. Your body sags immediately, the chains tug your arms harshly upwards and you can’t help but wince at the blistering pain already forming at your wrists.

“Lord Sugawara.” A voice calls from beyond the bars of the holding cell, and Sugawara holds his gaze over you for a few seconds longer before he turns towards the voice. “The Shogun has asked you to bring the prisoner to his private courtyard.”

You can’t see Sugawara’s face anymore but you see the stiffness in his shoulders, how he tenses even after nearly choking you to death. And you know not to show your own fear, to not bend beneath the all-encompassing icy feeling as the words settle into your mind.

The private courtyard. Away from prying eyes and lingering ears that may relay a message to his enemies.

“Very well.” Sugawara says with a half bow, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana. The sound of footfall fades away until you’re left in the stifling silence once again. When Sugawara turns to face you again, his face is stoic—the blue in his eyes akin to that of a frozen lake, locking away any emotion that he may have felt just moments ago.

He’s uncaring when he pulls harshly on the heavy chains that hold you hostage, his hand wrapping them around his forearm to ensure you don’t run as soon as you get some leeway. A hand buries itself into your unkempt hair and yanks you from the floor, your feet protest against the coldness of the stone flooring.

“Hold your tongue and you may live to see another day.” The words are the only thing Sugawara says to you before he drags you from the cell, your feet struggling to keep up with his wide strides. Doors are opened before he reaches them, and you can only briefly glance over your shoulder to glance at where you have been kept.

You’d only visited the Zen’in estate a handful of times as a child. Your father had always preferred to live within the estate made by the Emperor, a housing estate fit for the Shogun but also could hold his hundreds of Samurai soldiers. But when you had visited the Zen’in estate, it was such a strange ominous feeling to step foot inside.

You weren’t heir to the Zen’in clan, and everyone sneered in your direction. Even as a child, hateful eyes watched you—as if they could see the future written on your very skin. Servants never looked at you, and the men of the family would often comment on how you’d be nothing but a child bearer for some of the lesser Zen’in family members.

Of course, your father had never been present for such comments. You doubt they would’ve said such a thing in the presence of the first Shogun, a man who had a warrior spirit like no other. Part of you wishes he was, to see the true wrath of your father at such a young age perhaps would’ve made the blow of his betrayal to you in the future much easier to swallow.

The stares of the Zen’ins are no different now, in fact, it may even be worse. Men snarl in your direction, spitting at your feet as you pass by and whispers of ‘demon whore’ is a reoccurring thing. You want to disobey Sugawara’s demand of holding your tongue and keeping quiet, these men were nothing but young boys who had been gifted a pretty sword.

They’d cower at your feet if they caught a whiff of the power that rumbles within.

A tug of the chains at your wrists has you stumbling sharply around a corner, the tatami mats are a nice change from the harsh stone flooring that lined parts of the estate. Light from outside streams through the open doors and windows, enough to tell you that morning had already broke but not how many days had passed since you were attacked in the village.

You take the moment to quickly glance over yourself, you were still in your kimono. The blood that had been fresh is now a near-black from how dried it became, the mud on your feet flakes with each hurried step you’re forced to take. Your wounds are healed, thankfully, the burns on your arms are non-existent and you wonder if you had done it yourself whilst you slept or if someone here had the ability to heal others.

Sugawara’s kegetsu shoes scraped against the tatami mats which each step he took. It was enough to draw your attention back to the man himself, you hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the dim lantern light of the cell. His clothes were made of the finest fabrics, you could tell that much. On his shoulders was a fine Mino; the cloak of straw swished with each step he took.

You wondered where he may have gone before interacting with you to wear such a thing. You’d only ever seen the samurai of the Shogunate wearing cloaks like that when it was raining, or when they had to venture into snowfall.

His traditional armour was stripped down however to the bare basics, you could spy the armoured sections on his upper arms and shoulders, as well as on his legs. He didn’t wear the traditional helmet however, the string attached to his straw hat was loose at his neck whilst the hat itself sat against his back. He didn’t look like he belonged in the Shogunate at all, you wouldn’t be surprised if he belonged to his own clan.

A man of his power wouldn’t bow to a Zen’in. Never.

