#Rivulet I eman

[cherry-b0mber]

I’m scared to admit that I might want to go by she/her pronouns but also this is tumblr so-

just leave this as a maybe probably gonna delete this soon lol

[jujutsubaby]

⛓️ lonely at the top ⛓️

☆ pairing: satoru gojo x afab!reader x true form!sukuna ☆ summary: you are the great ryomen sukuna's favorite healer from the heian era, reincarnated in the modern time. for centuries, you have also been his favorite lover. but when sukuna returns one day with a shockingly handsome blue-eyed sorcerer, you cannot help but feel threatened. no matter what sukuna's plans are for this newcomer, however, you're willing to do whatever it takes to stay on top. ☆ tags: slight canon divergence, smut with a lil plot ¬‿¬ ☆ warnings: MINORS DNI!!!! handjob, oral sex (m/f!receiving; yes this includes sukuna's abdomen mouth lmao); voyeurism; exhibitionism; fingering; p in v; anal; overstimulation; masturbation ☆ a/n: ok the promised (and voted upon) sukugo fic is FINALLY here my loves :3 i had to add reader in the mix too though bc girls just wanna have fun. also writing this kinda made me a sukuna truther :/ maybe i understand gege and sukuna kaisen just a little bit more now :/ ANYWAY ENJOY!!! ☆ wc: 8k

when you had heard of Lord Sukuna's imminent duel with the infamous Satoru Gojo, you knew it would be prudent to practice your Reverse Cursed Technique. you had always been Lord Sukuna's favorite healer (among other things), but that had been the Heian Era. this new time was as foreign and strange to you as the delicate new body into which you had been reincarnated.

and so, when Lord Sukuna re-enters the compound you share with his other most trusted servants and loudly calls for you, you are prepared. flexing your practiced fingers and preparing to channel positive cursed energy, you hurry to the threshold from which his voice had emanated and immediately sink to a kneeling position, your head turned to the floor. as expected, Lord Sukuna had come straight to the healing quarters.

"you summoned me, Lord Sukuna?"

Lord Sukuna approaches you; his footsteps sound heavy and slow. he is exhausted, you can tell, but he does not seem grievously injured as you had expected. so why did he call for you?

your head still inclined downwards, you stifle a gasp as you notice rivulets of blood darkening the floor beneath you and staining your pristine robes.

"you will heal him," Lord Sukuna says simply. you hear a heavy thud hitting the bed you had prepared so carefully for your lord. actually, mystifyingly, you hear two thuds. you chance a glance upwards, and your heart drops when you see that Lord Sukuna has indeed deposited severed halves of some unfortunate sorcerer's body onto the bed. from his pallor, you can tell he has already lost quite a lot of blood. this is beyond any healing you have ever performed in any era. you briefly wonder whether your beloved lord is setting you up to fail when he speaks up.

"i trust you understand that failure is not an option."

"yes, my lord."

"y/n," he says more quietly. you nearly shudder at the sound of his tongue lavishing attention on your name. "i keep you in my employ because you are the only healer worthy of serving me."

it is a statement of arrogance, but it is also one of reassurance. someone who has served as his trusted servant for as long as you have learns how to understand his sometimes esoteric cues.

you feel a firm hand grip your jaw and tilt your face upwards. you are greeted by a sight you have not seen in centuries: Lord Sukuna in his true form, in all his magnificence. his tattoos stand starkly against his glistening torso. his arms, now four in number as you recall, are corded with muscle; the grip his massive hand has on your face could easily crush your windpipe — and yet, it does not. it never would, so long as you serve your purpose. you cannot help but bask in his glowing charisma. this was the sorcerer you were so proud to serve.

"it is my honor to serve you, my lord. i will heal the sorcerer, i swear it."

noticing your desirous eyes raking over his form, his cruel mouth forms a lazy smirk, which is mirrored in the mouth of his stomach. the effect is equal parts unnerving and disarming.

"come, y/n," Lord Sukuna says, pleased with your reaction to his true form. "let us see your patient for the evening." he seizes your shoulders with his second set of arms, and indelicately pulls you to your feet before marching you towards the bed.

Lord Sukuna must still be unused to inhabiting his true body after possessing so many weak mortal vessels, you muse, for he is being far rougher with you than usual. you find that you do not mind, however. in spite of the grave situation, you feel heat embarrassingly beginning to pool at the apex of your thighs at the feel of Lord Sukuna's thick fingers and their crushing grip on your narrow shoulders.

the man in the bed is muscular, although nowhere close to Lord Sukuna's physique. that said, he looks youthful, and strong enough to have put up a good fight. perhaps he would even be strong enough to recover from his horrendous injuries under your expert healing hands.

but who was this man? why was Lord Sukuna so insistent upon healing him? and how was he injured like this in the first place?

your eyes wander to his upper half, and you pause on his face. handsome, with delicate features and a shock of messy white hair. his eyes are slightly agape, and you note that they are the uncommon blue of a summer sea.

blue?

you gasp in spite of yourself and turn to your master, momentarily forgetting that propriety dictates that you not maintain eye contact with someone so many levels above yourself.

"forgive me, Lord Sukuna, but...Satoru Gojo?"

Lord Sukuna does not seem to mind your lapse in etiquette, as he meets your gaze with a grin.

"he put up a marvelous fight. talent like that should not be extinguished, even though most sorcerers doubtlessly dream of being defeated by somebody like the great Sukuna," he says.

Lord Sukuna was always able to make such grandiose statements about himself that would sound asinine coming from any mere man. with the great Lord Sukuna, statements like these are simply the truth. he has always been so far above any human you have known, which is why his fascination with Satoru Gojo is leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. mortal humans, including you, need to know their place. that maxim should include Satoru Gojo, too.

Lord Sukuna's voice shakes you from your reverie. "oh, and y/n?" his normally commanding voice is alarmingly soft, and laced with...something. something typically reserved for his favorites, like you.

"yes, Lord Sukuna?" you ask, carefully keeping your head angled downwards towards the bed so as not to repeat your earlier eye contact gaffe.  

you watch as Lord Sukuna reaches a hand out towards Satoru Gojo's listless face to slap the young man's elegant cheek.

"do be gentle with your technique. i want this one staying pretty for me."

ah.

so that was why Lord Sukuna had taken such pains to rescue Satoru Gojo.

with that, Lord Sukuna turns on his heel and leaves you to your patient.

you anticipated healing Gojo's injuries to be your greatest challenge yet, but it is far more taxing than you ever could have known. your Reverse Cursed Technique was meant for healing injuries, but what had happened with Gojo's body was almost beyond an injury.

it had taken you hours in the first place to even figure out a way to use your RCT in this situation, until you had realized that delicate threads of cursed energy still emanated from Gojo's body. even if it was physically severed, his cursed energy still lived, if only barely. it is a testament to the sheer magnitude of Gojo's cursed energy that some still survives; no wonder he had impressed Lord Sukuna so.

you use your RCT to trace the threads of cursed energy from one half of Gojo's body to the other; in doing so, you are able to treat the severing merely as a thinning of cursed energy, and thus as an injury rather than a full separation. you breathe a sigh of relief as you observe one thread of his torso knit itself back together under your watchful eye.

now to repeat the process for the entire circumference of his body. you stretch and sigh; this would be a long night. at least you have a way forward now, though. disappointing Lord Sukuna was never an option.

as you continue reconnecting the flesh and gristle that makes up Satoru Gojo, you find yourself increasingly unable to ignore his objective beauty. as a healer, you always possessed great admiration for the physical form, and Satoru Gojo just happened to be a prime specimen. perhaps the fact that Lord Sukuna had found him to be a worthy adversary (and prize, you remind yourself) also influenced your judgment.

you feel a strange intermingling of lust, jealousy, and envy at the thought. you are well aware that Lord Sukuna has a prodigious sexual appetite that requires countless mortals to satisfy, but you have long been secure in your position as his favorite plaything. now, however, compared to Satoru Gojo, you cannot be so certain; he possesses beauty and power in spades. 

you shake your head. this is neither the time nor the place to be evaluating Lord Sukuna’s judgment; favorite or not, it is your duty to complete the task he so graciously entrusted you with. you are not sure of how long you continue to sew Satoru Gojo’s body back together, but you are aware that the sun’s citrus glow has long faded.

Lord Sukuna had always reminded you of the sun, although you have never been bold enough to tell him such a silly romanticism. but in its radiant beauty, burning power, and distance alike, you see your liege. much like the sun, Lord Sukuna had shone on you, and in his light, you had blossomed. you had been an obscure village herbalist’s apprentice until he had found you; you had hardly even been aware of your latent healing powers. it had been Lord Sukuna who had seen your immense potential, and who had honed your sorcery to the level it was today.

even the fact that he had burned down your village the day he whisked you away had done little to dim your fervent gratitude.

the moon begins to rise higher in the night sky now, its light filtering through the shuttered windows of the healing quarters as you continue working. Satoru Gojo’s natural beauty takes on an ethereal glow when bathed in moonlight. the battle between him and Lord Sukuna must have been a sight to behold; as you reconnect his body, you feel his cursed energy growing and twisting into itself with taut strength. 

Finally, when his halves become whole again, you sit back and admire your handiwork. The full moon that night meant you did not require a lantern, but the moon is setting now, and you want to give Satoru Gojo’s body a final check. 

as you rise to leave the room for a lantern, you feel a hand clasp firmly about your wrist. you gasp softly. 

“have i died? am i dead right now?” Satoru Gojo’s voice is hoarse with disuse. you had not expected him to be conscious again yet given the state of him; you suppose the fact that he is is a testament both to your healing ability and to his innate strength. 

you sit back down, noticing that he does not loosen his grip on your wrist. 

“you are still alive, Satoru Gojo, for i have healed your wounds,” you reply matter of factly. 

his blue eyes, now that they are fully open and conscious, are even more shocking than they were when you first glimpsed them earlier that day. they seem to glow from within; they look like they hold full worlds within their depths. 

“that’s weird,” Gojo continues. “i could’ve sworn i died and went to heaven seeing as i’m looking at an angel right now.” only when you see that he is grinning impishly at you do you realize he is flirting with you. 

your lip curls in distaste, and you extricate your hand from his grasp.

“i am no angel. i am a sorcerer, as you are. you were as good as dead, split clean in half, but i channeled my Reverse Cursed Technique to heal you,” you conclude with pride. 

Gojo looks down at his stomach, shiny and pink with fresh scar tissue. 

“you must be some sorcerer, then. i was positive i was a goner back there. i’m not sure even Shoko could’ve healed me like this. really nice work,” he muses. he is right, of course. you are unsure of who Shoko is, but Gojo is correct that very few sorcerers could heal such severe injuries. all the same, you loathe the warmth you feel at his admiration; Lord Sukuna’s confidence should be enough for you.

“anyway,” Gojo continues, “who are you exactly? where am i?” 

“Lord Sukuna brought you here,” you say. “I am his healer.”

surely the mention of his formidable foe would shake Gojo’s arrogance. you relish the fear that Lord Sukuna’s name seems to inspire in other mortals. 

this was unfortunately not the case with Gojo. 

“that’s sweet, the ol’ guy wanted me healed up, huh?” 

you bristle. “you will address Lord Sukuna with respect!”   

Gojo merely laughs at your response, which infuriates you further. “i, for one, fail to see why he deigned to save such an insolent whelp like you,” you snap, succumbing to your rising temper.

“really?” Gojo asks, his blue eyes full of mirth. “guess you don’t get the old guy the way i do. i’m pretty sure I understand why he wanted me alive.”

“then be so kind as to enlighten me,” you say sardonically. 

“i’ve been the strongest sorcerer around for basically my whole life,” Gojo says. in spite of the sarcasm in your voice when you asked him to explain himself, he seems sincere. “fighting Sukuna was the first time i felt even remotely challenged. he even technically beat me, i guess.” 

he watches you, waiting for you to respond. when you are still silent, he continues.

“i’m sure he feels the same way i do. i know i challenged him the way he challenged me, and for sorcerers at our level, finding a true adversary is hard.  once you do find one, letting go can be just as hard.” Gojo sounds wistful; you wonder if he speaks from experience. 

“i guess what i’m saying is that it’s lonely at the top,” he finishes; his earlier amusement is gone, and he seems somber now. 

you find that you pity Gojo. to be a sorcerer can be a lonesome existence. Lord Sukuna, while alone in his caliber, at least has you and his other servants and devotees to warm and distract him. does Satoru Gojo have anyone?

you reach a hand forward and begin tracing the planes of his pale face with your fingers. he lacks Lord Sukuna’s raw power, but his beauty is exquisite. Gojo leans into your comforting touch. 

“how can i ever thank you for bringing me back to life?” he murmurs. as your hand passes near his lips, he stills it with his own and kisses it softly. 

you gasp sharply and withdraw your hand as though burned. 

“that was wrong,” you say urgently. “you cannot touch me like that.”

Gojo sighs. “you really are devoted to that old man, aren’t you?” 

“we both belong to Lord Sukuna,” you reply, emphasizing his proper title. “you must respect his authority over us both.” 

“maybe you belong to Sukuku,” Gojo says; you cringe at his inane nickname for Lord Sukuna, but you suppose anything is better than merely calling him an old man. “i, on the other hand, only belong to me, myself, and i.” 

you exhale in irritation. no matter how great a sorcerer Satoru Gojo is, his arrogance is certainly grating. part of you wishes you had left him severed in two — at least he was quieter that way. you recall Lord Sukuna once saying that the greatest sorcerers always seemed to possess even greater mental eccentricities; Satoru Gojo certainly proves that theory.

to your annoyance, as he speaks, he takes your hand in his again. you are bemused to find, however, that you do not wish to remove it. his hands are wiry, yet so powerful. there is power within your hands as well, you muse as you intertwine your fingers almost instinctively. your irritation, admiration, and pride are all coalescing into a confusing burn of…passion. how inconvenient. 

 “you are rather presumptuous, are you not?” comes a voice from the doorway. you gasp and tear your hand from Gojo’s once more, immediately prostrating yourself before Lord Sukuna. Gojo makes no move to even bow his head, meanwhile. typical.

“rise, y/n,” Lord Sukuna continues. “you must be giving our guest a rather unsavory impression of me with your theatrics.” slowly, you raise your face from the floor and see Lord Sukuna has crouched before you. he takes your face in one of his hands. you shiver — it has been so long since you have felt the touch of his true form. “am i not a benevolent master to you?” he murmurs; his face is so close that you can feel his warm, humid breath on the shell of your ear. it is all you can do not to tremble from desire. 

with you still reeling from the close contact, Lord Sukuna rises smoothly back to his feet and saunters to Gojo’s bedside. 

“you seem in high spirits, Satoru Gojo. i feared i had gone too far with you,” Lord Sukuna says, his tone casual as though he had not cloven the younger man’s body in two just hours earlier.

“oh, i can take much more than that, old man,” Gojo says, innuendo easily discernible from his tone. you cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes; from what you had seen thus far, Satoru Gojo seemed to flirt with everybody he meets. that said, the image of Lord Sukuna and Satoru Gojo, of what Gojo’s playful tone was implying…your mind’s eye is running amok, loathe as you are to admit it. doubtlessly Lord Sukuna’s true form and the sleepless stress of the evening are perverting your mind in unforeseen ways, you reassure yourself.

Lord Sukuna seems tickled by Gojo’s irreverence, and you try not to feel envious. “is that so?” he inquires. 

“a credit to your lovely healer, i gotta say,” Gojo continues, his shocking blue eyes twinkling as they meet yours. “she has a rare talent. you sure you need her? i have half a mind to take her with me when we’re done here.” 

you know Gojo is being insufferable right now, and moreover irreverent to Lord Sukuna. you know that. but he’s just so handsome, and so appreciative, and so talented in his own right…you feel powerless to stop the breath from catching in your throat, flustered at his attention. 

you find yourself thinking about how his smooth skin felt beneath your touch; cool, then warm as you breathed life back into him with your reverse cursed technique. taut, pulsating with the cursed power and blood in his veins. 

so lost are you in your meditations of Gojo’s flesh that you nearly miss what Lord Sukuna replies.

“y/n certainly is a first rate sorcerer,” he says, flinging a fond look over his shoulder at you; predictably, you preen at his praise. 

“what i enjoy most about y/n’s skill,” he continues, “is her fastidiousness. she leaves no stone unturned. in healing, jujutsu sorcery…and everything else. isn’t that right?” he asks you. 

“y-you are too kind, Lord Sukuna,” you bluster, trembling like a newborn fawn. you are usually so comfortable with him, but the presence of a stranger is making you look upon Lord Sukuna with new eyes again. 

“and i trust you have been equally thorough with our guest?” Lord Sukuna proceeds. 

“of course, Lord Sukuna.” 

“how disappointing to hear you lie to me, y/n,” Lord Sukuna tuts. “i know you have not been fully attentive to Satoru Gojo’s recovery.” 

your face grows hot. what did you do wrong? you take pride in your work, after all; you would never do a sloppy job no matter the patient, but especially not for one so important to Lord Sukuna.

“my lord? i am afraid i misunderstand you. i have followed only the most careful healing protocols,” you say; this is as close as you dare come to talking back. Lord Sukuna is kind and merciful and great, but much like the fire he commands, his warmth can flare uncontrollably and singe everything in its vicinity if you are not cautious. 

 “have you made absolutely sure, for example, that Satoru Gojo’s new body is completely functional?” Lord Sukuna prods. he has now turned to face you. one set of his arms is crossed over his chest, while the other is crossed behind his back. his face looks stern, but the mouth on his stomach betrays a smirk. 

“Satoru Gojo seems to be functioning as i would expect, my lord,” you reply.

“show me,” he says, stepping aside from Satoru Gojo’s bed. his body had been obscuring Gojo from your view, but you see now that the younger sorcerer has been watching the exchange with a hungry grin. there is clearly a subtext you are missing, but you dare not speculate what it is. 

you approach Gojo and perform an examination of his body, as you would any of your patients. you test his reflexes, and check his pupils’ dilation and contraction (during the latter, they look like just a pinprick lost in an ocean. nobody ever warned you of the six eyes’ beauty). when you palpate his ribs, he groans slightly; you feel the sound vibrate through your fingers.    

“he is recovering as i might expect, Lord Sukuna. of course, we must keep him under observation, but —” 

Lord Sukuna cuts you off with an impatient click of his tongue. “i will not tolerate your inattention to detail!” he growls. your heart starts beating violently, feeling like it’s throwing itself against your breast from within. 

you fight to keep your voice steady. 

“please forgive my stupidity, my lord,” you grovel, prostrating yourself once more. “i truly am unsure of what more you want me to check. please, if you could just help me, i promise this will never occur again.” 

you are mortified to feel the white-hot prickling of tears at the corners of your eyes. Lord Sukuna had never spoken to you this way, not even when you had just begun working for him. back then, you had known next to nothing compared to your knowledge now.  you rack your useless brain for something, anything, you might have missed, and come up empty. stupid, stupid girl. you just know this is the fault of Satoru Gojo, that irritating, gorgeous interloper. it is even more humiliating to be berated like this in his presence.

at Lord Sukuna’s silence, you direct your eyes as high as they can go from your position on the ground. you cannot see his face from this angle but you see his broad second mouth has gone from smirking to smiling outright with all its teeth. is he…not actually angry? 

you raise your head a little further, emboldened by the sight, and see Lord Sukuna himself smiling down at you, his two expressions identical. 

“what a pretty sight you make,” he coos, “on all fours looking up at me like that. my pliant, obedient girl.” 

he lowers one of his hands to cup himself through his loose pants, and you clench your thighs together; you are immune to neither the effect of his words, nor to the sight before you. 

he seamlessly bends down and raises you to your feet; as he holds you against him, it’s all you can do to hold yourself back from rutting against his massive body. but Lord Sukuna has always valued your restraint, and you know he has something planned for you. 

he rotates you now so your back is to him, and cages you tightly to his body with all four arms. you gasp; you have forgotten this delicious sensation, of being so thoroughly engulfed by Lord Sukuna that it is almost as if he has subsumed you entirely. he has turned you to face Gojo, who has been watching the scene unfold with great interest. you feel Lord Sukuna’s hardness growing behind you, but you resist the urge to grind into it and remain perfectly still. his pliant, obedient girl.

“now, go attend to our guest,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a finger. 

“yes, my lord,” you breathe, so aroused that you are nearly in pain.

 he then bends down until his lips tickle the back of your ear, making you shiver.

“show Satoru Gojo that that mouth of yours is meant for greater things than just making pretty little apologies to me,” he murmurs; you feel his voice reverberate through your whole body. the last thing you want to do is detach yourself from Lord Sukuna right now, but you know what  he desires of you, and you are always so eager to impress him. this is one of the things he loves about you, you know.

you return to Satoru Gojo’s bed as though to continue your examination; this time, however, you straddle him, desperate for just an ounce of friction to relieve your throbbing arousal. 

“i thought you had forgotten about me,” he pouts. 

“stop speaking, you stupid, beautiful man,” you reply, before tearing a kiss from his mouth. his lips are still slightly chapped from his hours of unconsciousness, and you rake your teeth across them. he groans into your mouth as you roll your hips until you feel him beginning to grow hard beneath you; the sensation sense frissons of pleasure through you, but you are single-minded in your task. you break your kiss abruptly and sit back, smirking at the pathetic whine Gojo lets out at your sudden absence. 

Gojo is only wearing a simple robe you had dressed him in after repairing him; this provides you with convenient access to conduct your examination. you withdraw a vial of oil you had kept in the pocket of your own robes (admittedly in anticipation of Lord Sukuna’s arrival), spread it across your hand, and begin stroking him. “it seems that everything is  in working order,” you remark as his erection grows under your expert ministrations. he moans and bucks into your hand. 

“p-please…” Gojo pants. the sound of his neediness goes straight to your core, which is rapidly growing wetter. this is not the time to pay attention to yourself, though; not when you’re attending to a patient. 

“‘please’ what, Satoru Gojo?” you tease; you know he has wanted to feel your mouth around him ever since Lord Sukuna alluded to it. you are enjoying watching this powerful sorcerer squirm by your hand, however. you glance over your shoulder and see Lord Sukuna is stroking himself off as well, his pants doffed entirely. you gulp; it has been so very long since Lord Sukuna has been in his own body; the sight of his girth is making you flush with desire. 

meeting your gaze, Lord Sukuna blows a kiss in your direction, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whining in sheer need to have him inside you. the sooner you obey him and pleasure Satoru Gojo, the sooner you may have the honor of feeling him stretch your walls; and so, you turn back to your guest. 

Gojo has the most pathetic look in his stunning blue eyes, driven half mad by yet unfulfilled lust. his plush lips are twisted in a pained grimace. you see him moving his hand to give himself the pleasure you are denying him, but you hold it in place firmly. 

“you’ve been such a patient boy so far; don’t ruin it now,” you coo, nipping his lower lip. you then undo his robe and crawl backwards until your face hovers over his engorged cock. you place a light kiss at its warm tip, licking off a bead of precum, before looking back up at him through heavily lidded eyes. Gojo tilts his head back, exposing the delicate white expanse of his throat. 

“Please, y/n!” he cries. “i need you!” 

the sound of your name on his needy tongue is having quite an effect on you, and you finally take pity on him; he only just recovered, after all. in one smooth motion, you take as much of his length as you can in your mouth. Gojo groans at the feeling of the warm wetness engulfing his cock, and you begin moving your head up and down, complementing the motions with your tongue as you cup his balls with your free hand. 

“feel free to gag her,” Lord Sukuna calls from his corner of the room. “her little throat can take it.” 