The corridors twist and turn, the servants thinning out the further you stray away from the cells. The air is tense, even with the absence of cursed energy. You knew you were growing closer to your uncle, to the Shogun.

A large shoji door is slid open in front of you, and a tug on the chains at your wrists forces you to step over the threshold into the wide-open room. It was grand, for lack of a better word. It housed the Shogun, complete with his sleeping quarters as well as a large hearth and a multitude of shelves filled with scrolls.

It was just like your father's own personal quarters. Except your father had never, ever brought hostages into his home.

You’re dragged forward out towards the courtyard, it was much smaller than the main one where your uncle would hold an audience with his Shogunate and the surrounding villages. It was an enclosed space, cut off from the world, it was meant to be a place of relaxation and zen for the Shogun.

Instead, your uncle has turned it into a makeshift torture chamber.

Your uncle himself is standing at the edge of the wooden platform that looks down into the courtyard, and before him are two people. Bound and gagged, a man and a woman. They’re stripped naked, and immediately you can feel your stomach churning in discomfort as to what’s to come.

Slowly, Sugawara comes to a stop. His hand tightens around the chains slightly at the sight in front of him, and you can practically taste the buzz of his cursed energy when it flares momentarily before vanishing just as quickly. Wordlessly, he bows deep at the waist and in turn, drags down your chains which brings you stumbling forward in an awkward half-bent bow.

Except, you do not lower your head when your uncle turns around. He looks just like your father, a spitting image of his older brother. His face is cold, mouth a thin line and eyes darker than that of coal. His armour is absent, a clear sign that even in the face of the woman who had been housed with Sukuna for months is not a threat to him.

You want to make him choke on his own tongue.

“When they said you looked like a demon’s whore, I didn’t realise it was this bad.” The Shogun sneers at you, glaring down his nose where you still refuse to bow your head to a man like him. “I should cut your head off where you stand for such insubordination.”

Your lip twitches, a barely concealed curl of your lip in anger. The metal shackles at your wrists burn tenfold, whatever they had imbued into the metal is strong enough to completely nullify your ability to use your cursed energy—yet it still burns deep within, yearning to be released.

“But I have plans for you.” He says, raising a single hand and there’s a shuffle of feet from one of the cowering servants who drops a bow in his hand along with a dozen arrows. “You’re going to tell me just how to kill that bastard of a demon, and in return, you get to live.”

“And if I don’t?” You spit against your better judgment, and Sugawara spares you just a sideways glance once he returns to his full height.

“I think you’ll find yourself quite agreeable to these terms.”

His shoulders roll, and with it the haori he was wearing falls to the ground to pool at his feet. It’s effortless with how easily he pulls back the string on the traditional bow, the arrow lined up with the man on the left. Immediately the naked man quivers in fear, eyes wide and spit dripping from around the cloth gagging him.

So this was how your uncle was going to play.

“We’ll start easy, I don’t want to overwhelm your mind.” He snickers at his own words—a jab at the fact you were a woman, not because he was concerned for your wellbeing of being away for so long.

“Where is he?” Question one, and immediately you draw your eyebrows together. How did they not know where he was? Yorozu knew, which meant they knew where you were—...but they drew you away from the temple, they didn’t dare to step foot onto the temple grounds itself. Your Uncle glances over his shoulder at your silence, clearly noticing your confusion.

“He was sighted in the village after we captured you, but since then no one has been able to report back on his whereabouts. Given that you’re his… whore, we thought you might know.”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

The Shogun stares at you for a long tense moment, the bow in his hand creaks from the pressure of him holding the string back. “How unfortunate.”

The arrow whistles through the air, and immediately the man screams albeit muffled. You glance at the man, to find the arrow embedded in his thigh and the blood spills from the entry wound into the otherwise clean gravel below. The woman next to him wails too, her eyes puffy and red from crying—his wife. He had brought you a man and his wife.

“Fine. Tell me what he did to you.” Another arrow is drawn up, the string pressed against your uncle's cheek. He glares at you, and in turn, you glare back. Your silence is your answer.

A whistle and a scream, this time the woman. Her body convulses and you’re drawn to see the arrow had impacted her in the shoulder, the blood drips down between her breasts and pools in her lap. Her husband next to her screams for the both of them.