Lord Sukuna instructing Gojo on how to fuck your mouth is turning you on more than you can handle, and you moan involuntarily around his length. Gojo threads his fingers through your hair and pushes your head down on him; you swallow and feel him filling your mouth, his tip battering your throat mercilessly. you can tell from his increasing pace, from the guttural growls the feeling of you is drawing from him, that he must be getting close. 

finally, finally, you feel a strong, calloused, beautifully familiar pair of hands dig into the flesh of your hips, and you could cry in relief. 

“you have been such a good girl for me,” Lord Sukuna hums sensually. “and i always reward loyalty.” you buck your hips backwards into him, raising them to provide him readier access to your dripping cunt. you feel the pads of his thumbs stroke over your ass as his tongue begins lapping at your folds. his second tongue, you can tell, from its breadth and roughness plundering you. for all its added size compared to his primary tongue, however,  Lord Sukuna is no less exacting with it, and he is soon circling your clit with painful accuracy. he does not wait long before giving you the pleasure you crave, and almost embarrassingly quickly, you come all over his massive tongue with a wanton moan. 

with the sound of your orgasm, and the feel of your moan vibrating around him, Gojo fists your hair even more tightly and releases hot ropes into your throat with a growl. 

“swallow it all,” Lord Sukuna commands, reaching forward to stroke your hair. “swallow it down for me.” you are nothing if not obedient, and you dutifully swallow Gojo’s whole load, not letting a single drop go to waste. Gojo leans back on the headboard, spent, and relaxes his vice grip on your hair. you pop your lips off him, licking them clean and smirking to yourself at your ability to have someone like Satoru Gojo at your mercy. 

“i believe our guest needs time to rest before we continue,” you hear Lord Sukuna say from behind you. you turn and see that he is leaning back casually on one of the other beds in the healing quarters. “let us leave him for the time being, y/n.” 

you are a little disappointed to be stopping already, but you comply; Lord Sukuna is probably correct that too much excitement for Gojo could hinder his healing process. you make your way towards the doorway, yawning a little, when you feel a firm hand close around your wrist. before you have a chance to react, you’re roughly tugged backwards, spinning directly into Lord Sukuna’s firm chest. 

“i don’t believe i dismissed you, did i?” he purrs into your ear, and a thrill of excitement slithers through your body. 

“did i?” he repeats, pinching the tender skin at your waist at your silence. 

“n-no,” you gasp, hardly able to focus over your excitement for what will inevitably follow. 

Lord Sukuna twists his hand, making you hiss lightly at the pleasurable pain. 

“‘no’ what, y/n? how is it you should address me?” 

“no, Lord Sukuna,” you manage to breathe out. he lets out a low chuckle that reverberates through his chest before bending you over an empty bed, holding both your wrists behind your back with one of his hands as he pushes your head down with another. you are already incredibly aroused when you feel a third hand begin to explore your slick folds. 

“already so wet for me, are you?” he teases; you can hear the smirk in his voice. you can only whimper in response. he easily inserts two fingers into you, eliciting a sharp cry when he hooks them around and lightly tickles the sensitive spot that can make you come apart. 

“now,” you manage to grind out between your teeth. “please, my lord…i need you inside me now…” 

“making demands now?” Lord Sukuna taunts. “we certainly are feeling cheeky this evening, aren’t we?” 

in spite of his words of chastisement, however, Lord Sukuna seems intent on granting your wishes, and you feel his stiff head, moist with precum, brushing once, twice, thrice against your entrance, building up friction. then, in one decisive motion, he enters you at last; Lord Sukuna was, by all definitions and especially mortal standards, extremely well-endowed; however, you have been ready for him for so long that his length faces little resistance. you sigh in relief at the feel of his massive girth stretching your walls, making you feel so full and complete. at times like this, you feel that your body was created to accommodate him, that being used like this by him was your most sacred purpose.

you push back against him, trying to seat him even more deeply within yourself. in response, he strokes your hair affectionately. he then pulls out slightly, and with one more thrust, he bottoms out in you with a groan. 

he begins to drive into you with greater speed and urgency, two of his hands holding your hips in place so tightly that you know his broad fingertips will leave bruises. he adjusts his angle, pushing your face into the mattress and bending over you until your bodies are flush, and he continues at an unrelenting pace. your pleasure continues to build as he bottoms out again and again inside you, his massive second tongue slavering lasciviously over the curves of your back, until you come for the second time that night. you cry out in ecstasy without shame, feeling your walls clench even more tightly around Lord Sukuna. he groans at the sensation and sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he empties himself into you until his come drips down your thighs. 

utterly sated, you begin to crawl out from under Lord Sukuna’s massive form, your legs trembling with exertion, pleasure, and pain alike. your shaky breath leaves  your lungs all at once when he abruptly flips you on your back. he is so imposing and beautiful, hovering over you like this, with an inscrutable look in his cruel, narrow eyes. 

“i believe i already told you, y/n,” he growls, “you are dismissed only when i dismiss you. and i am nowhere near through with you yet.” 

holding himself up with two arms, he takes your hand with a third and draws it down until it is around his cock, which is already hard again. 

“look what you do to me,” he murmurs, before using your hand to brush his tip against your still-tender vulva. 

“i’m not yet ready, my lord,” you whimper weakly, trying to wriggle out from his grasp to no avail. you gasp as he grinds himself between your thighs and against your slickened entrance, growing harder still. the friction almost surpasses pleasure to pain after your powerful recent orgasm, and you keen loudly, unable to help yourself. “i-it’s…too much…i can’t take it,” you protest, tears rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation.

Lord Sukuna promptly silences your noisy cries by clamping a swift hand to your throat. 

“i alone dictate what you can and cannot take,” he declares, gently pressing on the sides of your neck and slipping a hand between your thighs as you squeeze them together. with uncharacteristic tenderness, he then kisses the tears from your cheeks.

 “and i know you can take this.” 

he stares into your eyes until you assent with a silent nod, and he smiles.

“good girl,” he whispers, before using his hand to pry your thighs apart and positioning himself properly.  he buries himself inside you again, this time with minimal resistance — between your and his combined juices, you are sopping wet now. encouraged, he hitches your leg over his shoulder for deeper access to your core and begins thrusting into you in earnest. from this new angle, he drives right into your most sensitive inner point, and you are sure your cries can be heard throughout the compound. you hardly care who can hear you now, though; you hardly even pay attention to Gojo, who is now looking fully alert and wide-eyed at the show he is getting. 

you dig your fingernails into Lord Sukuna’s sinuous shoulders and cry out again and again until your voice grows hoarse.    

“say my name,” Lord Sukuna commands between his own grunts of pleasure. 

“L-Lord Sukuna,” you moan, your voice shaking as his thrusts increase in pace. he wraps his hand around your throat again. 

“my true name, y/n” he growls. he drives into you faster; you know he is close, and it is your privilege to bring him over the edge.

as soon as he releases his grasp on your neck, you reach up, stroking your hand through his unruly hair before pulling his ear down to your lips. “as you wish, Ryomen,” you purr into his ear. he moans and nearly folds you in half as he drives into you at a diabolical pace. as he reaches his peak, he withdraws his length from you and unleashes his load all over your stomach, marking you as his own; the thought that you had this effect on him, this power over him, multiplies your own pleasure, and you climax once again, your legs shaking and toes curling in sheer bliss. 

Lord Sukuna rolls off of your body, both of you breathing heavily. 

“now, y/n,” he pants, “you are dismissed. i shall attend to our guest in your stead.” 

your exertions have exhausted you, but you are still obedient to him before anything else. and so, covered in both of your comes, his saliva, and a sheen of your own sweat, you bow deeply, and excuse yourself from the room. you are so utterly sated, so pleasurably sore, that all you can think of is taking a hot bath and resting.

well…almost all you can think of.

Lord Sukuna’s final statement has piqued your curiosity, however. and that is why, rather than returning right away to your own quarters, you find yourself kneeling on the floor peering around the curtain closing off the medical wing. if you are perfectly silent and still, you can remain undetected. besides, you reason, Gojo is still your patient, and so it behooves you to keep a close eye on his recovery.

(why leave everything to the imagination, after all?)

by the time you are settled in from your covert viewing spot, you see that Lord Sukuna is standing by Gojo’s bedside. the younger sorcerer is fully awake and alert now, peering up inquisitively with those blue eyes of his. 

“is it finally my turn now, then?” he asks; you note that he sounds slightly petulant and roll your eyes. was he really jealous now, of all times? 

You can only see his muscled back  from where you sit, but you know from how his shoulders shake that Lord Sukuna is laughing at Gojo’s insubordination. 

“you have seen what i demand, Satoru Gojo,” he says, crossing both sets of arms. “do you believe you can keep up, even in your state?”

you know that Lord Sukuna’s line of questioning is only pretense, of course. you recall why it was that Lord Sukuna had brought back Satoru Gojo for you to heal. and you remember his request — i want this one staying pretty for me, he had said. 

“of course i can ‘keep up,’” Gojo scoffs. “can you keep up, old man? you seemed to get pretty tired just then.” 

you grimace at Gojo’s disrespect, but Lord Sukuna is made of sterner stuff, and he just laughs even louder before clapping a pair of hands around Gojo’s beautiful face. you note that Gojo flinches, if only for a split second.

“such a mouth on you,” he hums, brushing a thumb across Gojo’s bottom lip. “just look at you. we will have to do something about that attitude.”

“like what?” Gojo asks, his eyes glimmering with anticipation that you can see even from where you sit. “what exactly is it you would do, Sukuku dear?”

“you seem to have your own ideas already. what is it you would have me do?” you can hear Lord Sukuna’s grin, even if you cannot see it.

Gojo simply winks.

“here’s an idea. why don’t you split me in half again?”

Lord Sukuna laughs heartily before leaning forward over Gojo’s bed, slightly obscuring your view. 

“what an idea, Satoru Gojo. would you enjoy that?”

for some reason, Gojo does not answer right away; you try to crane your neck around to see what is happening, but he speaks again soon.

“y…yes…” he responds, suddenly breathless. “i believe i w-would.” 

suddenly, you realize that, while you cannot see all of Gojo’s body from this angle, you can see one of Lord Sukuna’s arms moving rapidly up and down, and you can see a blush beginning to color Gojo’s delicate cheeks. your breath catches in your throat as you put together what it is you are witnessing. scrambling for a better view, you decide that both men are occupied enough that you can creep back into the corner of the room and hide behind one of the beds for a clearer angle.

“and are you certain you can truly take me? all of me?” Sukuna inquires, continuing his businesslike tone as though he is not currently stroking his rival off.

“mm-of course,” Gojo keens. 

“‘of course’ who?” Lord Sukuna prompts, repeating the routine he loves to do with you. 

“forget your own name, Sukuku? you gettin’ senile?” he pants with a grin that is equal parts lascivious and mischievous. this is bratty behavior Lord Sukuna never had to suffer from you, so you wonder with eager anticipation how he will respond. 

Lord Sukuna merely tuts in response. “what a shame. whether you can accommodate all of me or not, we will have to fix that smart mouth of yours first.” 

he fists a hand in Gojo’s fine white hair, easily palming his full skull as he pulls back until the blue-eyed sorcerer is looking straight up at him. 

“i happen to know the best cure for a smart mouth,” Gojo says with a feral grin. he darts his tongue out and swipes it swiftly across Lord Sukuna’s swollen tip. 

“get on with it, then,” Lord Sukuna growls, roughly forcing Gojo’s head onto his length. you grimace at the vigor with which Lord Sukuna rams himself down Gojo’s throat which looks so dainty to you, but he slurps eagerly on it; it seems Satoru Gojo is never one to shy away from a challenge. 

watching Lord Sukuna use Gojo’s throat so mercilessly, and Gojo meeting the task with such enthusiasm, you find yourself unable to resist snaking a hand down between your legs, where you feel heat and tension building once again. as you toy with yourself, careful to remain as quiet as possible, you see Sukuna pull Gojo’s mouth from his still-hard cock with a wet pop. 