“How many sorcerers are under his control?” Silence. An arrow—the man’s stomach. He still lives.

“Is it true that he eats women and children?” Yes—but you remain silent. Your eyes never once leave your uncles this time, and you see the crack forming in his armour. He’s starting to lose his patience.

The arrow this time is aimed higher, and the sound is something only a dead body could make. It’s a thump, a tension that sits over the courtyard before a woman screams. It’s not a scream that could be put into words, a scream that comes deep from the gut. Pure agony, devastation and heartbreak.

The Shogun doesn’t break eye contact with you whilst he loads the next arrow.

“How do I kill him?” This time, it’s you who breaks. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat, the grin on your face is something you’d seen on Sukuna’s face countless times—it was a demeaning grin, filled with malice.

“You can’t.” You snicker at the red of the Shogun’s face, his anger bubbles quickly. Sugawara at your side even shuffles a step backwards, his fingers still tight around the chains that bind you. “You’re too weak, all of you.”

The arrow is released before you even finish your sentence, the wails of the woman silenced before there’s an arrow pointed directly at you. The Shogun stands closer, the string drawn taut and his facial features are tight with anger.

You smile at him.

“General Jien,” Sugawara speaks up, bowing his head when your uncle's eyes flick towards the blue-eyed Samurai. “Killing her would be a waste.”

Jien Zen’in stays silent, his eyes remain locked onto Sugawara. His fingers twitch at the string, and surprisingly—you feel your heart lurch in your chest in a tinge of fear.

“Break her. Torture her, do whatever you need to. Lure the King of Curses in—she’s in good condition, there’s no evidence that she was mistreated.” Sugawara wets his lips, and you feel that darkness within snarl. “Clearly the King of Curses has only one weakness. Her. Kill her once we kill Sukuna.”

His words are worse than any wound you’ve ever received, it cuts deeper than any blade and is sharper than the arrow still aimed between your eyes. Sugawara had seen more than you anticipated, no doubt he could see the mixture of cursed energy within you—his eyes were something special.

And he offered your love for Sukuna up to the Shogun on a silver platter.

The Shogun laughs, his stance loosens and the arrow is lowered from in front of you. “I knew you were good for something besides those eyes of yours—” The Shogun grins, unaware of the bristling Samurai next to you. “Very well. I’ll have her sent back to her cell, and you can oversee the torture yourself. Make sure they don’t kill her, I don’t care about anything else.”

Sugawara bows deeply, the chains rattling and with it, you’re forced to bow. Instead of allowing your insolence to slip by however, you feel the bone in your calf snap. Your Uncle draws his leg back, moving much quicker than you anticipated—he too had a technique like your father's, like yours.

You crumble to the floor, your knees slamming into the wooden floorboards. Despite the stony mask you wore, you can’t help but scream in pain at the radiating ache that comes from your now shattered tibia. Your hands fall forward to try and catch yourself before your nose smashes into the floor, Sugawara does nothing but let the chain slacken lest you pull him down too.

Another crunch and your fingers are snapped beneath the wooden shoes your uncle wears. You scream again, and the Shogun laughs at the sound. You watch in horror when he grinds his heel into the ground, rolling it against your shattered bones and the skin that tore apart.

“What a beautiful sound!” The Shogun announces loudly, withdrawing his foot to allow you to see the damage to your hands. You can feel the burn of the metal at your wrists, but it’s nothing compared to the pain that thrums from your hands. “I like the way the whore screams, maybe I’ll come and visit her.”

Sugawara remains silent at your side, and you can feel the burn of his eyes on your hands. He did this, he’s the reason you’ll suffer beneath the hand of a cruel Shogun.

“Take her away. She’s bloodying the floor, who knows what she’s infected with.” The Shogun takes a step back, and you tense involuntarily at the sound of his shoes scraping on the floor. “If she’s reformed quickly, maybe you’ll want to marry her Sugawara. Strong children would serve me well.”

The pain is enough to ensure you hold your tongue, but the withering glare you send to the Shogun is enough to cause his spine to straighten. You hope when he stares into your eyes, he sees nothing but the date of his death and you as the executioner. You promise, no, you vow to kill him.