“you have proven yourself to me,” he says, releasing his grip on Gojo’s hair to caress it tenderly back from his face. “and it is time for your reward.” you hold your breath; this should be a treat for you, as well.

with a grip on Gojo’s shoulders, he raises him from the bed; Gojo, still a little shaky on his legs, braces himself back against Lord Sukuna’s body. Gojo is by no means a small man, but his form is still engulfed when he is up against Lord Sukuna; you bite your lip at the thought and rub yourself faster. 

Lord Sukuna reaches around Gojo to the bedside table, where you had deposited your vial of oil, and lubricates his fingers with a few drops. his hands should still be slick with all of your combined secretions, you reason, but Lord Sukuna always takes extra precautions given his immensity. then, gently bending Gojo back over, he inserts one finger. Gojo throws his head back against Lord Sukuna’s chest and groans as he gets accustomed to the feeling, and he moans outright as Lord Sukuna inserts his second finger. 

the sight and sound send hot coils of pleasure through you, and you have to clap a hand to your mouth to keep yourself from mirroring the sounds Gojo is making. 

“are you prepared for me to split you in half again, as you so eloquently put it?” Lord Sukuna purrs against the shell Gojo’s reddening ear. 

“yes!” Gojo cries without hesitation.  

“would you beg for it?” Sukuna prods, not one to give his rival what he is asking for so easily. 

“please!” when Sukuna makes no moves to proceed, Gojo cries out again. “please, Lord Sukuna,” he breathes. “please make me yours.” 

“good,” Lord Sukuna says, leaves a bruising bite at the nape of Gojo’s neck. “well said.” then, preparing his length and using both sets of his arms to position himself and Gojo optimally, Lord Sukuna enters him with agonizing slowness. you are unsure of whether you even thought to hold yourself back from moaning this time, but it is drowned out in any case by Gojo’s own needy vocalizations. 

as he pumps in and out of Gojo, all three of you are overcome by your own pleasure, by the complicated dynamics you have brought into the medical wing and worked out in such a raw and wild way. your earlier feelings of confused irritation for Gojo dissipate as you watch his beautiful form twisting in paroxysms of pleasure; in him, you see yourself. as the two men climax at nearly the same time, scattering their pearly semen across the sheets and each other, you find yourself peaking soon after, tears streaming down your face in sheer joy.

As Lord Sukuna settles Gojo back down into the bed for him to continue his recovery, he gives him a fond pat on the head.

“you were magnificent, Satoru Gojo.”

the sorcerer gives a little self-satisfied smile before falling into a deep slumber nearly immediately, and you make a mental note to ensure that all the exertion did not compromise his healing in any way. before Lord Sukuna can turn back around, you gather your earlier discarded robe around yourself and quietly crawl back out of the room and behind the curtain, pleased with yourself for not being caught. 

or so you thought.

“there is no need to exit on my account, y/n,” he calls, not turning around. you gasp before re-entering sheepishly.

“i apologize, my lord. i merely wished not to disturb you both, so i did not make myself known,” you explain rather weakly. 

“i am pleased you… enjoyed yourself,” he says, finally looking over his shoulder at you with a knowing smile that makes you shiver with shame.

 “you seem to have enjoyed yourself as well, my lord,” you reply; your envy of Gojo for earning Lord Sukuna’s attention is building back up, and you are unable to keep it from your voice. 

“oh, y/n,” Lord Sukuna chuckles fondly, closing the space between you with long strides before he is clasping you to him. 

“Satoru Gojo is a novelty.” he leans down until your mouths meet, and your breath catches.

“you, however,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot, “are mine. do you understand?” 

“yes, my lord,” you breathe back into him, hardly daring to move.   

he steps back from you first, calling for Uraume much to your confusion. the soft spoken chef, a long-time friend of yours inside the compound, appears with their characteristic quiet swiftness. much like yourself, Lord Sukuna has implicit trust in their devotion, and so often depends on them for personal tasks even beyond their formal role in the kitchen. as such, you have both built a mutual respect for one another. you nod a cordial greeting at them, which they return.

“you called for me, Lord Sukuna?”  they ask with their careful diction. 

“please draw a bath and get y/n cleaned up for me,” he says. 

you look at him inquiringly, and he chuckles darkly, his previous tenderness all gone.

“you and your pleasure both belong to me, y/n,” he reminds you. “and i know i did not give you my permission to…enjoy the show.”  

you gulp, and he turns back to Uraume. 

“get her prettied up for me,” he continues  with a devious grin of anticipation, “and bring her back to me so i may discipline her appropriately for her disobedience.”

[hd-junglebook]

Little Dove

Part 3

a:n This is just full-on fluff and also my first attempt at something a little heated which probably sucks. If anyone wants to write smut for me pls lmk your girl is struggling. Also warning this is not proofread AT ALL.

Masterlist Link

Summary: To forgive you have to be strong, but all y/n needed was love before her last piece of resolve crumbled for the man she found herself so in love with.

Word Count - 4782

The house was enveloped in an unsettling stillness, a heavy silence that seemed to permeate every room. The only sound that pierced the quiet was the steady drumming of water from the bathroom, where steam billowed out from behind the shower curtain like a ghostly veil.

Inside the shower, Y/N stood motionless, her eyes closed as the scalding water cascaded over her skin, enveloping her in its comforting warmth. The heat of the water mixed with the salt of her tears, creating dark rivulets of melted makeup that swirled down the drain in a hypnotic dance.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/N didn't hear the soft creak of the bathroom door opening, nor the rustle of clothing being discarded on the tiled floor. It wasn't until the sudden yank of the shower curtain that she was jolted from her reverie, her eyes flying open in alarm as she instinctively reached for a towel to cover herself.

But instead of an intruder, she found herself staring into the intense, stormy eyes of Quinn. He stood before her, his chest heaving with barely contained emotion, his hair already damp from the steam that filled the room.

Without a word, he stepped into the shower behind her, the heat of his skin pressing against her back as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Y/N tensed for a moment, her heart racing at the unexpected intimacy of his touch.

But as Quinn's fingers splayed across her stomach, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on her skin, she felt herself melting into his embrace.

A deep, shuddering sigh escaped Quinn's lips, the warmth of his breath tickling the sensitive skin of Y/N's neck. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I should've told you how I felt. I waited too long, and now things between us aren't okay."

She shook her head, droplets of water flying from her hair as she turned to face him within the circle of his arms.

"I was happy having you here like this," she whispered, her voice trembling as she met his gaze. "But I won't keep waiting for you to be ready to love me."

Quinn's eyes softened, a flicker of pain crossing his features at the hurt he heard in her voice. He raised a hand to her face, his fingers gently brushing away the strands of wet hair that clung to her cheeks.

"You don't have to wait anymore," he said earnestly, his voice low and filled with conviction. "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his words. She searched his face for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but found only a raw, unguarded vulnerability that made her own eyes sting with fresh tears.

Quinn leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers as the water continued to beat down on them, steam rising in lazy tendrils around their bodies.

"I don’t want to be with anyone else, Y/N," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers with each word. "I'm sorry it took me so long to say it but I just want to be with you. I’m ready to make things work with us."

…

In the soft, ethereal light of dawn, Y/N stirred from her slumber, the gentle rustling of sheets accompanying her movements as she turned over in the bed. The comforter, a whisper of silk and down, slipped from her arms like a lover's caress as she sat up.

Beside her, Quinn's sleeping form lay still, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath. At the sudden shift in weight, he groaned, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to emanate from deep within his chest.

His eyelids fluttered, fighting against the pull of consciousness, before finally blinking open to reveal eyes still hazy with the remnants of sleep.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his features softened by the golden glow that filtered through the curtains. In that moment, she knew with a certainty that burned bright and fierce within her chest that there was nothing she wouldn't do for him.

If Quinn asked her to move mountains, she would find a way to reshape the very earth beneath their feet.

As if sensing her thoughts, Quinn's lips curled into a slow, lazy smile. A quiet laugh escaped him, the sound rough and honey-sweet in the stillness of the morning. "Stop staring at me," he mumbled, his voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

With a tender touch, he reached out to brush away the strands of hair that had fallen across Y/N's face, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek. The simple gesture held a world of meaning, a silent promise of the love and devotion that flowed between them like a river, deep and endless.

Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as she savored the warmth of his skin against hers. In that moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist, the only reality the cocoon of their bed and the love that enveloped them like a second skin.

She thought of all the moments that had led them to this point, the trials and heartaches they had endured to find each other. But as she looked into Quinn's eyes, she saw a future stretching out before them, a path illuminated by the light of their love.

With a contented sigh, Y/N lay back down, her head coming to rest on Quinn's chest. She listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the sound a soothing lullaby that seemed to whisper a secret language only they could understand.

Quinn's arms encircled her, holding her close as if he never wanted to let her go.

The morning light continued to dance across their skin, painting them in shades of gold and amber. Quinn's eyes sparkled with a sudden idea. "Hey," he said, his voice still slightly raspy from sleep, "why don't we do something fun today? Just the two of us."

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, her curiosity piqued. "What did you have in mind?"

Quinn's brow furrowed in thought for a moment before his face lit up with excitement. "I know! We could go horseback riding. Or maybe I could teach you how to ice skate. There's nothing more romantic than gliding across the ice together, hand in hand."

Y/N's heart swelled at the thought, a giddy excitement bubbling up inside her. "I love both of those ideas," she said, a wide grin spreading across her face.

"Let's do it." they both climbed out of bed, Quinn headed to the bathroom to freshen up, Y/N padded into the kitchen, her bare feet cool against the tile floor.

She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, the soft click of the burner a comforting sound in the quiet of the morning. As she waited for the water to boil, she busied herself with preparing Quinn's favorite tea, measuring out the loose leaves with care and arranging his mug just the way he liked it.

Lost in her task, Y/N didn't hear Quinn enter the kitchen until she felt his arms wrap around her waist from behind. She leaned back into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping her lips as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

"You're too good to me," he murmured, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder as he watched her work.

Y/N turned in his arms, her hands sliding up his chest to loop around his neck. "You deserve nothing less," she said softly, her eyes shining with love and adoration.

As they stood there, swaying gently in the middle of the kitchen, Quinn's expression grew thoughtful. "You know," he said, his voice taking on a wistful tone, "growing up, it was always just me and my younger brothers, Jack and Luke. We were inseparable."

Y/N's heart warmed at the fondness in his voice, the love he clearly held for his siblings. "Tell me about them," she urged gently, her fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Quinn's eyes took on a faraway look as he lost himself in memories. "Jack was always the mischievous one, always getting us into trouble with his crazy schemes. And Luke, he was the sensitive one, the peacemaker who always knew just what to say to make everything better."

Y/N listened intently, captivated by the snippets of Quinn's past, the pieces of himself he was entrusting to her. She could picture them in her mind's eye, three young boys with the same sparkling eyes and infectious grins, their laughter echoing through the halls of their childhood home.

But as Quinn continued to speak, his voice grew tinged with sadness. "I miss them," he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I hardly get to see them anymore, except for a few weeks in the summer when we all manage to get together."

Y/N's heart ached for him, for the longing she heard in his voice. She cupped his face in her hands, gently tilting his chin up until his eyes met hers. "Hey," she said softly, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone, "why don't we plan a trip to visit them?”

Quinn's eyes widened in surprise, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Really? You'd want to do that?"

Y/N nodded, her own smile bright and earnest. "Of course I would. They're a part of you, Quinn, and I want to know every part of you."

With a sudden, desperate need to show her the depth of his feelings, Quinn surged forward, his hands cupping Y/N's face with a tenderness that belied the urgency of his movements.

His lips found hers, the contact electric and all-consuming, a kiss that seemed to hold within it all the words he had never been able to say.

Y/N melted into his embrace, her own hands coming up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as if she couldn't bear even the slightest distance between them. Their lips moved together in a dance of passion and devotion, each brush of skin against skin a silent promise of forever.

Quinn poured every ounce of his love into the kiss, his touch reverent and worshipful as he memorized the feel of her in his arms. He tried to convey with his actions what he couldn't find the words to express, the sheer magnitude of his feelings for her, the way she had become the very air he breathed.

Y/N responded in kind, her own love for him evident in the way she clung to him, her body molding perfectly to his as if they had been crafted from the same star-strewn clay.

She kissed him back with a fervor that stole the breath from his lungs, her lips parting in silent invitation as she welcomed him into the very heart of her.

Quinn lost himself in the taste of her, the scent of her skin, the soft sighs that escaped her lips as he trailed kisses along the column of her throat.

It was a kiss that spoke of forever, of two souls finally finding their way home to each other after a lifetime of searching.

When they finally broke apart, their chests heaving and their eyes glazed with the heady rush of desire, Quinn rested his forehead against Y/N's, his breath mingling with hers in the scant space between their lips.

The kettle began to whistle, the shrill sound breaking through the tender moment. Y/N turned back to the stove, pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves, and watching as the liquid bloomed with rich, earthy colors.

She handed Quinn his mug, the steam curling invitingly from its surface, and together they settled at the kitchen island.

…

The ice rink was a glittering expanse of white, the soft scrape of blades against the frozen surface mingling with the laughter and chatter of the other skaters.

Y/N clung to the side of the rink, her knuckles white as she gripped the railing, her legs wobbling unsteadily beneath her.

Quinn glided up beside her, his movements graceful and effortless, a stark contrast to Y/N's unsteady shuffling. He bit back a grin at the look of intense concentration on her face, the way her brow furrowed and her tongue poked out slightly as she focused on keeping her balance.

"Okay, now move your left foot towards me," he instructed, his voice gentle and encouraging.

Y/N shot him a skeptical look, her eyes narrowing as she caught the hint of amusement in his tone. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Hockey Star," she grumbled, her words laced with a playful sarcasm. "We can't all be born with blades attached to our feet."

Quinn let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and rich in the crisp air of the rink. "Stop laughing at me, it isn't funny," Y/N whined, her bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Quinn said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I promise I'm not laughing at you. I just find your determination incredibly adorable."

Y/N's cheeks flushed pink at his words, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to maintain her pretend annoyance. "Flattery will get you nowhere, mister," she said, wagging a finger at him.

Quinn grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, come on, you've got to admit this is fun. And just think, by the end of the day, you'll be skating circles around me."

Y/N snorted, the sound decidedly unladylike. "Yeah, right. The only circles I'll be making are the ones my butt leaves on the ice when I inevitably fall."

Quinn laughed outright at that, the force of his amusement causing him to wobble slightly on his skates. Y/N's eyes widened in alarm, her hand shooting out to grab his arm, steadying him even as she struggled to keep her own balance.

"Whoa there, hotshot," she said, her voice teasing. "Looks like I'm not the only one who needs a lesson or two."

Quinn's eyes softened, his gaze locked on the point where her hand rested on his arm. "Maybe you're right," he said, his voice low and filled with a sudden intensity.

"Maybe we should forget about the skating and find something else to do. Something that involves a little less clothing and a lot more body heat."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat at the implication behind his words. She swallowed hard, her gaze darting to his lips before meeting his eyes once more. "I thought you'd never ask," she murmured, her voice husky with desire.

But just as Quinn leaned in, his intentions clear, Y/N's foot slipped on the ice, sending her sprawling backwards with a yelp of surprise. Quinn's arms shot out, catching her just before she hit the ground, his laughter ringing out across the rink as he pulled her close.

"Looks like we'll have to save that particular lesson for later," he said, his breath warm against her ear. "For now, let's focus on getting you comfortable on the ice."

Y/N groaned, her head falling forward to rest on his chest. "Fine," she said, her voice muffled by his jacket. "But you owe me a hot chocolate after this. And maybe a foot rub."

Quinn grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Anything for you, my love. Anything for you."

…

Y/N and Quinn glided around the rink, their hands intertwined and their laughter echoing off the ice, Y/N couldn't help but notice the attention Quinn was attracting from the other skaters. A group of girls, all long legs and perfect hair, kept skating by them, their eyes locked on Quinn's handsome face and athletic frame.

One of the girls, a blonde with a dazzling smile, broke away from the group and skated up beside them, her movements graceful and assured. "Hey there," she said, her voice low and flirtatious. "I couldn't help but notice your technique. You're really good on the ice."

Quinn smiled politely, but Y/N could see the discomfort in his eyes. "Thanks," he said, his voice neutral. "I play hockey, so I spend a lot of time on skates."

The girl's eyes widened, her interest clearly piqued. "Hockey, huh? That's so cool. I love a man who knows how to handle a stick."

Y/N's jaw clenched, her grip on Quinn's hand tightening involuntarily. She knew the girl was just flirting, but the blatant innuendo made her skin crawl.

Quinn, sensing Y/N's discomfort, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Thanks, but I'm actually here with my girlfriend," he said, his voice firm but polite. "If you'll excuse us, we'd like to get back to our skate."

The girl's smile faltered, her gaze darting to Y/N as if noticing her for the first time. "Oh, of course," she said, her voice slightly strained. "Sorry to interrupt."

With that, she skated away, rejoining her group of friends who were still watching Quinn with undisguised interest. Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as they continued their circuit around the rink.

"I'm sorry about that," Quinn said, his voice low and apologetic. "Those girls are just puck bunnies. They're always hanging around the rink, trying to get the attention of the players."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Puck bunnies? Is that what you call them?"

Quinn chuckled, the sound warm and rich in the cool air of the rink. "Yeah, it's a hockey term. They're like groupies, but for hockey players instead of musicians."

Y/N shook her head, a rueful laugh escaping her lips. "Well, I guess I can't blame them. You are pretty irresistible, after all."

Quinn grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, is that so? And here I thought you were just with me for my skating lessons."

Y/N laughed outright at that, the sound bright and joyful in the crisp air. "Well, that's definitely a perk," she teased, bumping her hip against his. "But I guess your rugged good looks and charming personality don't hurt either."

Quinn's gaze softened, his hand coming up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "I'm the lucky one," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "I get to be with the most beautiful, amazing woman in the world."

Y/N's heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his gaze making her feel like the most cherished person in the world. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, the taste of him warm and familiar on her tongue.

…

Y/N pushed open the front door of her apartment, the warmth of the interior a welcome respite from the chill of the ice rink. She stepped inside, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the exertion of their skating adventure. Quinn followed close behind, his presence a solid, comforting warmth at her back.

As Quinn shut the door behind them, Y/N couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation run through her body. The air between them seemed to crackle with electricity, the tension that had been building all day finally reaching a boiling point.

She walked towards the bedroom, her steps slow and deliberate, acutely aware of Quinn's presence behind her. She could feel his gaze on her, the weight of his desire a tangible thing in the stillness of the apartment.

Just as she reached the threshold of the bedroom, Y/N turned to look at Quinn over her shoulder, a coy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. But the words died on her lips as she caught sight of his expression, the raw hunger in his eyes stealing the breath from her lungs.

In two quick strides, Quinn closed the distance between them, his hands coming up to cup her face as he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. Y/N melted into his embrace, her own hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as she opened to him, welcoming the slide of his tongue against her own.

Her fingers danced below his stomach, softly caressing the skin before tugging his waistband forward. Her hand sneaks into his boxers finding his hard length, hot and dripping. She squeezed the base leaving Quinn to do nothing but groan. 

Y/N gasped as Quinn's mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear, his teeth grazing the delicate skin and sending shivers of pleasure racing down her spine.

She arched into him, her fingers pulling harder, holding him close to her body as he trailed a path of open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat.

When her hand came up to tangle in the curls of his hair, something snapped in him. Strong hands gripped her hips, tight enough to bruise the skin even through the fabric of her jeans.

They tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, the softness of the mattress a welcome contrast to the hardness of Quinn's body above her. Y/N's hands found the waistband of his jeans, her fingers fumbling with the button in her haste to feel his skin against her own.

Quinn groaned, his hips rocking against hers, the friction delicious and maddening all at once. "God, Y/N," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "You have no idea how you drive me crazy."

Y/N smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye as she leaned up to capture his lips once more. "Then show me," she whispered.

And with a growl of need, Quinn pulled her smaller form below him, her knees on either side of his hips. Quinn left a trail of love bites down to the line of her pants where he struggled to get the tight jeans off her thighs.

The feeling of him moving against her and around her had her eyes fluttering closed. They moved together in a dance as old as time itself, their bodies perfectly in sync, their hearts beating as one. Quinn exhaled, leaning back to tug down his briefs.

Her core throbs when he wraps his long fingers around himself, the sigh of relief he lets out as he touches himself makes her squirm from her position under him.

Adjusting his weight, he rested lightly on her and heavily on the elbows that were now on either side of her head. He tucked his head into her neck as they he lined himself up, using one hand to push himself inside of her.

y/n gasps at the intrusion, the feeling of her nails digging into his back hard enough to draw blood.

In the afterglow, as they lay tangled together beneath the sheets, their skin slick with sweat and their chests heaving with the force of their release, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the love she felt for the man in her arms.

Quinn was everything she had ever wanted, everything she had ever needed, and she knew that she would spend the rest of her life loving him with every fiber of her being.

As if sensing her thoughts, Quinn pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her waist as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I love you," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with wonder. "More than anything in this world."

Y/N smiled, her heart so full she thought it might burst. "I love you too," she whispered, her words a promise and a vow all at once. "Always and forever."

…

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the email that had just arrived in her inbox. The subject line read "Job Offer - Senior Marketing Manager," and as she scanned the contents of the message, her heart began to race.

"What?" she whispered to herself. "They actually chose me?"

With trembling hands, Y/N clicked on the email, her eyes scanning the contents of the message. As she read through the details of the offer, her excitement grew, a smile spreading across her face. "holy fucking shit," she muttered, her mind already racing with the possibilities.

The prestigious marketing firm she had interviewed with weeks ago was offering her a position that perfectly aligned with her skills and a chance to leave her parents’ miserable company.

However, there was one significant caveat: the job was located in another city, far from her current life and the comfort of her family's business.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her mind whirling with the implications of accepting the offer. She knew that taking this job would mean charting her own path, changing her relationship with Quinn.

She knew that he would be supportive and encouraging, but she couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness about how this change might impact their relationship. They had grown so close, and the idea of starting a new chapter in a different city without him by her side was daunting.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N resolved to discuss the offer with her parents before making any final decisions. She hoped that they would understand her desire for growth and independence, and that they would support her in this exciting new venture.

Y/N stood up from her desk and made her way to her father's office. She knocked on the door softly, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for his response.

"Come in," Derek's voice called out from behind the closed door.

Y/N entered the office, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she approached her father's desk. Derek looked up from his work, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in his daughter's serious expression.

"Dad, I need to talk to you about something important," Y/N began, her voice steady despite the nervousness that fluttered in her stomach. "I've been offered a job at a marketing firm in another city, and I'm considering accepting it."

As Y/N shared the news of the job offer with her father, Derek's expression shifted from one of mild concern to intense disappointment and anger. His brows furrowed, and his jaw clenched tightly as he processed the information.

"You can't be serious, Y/N," Derek said, his voice low and filled with disapproval. "After everything we've done for you, after all the time and resources we've invested in your career, you're just going to throw it all away?"

Y/N flinched at her father's harsh tone, but she stood her ground. "Dad, this isn't about being ungrateful. This is about my future, my dreams. I have the opportunity to build a career that truly fulfills me, and I can't just ignore that."

Derek scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Fulfills you? What about your commitment to this family, to our business? We've been grooming you to take over, to carry on our legacy. And now you're telling me you want to abandon all of that for some job in another city?"