Sugawara’s hand buzzes against your back, and you can feel the burn of his cursed energy there. Not even he dares to drop his guard around the Shogun or you, for that matter. He helps you to your feet, and the pain shoots up sharply from the base of your heel to your hip bone. Your chest lurches with the pain, but you don’t gift the Shogun one of your ‘beautiful screams’—instead, you bite your tongue and stare up at him.

Before either of you can spit further insults and speed up the inevitable sentence of your death, Sugawara strides away. You’re forced to follow after, you hobble awkwardly on one good leg and another that burns with pain. You can feel the sticky wetness that drips down your calf, no doubt a bone has protruded yet that’s not enough to cause you to dip your head in defeat.

The corridors are still barren as you traverse them once again behind Sugawara, only the sounds of your grunting and heavy breaths. Sugawara doesn’t slow his pace to match yours.

“You’re a coward.” You spit once you’re further away from the Shogun, away from prying ears. “Nothing but a lowly dog who sits in the lap of a man who’d wear your hide as a coat if he could.”

“And you’re a foolish girl. If you told him what he wanted to hear you wouldn’t be dragging your leg behind you.” He snips back, an ice-cold glare over his shoulder is thrown your way. “And you’ll likely never wield a sword again. All because you’re a prideful whore. You truly believe Sukuna cares for you?”

“You do.” You retort, and Sugawara snorts.

“No. I just think you have something that belongs to the King of Curses, and he’ll want to ensure he gets it back.” That’s all the confirmation that you needed, Sugawara had definitely seen the vow or at least the outcome of it. He saw how your soul was tangled with Sukuna’s, how you were more valuable alive. You’d become Sukuna’s demise, a weapon to be used against him.

Your face hardens at that, just knowing you were to be used as a tool to lure in Sukuna sours your stomach. You wanted to believe he wouldn’t fall for it, but everything Sugawara said was true; you had a part of Sukuna bound to you. He would want that back instead of having it fall into the enemy's hands.

Sugawara doesn’t comment further, dragging you along behind him. The stares of the Zen’in clan are worse on the way back, they snicker and scoff at you. A woman who was meant to be strong enough to live beside the great King of Curses was reduced to nothing but a mangled mess. Your blood smeared across the stone floors, sank in between the cracks and not once did Sugawara stop.

The walk back to the cell is longer than it was on the way out, but once you get there, you instantly want to retreat back up those dreaded stairs. In the cells are three men, all of them with sickening grins and wooden sticks you knew to be training swords for children. Sugawara doesn’t falter in his steps, and the men all but part for him to pass by to allow the blue-eyed Samurai to reattach you to the wall.

With your back pressed into the cool stone once again, your arms spread wide at your sides and your feet trying desperately to touch the ground enough to alleviate the pain in your shoulders. Sugawara stands in front of you, with wide shoulders and enough height to block out the sight of the three men.

His eyes meet yours, and you see an emotion turning over in his eyes. He looked sorry. “Don’t fight them.” He whispers, masking his words with a rattle of the chains, double-checking you were securely in place.

You want to spit in his face, to curse him and his bloodline for daring to feel guilt for putting you in this exact situation. Instead, you keep your eyes locked with his when he takes steps back, the men behind him taking steps forward. You don’t once break eye contact with him, not even when the tall one with inky black hair steps in front of you.

A hand clasps around your jaw, rough calluses digging into your flesh there as he squeezes. Your jaw pops in protest, forcing your mouth to open and the man in front of you deepens his smirk into something that would be fitting of an Oni.

“The Shogun gave us special orders on how to handle you. We’re to break you.” Eventually, you drag your eyes away from Sugawara to stare at the man in front of you, you hope he can see the clawing darkness deep within you, you hope he can see his own death by your hand for daring to lay a hand on you.

However, he drops your head with a rough push into the wall behind you. Your brain rattles within your skull, and it takes everything within you to not let your eyes roll closed at the pain that radiates there. You barely get a second to breathe before something rips down your front, gone is your kimono that Sukuna had draped over you the night you had left the temple.

There’s a quick thwack through the air before the wooden katana collides with your stomach, you feel the skin break and tear from the sheer force of the hit. Your stomach lurches, and your body twinges with pain. Two more hits come swiftly after, each one from a man in front of you.