Y/N could feel her frustration growing, but she tried to remain calm. "I'm not abandoning anything, Dad. I'm trying to create my own path, to find my own success. Why can't you understand that?"

Derek's face reddened, his anger boiling over. "Understand? What I understand is that you're being selfish and disloyal. You're not ready for a change like this, Y/N. You don't have what it takes to make it on your own. Mark my words, you'll come crawling back when things don't work out, begging for your old job back."

Tears stung Y/N's eyes at her father's belittling words, but she refused to let them fall. She had worked too hard and come too far to let his negativity tear her down.

"You're wrong, Dad," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I am ready for this, and I will make it work. I'm sorry if you can't see that, but I won't let your doubts hold me back."

Derek's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward in his chair, his gaze intense and unyielding. "We'll see about that. In the meantime, I expect you to invite Quinn over for dinner on Sunday. And before you even think about arguing, know that this isn't a request. It's a demand."

Y/N's stomach churned at the thought of subjecting Quinn to her father's scrutiny and control, but she knew she had no choice. With a curt nod, she turned and left the office, her heart heavy with the weight of her father's disappointment and the challenges that lay ahead.

As she walked back to her own office, Y/N pulled out her phone and began to compose a text to Quinn.

…

Tag List <3

@jamieeboulos, @shawnshoney, @fearfam69691 , @njdkatie

@dancerbailey3,  @alwaysclassyeagle, @snailss

[cera-writes]

You're taking Nightcrawler requests?! Prepare to be drowning in requests. Can I request Kurt with a mutant who has plant powers?

A/N: hope this is okay anon! <3 Pairing: Kurt Wagner x gn!reader Tags: fluff, reader-insert, pining, sfw

Geheime Blüte

The scent of damp earth and blooming orchids hung heavy in the air as you straightened the last potted fern in the X-Mansion's greenhouse. The last student had shuffled out minutes ago, leaving you to the calming symphony of rustling leaves and the gentle hum of the climate control system. Just as you were about to head inside, a deafening crack of thunder split the sky. You flinched, peering out at the rapidly darkening world beyond the glass. Fat raindrops lashed against the dome, blurring the once-vibrant landscape.

"Looks like we're in for a downpour," you muttered, a wry smile curling your lips. You weren't one to shy away from a little rain, but the thought of being trapped in the greenhouse for an extended period wasn't exactly thrilling.

As you debated whether to brave the storm or settle in for a book, the greenhouse door creaked open. Kurt Wagner, better known as Nightcrawler, stood framed against the onslaught of rain, a sheepish grin plastered on his face. Water dripped from his fur in rivulets, clinging to his pointed ears like glistening jewels.

"Seems I missed the exit," he rumbled, his voice laced with a nervous tremor you found strangely endearing.

You gestured towards a nearby bench, strategically positioned beneath a cascading curtain of wisteria. "Look what the cat dragged in... hey," you smiled, loosening your apron abit that had gotten dirty from the soil.

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure when you'd begun noticing the way his yellow eyes seemed to linger on you a beat too long, or how his smile always seemed a little wider when you were around.

Settling onto the bench, the sweet scent of wisteria mingled with the earthy musk of Kurt's fur. The rain intensified, the drumming on the greenhouse roof a steady counterpoint to the silence that had fallen between you.

"This place," Kurt began, his voice barely a whisper, "it feels... different with you here."

You met his gaze, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Different how?"

He took a step closer, the air around you crackling with unspoken tension. "Like it's finally found its missing piece," he murmured, his eyes searching yours. Heat flooded your cheeks. You'd never admitted it to yourself, but you felt a similar pull towards Kurt. His gruff exterior hid a surprising gentleness, a kind of kindness that resonated deep within you.

Perhaps it was that connection, or maybe the way your powers manifested, but you couldn't help but notice how vibrant the greenhouse seemed with you in it. Your hair, usually a simple (hair color), shimmered with an almost iridescent sheen, and the faint green glow that emanated from your fingertips seemed to enhance the colors of the surrounding flowers. You were a living part of the greenhouse itself, a beautiful anomaly amidst the thriving greenery.

"Kurt," you began, your voice barely a whisper, "I—"

Before you could respond, a particularly loud clap of thunder boomed overhead, the greenhouse shuddering slightly. You both jumped, startled from your budding confession.

An awkward silence followed, punctuated only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Stealing a glance at Kurt, you found his gaze fixed on you, a flicker of something intense dancing in his golden eyes.

The greenhouse, once a peaceful haven, now thrummed with a raw, primal energy. The sound of the rain became a distant white noise, replaced by the frantic pounding of your heart.

As the tension stretched, a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. "Looks like we're properly stuck, then," you said, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Unless you have a way to teleport us out of this rain shower?"

He chuckled, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I don't know, Liebling... I think I rather like it in here," he admitted, his voice a low rumble.

A beat of playful silence followed. "Well, then," you said, leaning back against the bench, "I guess we'd better make the most of it, wouldn't we?"

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his blue face. The rain-washed world shimmered outside the glass, and within the greenhouse, a different kind of storm was beginning to brew.

Suddenly, Kurt knelt beside a rose bush, its crimson blossom the only splash of color amidst the verdant foliage. With a swift movement, he plucked the rose, its velvety petals glistening with the dew of the sprinkler system. He stood, extending the rose towards you, his golden eyes enamored by the rose's deep red.

"You remind me of this rose," he said, his voice husky. "Beautiful, strong, and unlike anything I've ever seen before."

You felt your cheeks flush, the rose a perfect reflection of your own blush.

His words hung in the air, thick with unspoken desire. You met his gaze, the intensity within it sending a jolt through your entire being. The rose felt heavy in your hand, a symbol of the blossoming feelings blooming between you.

Before you could respond, Kurt took a step forward, his blue fur almost luminous in the filtered light of the greenhouse. With a gentle pressure, he backed you against a nearby table, his spectacular eyes never leaving yours. A nervous laugh escaped your lips, the sound swallowed by the steady drumming of the rain on the roof.

Suddenly, a soft brush against your cheek sent shivers down your spine. You flinched, then gasped slightly as you realized it was the tip of Kurt's tail, hesitantly tracing a path down your cheekbone. The unexpected caress sent a rush of heat through your body, leaving you breathless.

Kurt’s touch felt surprisingly light and delicate, a stark contrast to his imposing figure. His eyes held a tenderness you hadn't seen before, a vulnerability that mirrored your own. The air crackled with unspoken desire, an electric current that pulled you closer to him.

In that moment, the rain outside faded into obscurity. All that existed was the warmth radiating from Kurt's body, the intoxicating scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and the growing intensity in his gaze. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned in, his lips hovering a tantalizing distance from yours.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and sweet, a gentle exploration that sent your heart soaring. His touch was careful, as if afraid to break something precious. Yet, there was an underlying passion in his kiss, a promise of something more waiting to be explored.

You melted into his touch, the rose forgotten in your hand. The world around you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the warmth of Kurt's body and the intoxicating feeling of his lips against yours.

As you pulled away, both breathless, a shy smile played on your lips. The rain outside had softened to a gentle patter, and a single ray of sunlight peeked through the clouds, casting a golden glow on the scene.

The greenhouse, once a haven for flourishing plants, now held a different kind of bloom – the blossoming of a love as vibrant and beautiful as the flowers that surrounded you.

[luveline]

Hi lovely!! Are you taking requests atm? If so, would it be okay if you wrote something where Eddie takes care of sick reader? I’ve been in bed the whole week with a cold, and I would love some loving right about now. If not, that’s totally okay! I hope you have a great rest of your day 🩷

thank you angel! boyfriend!eddie x fem!reader

Eddie slides his hand under your sleeping face carefully. He only wears one ring, now, the ring you'd given him. It's plain platinum and it cost a pretty penny, and it looks right at home pressed lovingly to your cheek. 

Your skin is hot as an open flame. Eddie tries not to wake you up as he lays the cold press he prepared over your forehead, lips pursed in an adoring pity. He loves you, and you're so, so sick. Perturbed by your chills that persevere despite the heat emanating from your skin, Eddie pulls the thin blanket he'd brought for you up to your neck. It was his mom's, and then it was his. He doesn't mind sharing it with you. 

A rivulet of cold water slinks down your head and soaks into your hair. It must tickle. You mumble under your breath, your sticky lashes pulling apart slowly. 

"Eddie?" you ask, your hand sliding up to his elbow. "What is that?" 

"Cold press," he says. 

"It's in my hair," you whine quietly. 

Your eyes finally struggle open, tracking across each of his features in turn. Visibly, you fluster at his proximity. He doesn't mean to do it, you're not so easily flushed usually. Being sick makes you lots of things, shy and clingy, sweet and cranky. 

"Hello, pretty girl," he whispers teasingly. 

You scrunch your eyes closed and turn your chin up at him. "Oh, don't," you laugh, your laugh then phasing into a crackling couch. "Ouch, my throat hurts." 

He follows your head with his hand to make sure the cold press doesn't fall into your sweaty pillows. "I know, babe. Don't move around too much, okay? You'll agitate your chest. I have everything you need right here." 

You settle down, smiling at him with eyes barely opened. "Everything?" you ask. 

Eddie rubs your cheek with his thumb. "I don't like seeing you sick," he confesses, his voice taking on a roughness akin to hewn stone. "I'll do anything you want, just promise to get better, cool?" 

You nod enough to disorient yourself. Eddie sighs, his exhale kissing your chapped lips, and sets about setting you right. He helps you up enough to drink a half a glass of water, hands roving wherever they can, your arms, your legs, your complaining stomach. Concerned, he sells a hot bowl of tomato soup and grilled cheese to you like he would a show, or an album, or a new movie from the store, Come on, baby, you'll love it. If you don't love it, I'll make it up to you…

You perk up after your soup, enough to let him help you shower and change into new clothes, every brush of his hand over your skin loving and brimmed with an easy promise: I'm not going anywhere. 

You climb into bed together, slotting your head into the crook of his neck, his arm wrapped around your elbow and hugging it to his chest to draw shooting stars down the length of your clammy skin. 

"That feels nice," you murmur sleepily, head heavy against him. 

"Yeah?" he asks. He pinches a curl between his fingers and pulls your arm up enough to tickle you with it. Your giggles are slow and thick and sweet, honey spun into sound. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel good, baby. I feel much better," you say. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it. Actually don't."

"You're good at looking after me," you say warmly. 

"I love doing it," he says. 

You steal your arm from his grasp to fold it over his chest in as tight a hug as you can manage, which isn't tight at all. Lips against his neck, you murmur something hard to hear. He knows without clue that it's loving and far too thankful. 

"You're good, sweet thing," he says nonchalantly. "I love you, too. Get better quickly, okay? This two man band is kind of lame without you." 

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 10: Human Shield

Ao3

CW for blood and injury

————————————-

It is raining. A torrent of water cascades down from the sky, soaking Warriors and plastering his tunic to his skin. The fierce winds whip his hair into his eyes, washes the ground out from beneath his feet. Fighting in such conditions is…less than enjoyable to be certain.

But such is the way of heroism, he supposes. If you come across a heavily populated monster camp, you can’t very well just turn around and walk away. Even if it is raining bokos and keese.

“I’m gonna assume,” he remarks, as he drives his sword into a nearby moblin and almost slips in the mud, “that this isn’t your doing Sprite.”

He can’t see Time’s expression — the old man is busy slashing at the handful of beasts currently trying to cage him in — but he can tell that he’s grinning anyway.

“Not this time, no.” Time whirls in a spin attack, sending monsters and mud and water flying in all directions. “Believe me, if the Song of Storms had the power to end this downpour, then I wouldn’t hesitate to play it.”

Warriors chuckles. “And here I was thinking you liked the rain.”

“I do when I don’t have to fight an entire camp of monsters in it.”

Warriors laughs again, bringing his sword in a harsh, upward stroke. Black blood flies, splattering into the makeshift river sprouting into being beneath his feet. Quick as a flash, it is washed away.

The feeling of victory is short-lived. Several more monsters jog up to take their fallen companion’s place. Warriors steps back, shifting his feet to get a better grip on the ground. They come at him and he whirls in his own imitation of Time’s move mere seconds before.

“Well, if this is what it takes to get you back for all those times you drenched me for no reason besides your own gremlin joy…then I’ll deal.”

Time faces him from across the space that separates them. Raindrops drip from his hair and run in rivulets down his face. They wash away the blood dribbling sluggishly from a cut across his forehead. They can do little, however, for that which stains his trousers right above his boot. Nor can they rinse off the mud that sullies his usually spotless armor.

But he smiles as though none of that matters. And for a moment Warriors sees a mischievous little forest child, grinning up at him as he complains about his latest prank.

“Truly?” He cocks his head, brings his claymore down with hardly any effort, and sends ten monsters soaring. “You would endure this just to get back at me? And for something that I allegedly did years ago? I never took you for a petty person, captain.”

Warriors rolls his eyes. He is traveling even deeper into the camp now, cutting down the monsters that try to get in his way. There is a cluster of them in the middle of the encampment, gathered around a skeletal treasure chest. He’s willing to bet that killing them will make the largest impact.

“I’m not being petty, Sprite. I’m defending my honor.”

“Ah. My bad.”

Time’s voice has a lilting tone, mischievous and slightly mocking. It has been too long since Warriors heard it. Too long since he has seen the child hidden deep within the man trying to be the responsible one in their little group. The leader.

“Well, is your honor suitably — ”

He cuts off abruptly and Warriors cranes his neck in an attempt to ascertain the disturbance. It’s difficult to see over the many heads of his opponents, however, and even more so through the torrent of murky water.

In the end, he doesn’t have to see a thing to realize something is coming. Something large and metallic and decidedly different from the beasts they have battled thus far.

A fast, panicked tune sounds in Warriors’ ears, alarm bells jingling like the notes on a piano.

The monsters surrounding him skitter out of the way, shrieking in fear. In the space that they have left shines a blurry, crimson light. It emanates from a single eye of purest blue, situated in the cylinder-shaped head of a skulltula-like monstrosity.

And it is pointed straight at him.

The air itself begins to heat, turning cool rain lukewarm. Warriors’ eyes go wide.

There isn’t time to run, there isn’t room to run, but he needs to try anyway, he needs to get away…

Arms working without conscious effort, he lifts his shield and prays that it will be enough.

“Captain!”

Firm hands connect with his shoulder. Warriors stumbles sideways, slips, and splashes down into the mud. Heart in his throat, thoughts a jumbled mess of adrenaline and panic signals, he scrambles to all fours.

Only to collapse again mere seconds later when the world erupts.

Crimson light blinds him, molten heat smothers him. The air is thick with it, screaming with the agony of it.

Or maybe someone else is screaming. He can’t tell. All he knows is that he can’t breathe, can’t hear, can’t see anything save for the cries of destruction.

Again and again, the monstrosity fires. Again and again, heat batters at all sides, yet somehow doesn’t touch him.

And then, it’s over.

Warriors can only lie there for a moment, ears ringing, breath coming in ragged gasps. Slowly, painstakingly, the world crawls back into focus.

Carnage lies everywhere. Every monster has disappeared, either escaped into the forest or lying in the dirt. The gore that they have left behind peppers the area. Trees and bits of rock are strewn about, shedding leaves, branches, and pebbles into the rivers of mud. The towers that the beasts had stood upon are no longer the stalwart things they once were. Some are only half standing, others little more than shattered pieces of wood.

And in the midst of it all crouches the smoldering form of the mechanical skulltula that had borne down upon them so quickly. Beside it, lies another of the same build and same size. The lights on that one have just begun to flicker out.

Dazedly, Warriors stares at them from within a strange veil of blue. Then, slowly his gaze drifts to the hero that rises before them.

Time stands straight and tall amongst a river of mud and gore. In one hand he clutches his gilded sword in a white-knuckled grip; in the other his shield. Cracks snake along the pearly silver surface.

Water runs off of what is left of his armor, soaking into his tunic and trousers where the plates have been blown away. Blood oozes from a cluster of deep cuts speckling his upper back. More of the same type mar his left leg and hip.

His shoulders rise and fall with every haggard, gasping breath.

“Sprite?” Warriors croaks and Time turns to him.

He smiles, even as blood trickles from his nostrils and mouth and the gash on his cheek. Even as he wavers.

“Alright, captain?” He croaks, right before his legs give way beneath him.

Instantly, Warriors is on his feet. The haze of shimmering cerulean fades as he stumbles up, leaving behind remnants of an oddly familiar magic.

But he doesn’t have time to ponder that mystery.

He slides to his knees in the mud and pulls Time into his arms. The hero slumps against him. Quickly, Warriors looks over him, assessing the wounds that he can see.

The gashes he had seen before are claw marks, he realizes now, as though a giant beast had tried to pin him to the ground. And the burns searing his arm and side look disturbingly similar to Wild’s scars.

Warriors drags in a steadying breath. Time needs a potion at the very least. Preferably a fairy.

They have neither.

“Sprite.” His voice is oddly detached. To his ears, it sounds as though it is traveling from very far away. “What was that?”

Time’s eyelid flutters, showing a slit of blue. Raindrops roll down his cheeks like tears.

“Nayru’s love,” he croaks, and a smile quirks his lips. “Takes an a-awful lot of damage.”

Warriors’ eyes widen slightly as it hits him.

A spell. That blue haze that had shielded him from the onslaught of fire was a spell. One that Time had cast on him and not himself.

“Someone had to kill them,” comes Time’s quiet voice, raspy with pain. “And I didn’t have enough magic to cover the both of us.”

Warriors looks back down at him and there is no remorse in his gaze. Only calm acceptance.

The captain wants nothing to do with it.

“Well, I’m not losing you,” he grits out. “You deserve to go out in a warm bed, in a warm house, when you’re ancient and insufferable. Not like this. Not here.”

Not because you sacrificed yourself for me.

Time’s hand finds his and squeezes. His fingers are frigid, wet with water and blood. But his touch is firm despite the weakness caging him in. Firm and reassuring.

“You s-sure you can handle me when I’m ancient and insufferable?” He murmurs and Warriors chokes out a chuckle.

“You can bet on it, Sprite.”

He drags himself up, slipping in the cursed sludge that the ground has become. But he manages to gain a steady enough footing. And when he drapes Time’s arm over his shoulders, he is able to take the older man’s weight without losing his balance.

“I’m going to get you back to camp,” he assures him, as Time lets out a low groan, eye slipping closed once more. “My medical supplies are there and I’ve got a few potions. Hyrule can heal you if we need him to, as well.”

Time nods. Warriors tightens his grip. And slowly, arduously, they begin their journey.

[liminalpebble]

Between the Lines, Chapter 7

Masterlist link

Between the Lines, Chapter 7

You say nothing as the tempo of your breathing slows and your tears continue to fall in warm rivulets down your cheeks. Everything goes empty and blank as an unmarked page. Time moves slowly and strangely as you watch his respiration still alongside your own, his broad gold chest plate rising and falling.

It's the calm at the eye of the storm, the calm of the unwritten and unknown, and you fear that it cannot last. A catalyst is coming.

There's a kind of relief to failing spectacularly, you observe.

The green tentacles of magic still gripping you emanate a pulsating glow, cutting through the late evening darkness with a preternatural liquid luminescence. With the dusk, the cold smooth walls of marble, and the ghostly light, his chambers feel like a tomb, all the warmth of the day banished by their master's mood. You wonder, in fact, if this will be your tomb soon. You shiver visibly.

Without the sorcery securing you, you might have collapsed by now. Standing feels far beyond the capability of your shocked system. All you can do is hang your head, tremble, cry, and await execution for your insolence.

Gods, what have I done?, you wonder.

Gods, what have I done to her?, he wonders.

“Look at me. Meet my eyes,” he orders haughtily, but his voice sounds oddly brittle, as if he's about to cry. Yet, when you obey and gaze upon him, there are no tears, no...anything. He looks like a perfect, stunning sculpture; alabaster smooth.

The snaking vines of magic recede and his arm supports you instead, sliding gently around your waist. His nimble hand rubs a comforting little circle against the small of your back. He's suddenly so careful, like he's holding porcelain.

Loki scolds himself for not realizing that you could actually be breakable, that you would have cracks in your armor just like everyone else. The pedestal he kept you on was too high up to see them.

His brother had always been the one accused of handling his “toys” too roughly, but Loki is horrified to realize he is guilty of the same crime, albeit in a different way.

It shocks the prince to see that his cruel games may be a good deal worse than Thor's less convoluted sins. Thor is a hammer, recklessly swung; Loki is a subtle poisonous knife, surgically precise in the violence he causes. His harm is persistent, insidious. The God of Mischief can shatter anyone and anything into a thousand pieces, whether he intends to or not.

This time, he didn't intend to. This time he regrets it to his core. This time, he would do anything to fix you.

Must I unravel every good thing? Must I even make love so terrible and twisted?

He shook his bowed head, heavy with culpability, trying to banish the thought.

“May I...may I show you something?” the prince asks, carefully.

You nod, unsure of what else you could possibly do but follow him in shaky, adrenaline-addled, steps while he supports you.

With a swallow, you find your raspy voice and ask the dreaded question. “Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?”

Loki stops in his tracks, holds your face as he gasps out, “No! No. How could I destroy such a priceless treasure which I labored so hard to find...to have here with me?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I'll show you. I'll show you everything.”

------

The prince leads you into a smaller alcove off of the main hall of the library, some kind of curated collection. As you peruse the volumes, you notice every spine has the familiar imprint of your name. Every one of your books, your works, your essays, stand meticulously organized on elaborate shelves.

Loki steps away from you, carefully releasing you from his grasp and pacing away, avoiding your eyes as he confesses.

He asks, “Now, do you see? I fell in love with you long before I ever saw your face.”

You open you mouth to speak, but no words come out. No one had ever told you they loved you; not your honorable but unaffectionate family, not your esteemed colleagues. There were no friends. There was no time for them when you had so much to achieve. Your family had praised your accomplishments in tightly-admitted “well done”s and “congratulations”. Your colleagues held you in the highest regard; bestowing awards and glowing letter of recommendation .

But love? No. Love was never something admitted outright. Love was conditional. Love was earned, and you could never be sure if it was actually love or something more like pride or respect or approval.

But this god-prince is standing before you, telling you he loves you; for your mind, for who you are. He loves you for those words you've sent out on paper, like origami boats sailing into the night; patiently crafted love letters to a world that never loved you back. The irony isn't lost on you; he loves you for your words, yet now you can't find any to offer him.

He continues, still unable to meet your eyes.

“I loved your stories, most of all. What splendid worlds you build out of thin air! Such beauty, such poetry,” he says wistfully, gently brushing his fingertips along the spines. “But, they always had such a bittersweet loneliness about them...a loneliness I imagined we both understood all too well. And because of that, for once in my life, I didn't feel alone.”

He meets your eyes, finally, and a shimmer of green light flickers down his face. The alabaster mask of his composure vanishes and unveils his true face, flushed a raw, pale, pink over his ghostly pallor. His large bright eyes glimmer with tears. His expressive mouth presses tightly shut as he wages war with his tumultuous feelings.

With a shuddering breath he goes further. “And I deeply admired your work, your vision, your desire for Asgard to leave its ignorant dark ages behind and move into the light of reason and equality. A society where knowledge of the broader universe is the right of all, rather than a horded commodity for royalty.”

You take careful steps towards him. Though you feared this might be yet another trick, he seemed heartrendingly genuine.

He's being honest, and it's tearing him apart.