They all laugh at the way your body curls inwards on itself, and how your hands uselessly grab at the chains, uncaring for the bones that are snapped and exposed, which hold you up as if they’d somehow hoist you up and out of the way. A wooden crack of a katana against your thigh has your chest tightening, another across your breasts is enough to make you shriek in pain.

Your teeth sink into the flesh of your bottom lip, the blood there tastes like acid on your tongue. Putrid with your failure, you had fallen for their trap. You had given yourself over to them so easily. You were the only one to blame, and you could only hope Sukuna stayed far, far away.

The skin across the front of your body blossoms with bruises and open wounds, your skin mottles and bleeds with burst blood vessels. But beneath all of that, you can feel the curling warmth just under your skin. It tries minutely to heal the damage done to your body, but the damage coming at you outweighs how little you can heal at a time.

You’re unsure how long you stay there strung up to the wall like a piece of meat, but the three unknown Zen’in members have taken an interest in using their fists and the hard wooden soles of their shoes to see who can make you scream the loudest. A crack across your face has your head reeling, the cool stone of the wall behind you is a welcome reprieve against your split cheek.

Their jeers and taunting comments are like waves of rocks, you hear nothing but the bashing of your blood in your body. The pounding of your heart against your ears is deafening, the rapid beats futile in trying to replace the blood lost.

A hand sinks into your hair, pulling harshly at the roots until you’re yanked forward to face the man in front of you. His face is speckled in your blood, and his eyes are wild with sick pleasure. “Is this why that bastard kept you around? You’re nothing more than a piece of meat—good for nothing but a good beating and a nasty fuck.”

You want to frown at his words, to show the clear disgust and disdain you feel for his words but your face is numb. The muscles in your cheeks burn with pain and you can hardly see out of the black-eye one of them had graciously given you with a swift right-hook.

“Maybe we should see just how good you are.” His tongue peeks out from his mouth, wetting his lips as well as swiping up the blood there. When he grins, the red is spread across his teeth. “Everyone knows the best way to make a woman obedient is to give her a nice thick cock—”

“That’s enough for today,” Sugawara calls from the other side of the cell, his arms crossed over his chest. His face is a mask of stony coldness, not an inkling of disgust for what he had to witness for God knows how long. “The Shogun doesn’t want her ruined. She’s to be my wife.”

All three men glare over their shoulders at Sugawara, but evidently, he must hold a higher rank in the Shogunate because they back off immediately. But not without a quick puckering of lips and spit landing on your body, seeping into open wounds and stinging against frayed nerves.

The cell is plunged into familiar silence, a welcome change from the sound of your flesh and bone breaking beneath fists and wooden training swords. Your body visibly sags against the wall, your brain fuzzy enough to stop you from flinching when someone crouches down in front of you. His hands are gentle at your wrists, loosening the chains in the hoops so you could rest fully on the ground.

Icy stone bites at your bare flesh, yet you cannot find it within yourself to flinch or air your discomfort. Sugawara brushes the hair out of your face, pulling strands of it free from your slowly healing wounds. He doesn’t comment on how you shouldn’t have access to even that part of your cursed energy, perhaps he had truly felt guilty for what you had been put through.

He sits with you, in the damp darkness of that cell. He doesn’t move away when you finally cry, the tears a coppery saltiness that stains your lips and drips from your chin. Instead, he lays a scratchy blanket over you—more of a sack than anything but it’s enough to save your modesty, if there was anything left to save.

You don’t remember your eyes closing, nor do you remember Sugawara sitting outside of your cell that entire day, and the following night to ensure no one had come to finish the job.

...

The previous day…

Snow dances and twirls beneath heavy feet, flakes of pure white nestle into pink hair and settle against broad shoulders. The village is silent, nothing but a whistling wind that blows through the ruined buildings.

Sukuna stands silent in the village, Uraume only a few paces away with their hands bundled within the thick sleeves of their robes. It had only been a matter of hours since Sukuna had tracked down the trace of your energy, it was faint as if someone had tried to cover up your tracks. But Sukuna could recognise it anywhere, after all, it was mixed with his own.

His feet come to a slow stop, and he glances down to the body partially buried beneath snow. They have no head, and it reeks of death already. He can see the traces of your energy here the most, impacted in one big puddle as if you threw everything at this unidentifiable body.

You put up a fight, a good one. Sukuna couldn’t help but feel pride at that, yet there was something that buzzed uncomfortably at the back of his mind. You were strong, yes, and you had done a decent amount of damage with your cursed energy. He can see the deep divots where you had used Cleave and Dismantle in equal measure against those who had trapped you in the village.

That discomfort at the back of his mind makes itself present when he takes a deep breath in, the mingling of scents and cursed energy burn at his nose. Only one person in the entirety of Japan could hold such divine power, one he had warned you about in the past. You weren’t meant to go up against Him alone, Sukuna was to be at your side—the both of you together would’ve been unstoppable.

“Show yourself.” Sukuna calls over the raging winds, his eyes still locked onto the fresh scorch marks that mar the wood of the dilapidated buildings.

Slow steps crunch against the snow, a dragging sound that could only be identified as someone dragging their long kimono through the snow. Sukuna lifts his head, and his eyes lock with gelid ones. Yuki Onna is otherwise flawless, there’s no hint of the horror that lurks beneath her skin and yet her lips carry a frown that looks awfully wrong on the face of such a woman.

Yuki Onna comes to a stop, with enough space between herself and Sukuna. Good, he thinks, she respects him enough to keep her distance.

“What happened here?” Sukuna demands, and the snow-like woman finally drifts her eyes down along the body on the floor, and again over the snow in the distance that looked undisturbed since the snow had begun to fall again.

“She didn’t run.” Yuki Onna starts, her voice like claws on ice. “I warned her, she did not listen.” Her words end in a hiss, and Sukuna only deepens his frown.

“Who attacked her?” He probes instead, all four of his hands itch to sink his claws into the cursed spirit and demand answers immediately.

Yuki Onna shifts on her feet, turning to glance again towards the undisturbed snow as if she could see just who or what had unfolded here. “A woman, with hair as pink as cherry blossoms. And men, only two survived. They tasted of deceit and ash.”

Sukuna’s chest rumbles in distaste. He had an itching suspicion that the Sun, Moon and Stars squad would be involved in your capture. He had only heard of one name, a woman with pink hair as described by the Yuki Onna. Sukuna knew much about the assassin organisation, it was a place for those who stripped themselves of names and held only names attaining to the solar system.

Except one. The woman. Takako Uro. Sukuna knew her, of course he did. He knew too that she would be dead at the hands of her own sooner rather than later, her name was a death sentence. To be named in a nameless group was to have a target painted on your own back.

He doesn’t bother to thank the cursed spirit for giving up the information, instead he turns abruptly on his heel and stomps his way back through the snow towards Uraume. The aforementioned raises their head again when Sukuna approaches, casting a short glance towards the spirit in the background who drags the partially destroyed body away into the shadows of the burnt out village.

“I need you to find out where the Five Empty Generals are currently hiding. Yorozu will be with them.” Uraume bows deeply at his command, but before they can leave he continues. “And find me Kenjaku. Her sudden absence isn’t unnoticed.”

“As you wish, Master Sukuna.” Uraume disappears in a flurry of snow, an icy chill blowing along with their cursed energy.

Sukuna remains standing in the village for a moment longer, his fingers automatically lifting from the warmth of his kimono sleeves to brush against deep cuts into the rocky surface of what was once a reinforcement wall of the village. It buzzes at his touch, and he can just taste on the tip of his tongue the amount of power you had thrown in this direction.

Those long claws at the tips of his fingers curl into the stone, scraping painfully loud before his hand is a tight fist. Sukuna couldn’t feel you anymore, that part that lived within him was quiet and dormant. Not dead but resting, locked away where he couldn’t utilise it.

Wherever you were being held, Sukuna couldn’t feel you. That slither of himself entwined with your own soul was absent, nullified by something stronger than himself.

The wall beneath his fist cracks and explodes, sliced haphazardly into nothing but dust and rubble at his feet. He would get you back, even if it was the last thing he did—he would ensure you were back with him, safe.

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#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader

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