As you near him, he takes your much smaller hands in his. He's suddenly painfully aware of how much more powerful he is than you, and how paradoxically fragile and formidable you are. He lifts one of your hands, the same one that had struck him, and settles it carefully against his cheek with an affectionate nuzzle. Then he turns his head, pressing a kiss softly to the lifelines of your palm and staying there, letting the moment settle around him like sand in an hour glass.

You find your words, and wince because you know they're not really the right ones. “I...I'm so sorry for hitting you. I've never done anything like that before.”

Loki chuckles...a genuine one this time, an amused little puff of air that pushes up the apples of his cheeks. You feel the contour of it shift where your palm still curls against him.

“It's alright,” he says with a sniff. “I rather deserved it.”

His smile fades and he meets your eyes. This time the aquamarine orbs shine brightly with the varnish of tears, and the frame of faint pink lining his tear ducts only emphasize them more strikingly. He's stunning; rapturously pierced and vulnerable like a saint in a Renaissance paining. It's impossible to look away from him.

“I adored you for your truth, your freedom, and your goodwill, and yet I've rewarded it with deception, captivity, and cruelty.”

You just stare at each other for a long moment. He's taken your breath away (something you didn't think could actually happen, something you always assumed was only a cliche). You try desperately to find some air in your lungs in order to speak again. Yet again, you feel as if you're not saying the right thing. Your responses seem so common and clumsy after these eloquent speeches from his silver tongue.

“I'm sorry. This is new for me. I don't know how to do this,” you explain, fidgeting with your hands.

“Do what?”

You rise to your toes, bracing your hands on the golden armor around his shoulders.

Be brave, you tell yourself. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.

@lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @peaches1958 @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @muddyorbs @mischief2sarawr @icytrickster17 @goblingirlsarah @sweetsigyn @unlucky-number-13 @mochie85 @acidcasualties @alexakeyloveloki @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @ladyofthestayingpower @mischiefmaker615 @loopsisloops @sailorholly @coldnique @smolvenger @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @gigglingtiggerv2 @anukulee @azula-karai-27 @eleniblue @marcotheflychair @litaloni @gruftiela @literatureatthebowofnails @meowmeow-motherfucker @wolfsmom1

[divinehedons]

nsfw under the cut! minors, DO NOT INTERACT or i will pewpew!

no because din djarin is definitely a touch-starved mfer.

the basic human need for touch, for feeling, is something that emanates even from the deepest crevices of the compartmentalised brain. so when he does love, he loves through touch. it's why he crumbles when grogu presses his small hand to his jaw before he left. it's why he finally understood the feeling of rebirth when you touched him in the small room somewhere in the outer rim.

when his lips tasted the salt of your skin, dragging his tongue down the crook of your neck, he swore he had found his religion. it was easy, so easy.

the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, they said.

when his cock sinks into you, the pleasure burns so clearly up his spine, blocking his vision with a shaky breath. when he makes love to you in the warm yet uneasy privacy where you shed your defenses, he knew then and there that he would risk becoming an apostate, to abandon the very cradle that had raised him, the very waters that fed him from his turbulent childhood.

he nips your lip, watches the bright red blood that bursts in thick rivulets. the blood of your covenant will always run thicker. and when he kisses your bleeding lip, he makes another realization.

the blood on your lips remains sweeter than any fruit. if it meant tasting them for the rest of time, he'd gladly risk damnation.

[wonies-cheeks]

The Rain | y.jw

WC:500

a/n - this is my first time writing something like this, i hope its not cringe or anything and i hope it doesn't seem way too rushed. i’ve been wanting to write stuff for awhile now and i finally had the chance to so i hope this came out good lmk if theres anything i should keep in mind for the next one !!

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••✩⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱

On a warm summer evening, the sky began to darken, signalling an approaching rainstorm. You and Jungwon, were strolling hand in hand through the park. You had spent the afternoon enjoying a picnic and reminiscing about your first date together, which had taken place in the same park. As the first raindrops started to fall, you both quickened your pace, laughing and playfully bumping into each other. The trees around you rustled with the sudden downpour, and the smell of rain on the warm pavement filled the air. Instead of seeking shelter, you decided to embrace the rain, feeling a sense of adventure in the unexpected weather.

You twirled around, your light summer dress swirling as the rain dampened the fabric. Jungwon watched you with a smile, his heart swelling with love. He pulled you close, and you both danced slowly to the rhythm of the raindrops, your laughter’s echoing through the park. Hair clung to the pair of your faces, and water droplets sparkled on his skin like tiny diamonds. As you moved together, the rain intensified, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it made the moment even more magical.

After a little laughter in the rain, He had found a small gazebo near the lake and dashed towards it, seeking a brief respite, dragging you along. Once inside, Jungwon took off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I love you,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain hitting the roof.

He looked ethereal. His hair, soaked through, clung to his face and neck , glistening curls, each strand shimmering with a life of its own. The rain traced the contours of his face, accentuating high cheekbones, smooth, porcelain complexion and his cute dimples. Eyes, deep and reflective like pools of liquid moonlight, gazed softly at the you, holding a mixture of serenity and lovesickness. His skin glowed with a soft luminescence, the rain enhancing the natural light he seemed to emanate. Each droplet clung to him, reluctant to leave such a captivating surface, before joining the rivulets that streamed down his body.

You smiled, your eyes bright and full of affection. “I love you too, Jungwon,” you replied, leaning in to kiss him. Your lips met in a tender kiss, soft and lingering, filled with warmth and affection. It was a moment where time seemed to pause, the world around the two of you fading away. The gentle press of your mouths conveyed a deep connection, a silent promise of love and devotion. As you pulled away, your eyes remained locked, hearts full, and a shared smile whispered all the words they didn't need to say.

You both sat on the wooden bench, wrapped in each other's arms, watching the rain dance on the surface of the lake. The world around you both seemed to fade away once again, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble of happiness.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••✩⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱

[fantasyismyonlyrealescape]

Whumptober 2024: No. 11 - Loneliness/"Leave No Trace Behind, Like You Don't Even Exist"

Title: A Tormented Mind Knows No Relief

Characters: Jey Uso (main); Sami Zayn (mentioned)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 648

A/N: Welcome to another addition to Whumptober, Day 11. Hope you enjoy this one.

Summary: Jey Uso escapes the ring at the 2023 Royal Rumble, unable to watch his brothers take their revenge on the one who betrayed them. Unfortunately, being alone with his thoughts doesn't help either.

Cross posted on AO3 under user wrestlinginjeans.

The darkened room was awash with the negative emotions emanating off of the tattooed wrestler standing in the middle of the empty space. He was alone, nobody with half a mind would want to be around him in that moment. A strangled growl escapes the throat of the man, his hands clenched into tight fists to the point that of rivulets of crimson liquid draw bright trails down his palms. The pain was being used in a vain attempt to quiet the thoughts inside his head, but it wasn’t helping like it had in the past. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw what had gone down in the ring, the action that had torn his family apart. After, his mind would flash images of a smiling Sami just to torment him.

In a flash he turns to the side, taking two quick steps towards the nearest wall and slamming his right fist against it, another strangled half-choked cry escapes his throat as his fist makes contact with the wall. He uncurls his fist, placing the palm of his hand flat over the damage to the wall that his fist had made, his head falling forward to rest his forehead against the cold wall.

“Why did you do it, Sami?” A voice, barely recognizable to the man it belonged to, cracked as it bounced around the room. “Why did you do this to me?”

A quiet moment passes, and he knew that he wouldn’t get an answer.

“Why did you leave me here alone?” The voice, this time barely above a whisper, filled with all the pain, heartache, and betrayal that he was feeling in that moment. He wasn’t alone truly; he had his family. But most of who he called family were no longer such. Roman Reigns had manipulated and abused him for years. Jimmy Uso, his twin, his everything, was beginning to believe the words whispered by Paul Heyman and Roman Reigns in an effort to cause distrust between the two brothers. Solo Sikoa, his baby brother, was slipping away from him day by day and no matter what Jey did to try and stop him, his efforts were futile.

His whole body shuddered as he slammed his eyes shut, crouching down to the floor as his legs threatened to send him crashing down. “I can’t do this, Uce…” A pained whisper, directed towards the tile below, join the tears that had begun to trail down his face and leave droplets on the floor.

He felt as if he could hardly breathe, his breaths harsh and rapid as he attempts to quell the emotional turmoil that raged within him. He had just begun to feel secure and safe in his position within the family, he had just started learning to trust others again and in a single arch of that damned steel chair, it had all come down on top of him.

He wouldn’t, couldn’t put himself through that again. He would once again harden himself against all of the external forces that threatened to break his walls down. He would be the man he had been before he ever met Sami Zayn. He would wipe all trace of him from his mind, until there was nothing left. No more attempts to make him laugh, no more smiles that could light up the entire room, the ones that penetrated Jey’s very soul. No more shoulders or fingertips brushing up against each other as they pass by, subtle enough to prevent the others from noticing. No more stolen glances and whispers shared between the two in the wee hours of the morning when everyone else was asleep. There would be no trace left behind, Jey would make certain of that if it was the last thing he would ever do and then he would destroy everything that Sami held dear like Sami had done to Jey.

[no1frogfan]

Firetender

Tsukishima Kei x gn reader No warnings afaik Word count: ~1.2k

Note: Quiet winter times with a fictional man I’m completely and utterly in love with

“It’s just snow.” Tsukishima’s voice becomes muffled as he wraps a scarf tightly around his neck and mouth. “It literally snows dozens of times a year.”

“But this is the first snow of the year, Kei!”

You rush to pull your boots over your thick wool socks before scrambling out of the apartment. “Look at how big the flakes are!” You run down the stairs to scoop up a handful of snow, marveling as the flakes melt against your skin.

Tsukishima clomps down behind you. “Put some gloves on at least.” He shivers as he watches you scoop another handful. A sly smirk forms as you quickly shape it into a loose ball. You really shouldn’t. You heave it at his face and bolt as soon as it flies out of your hand, not bothering to check whether it hits him or not. For the record, it’s not even close.

“GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE TWERP!” He takes off after you, long legs catching up in all of 4 seconds before he tackles you to the ground. Your “oof” is stifled as you land face-first into a snowbank.

He flips you around, still pinning you down with his body. “It slipped out of my hand! I swear! I’m sorry!” Your laughter is shrill and breathy as you attempt to wiggle free.

“Is that right? Well you should be more careful then.” He grabs two handfuls of snow and presses them into your face, making sure to stuff some down the collar of your jacket. You shriek as the snow melts, icy rivulets running down your neck and under your sweater. “Oops, my hands slipped too.” His golden eyes flicker merrily as his face hovers above yours, his nose and what’s visible of his cheeks are bright pink from the cold, or maybe from your closeness.

You both savor the moment before you finally break the trance. Raising yourself up on your elbows, you plant a kiss on his lips, or where they would be if they weren’t wrapped up. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

A whine emanates from behind his scarf. “Can’t we just go back? I’m already freezing.” Tsukishima picks himself up and holds out a hand to pull you up after him.

“You can go back if you want.” You dust the snow off your jacket, shuddering as more melts and drips down your back.

“You’re so annoying. What if I get frostbite?” He takes off one glove and presses his icy fingers to your neck to underscore his point.

You yelp. “How come your hands are always so freakishly cold?!”

“How come yours are always so freakishly hot?”

“Good genes.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes as he pulls his glove back on. “It’s probably because you’re so short. The heat doesn’t have to travel very far.”

“Oooh ya got me. Who wouldn't prefer to be a spindly icicle instead?” You start trudging up the hill.

“Thank you for the compliment. Icicles are very aesthetically pleasing.”

He falls in step beside you, frowning at your bare hands.

You giggle at his look of concern. “Don’t worry, Kei. I’m fine.”

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence. Apart from a few brave crows cawing indignantly at your presence, the world around you is also quiet and still. It’s early enough that nobody else has made the trek yet, the fresh powder still soft and pillowy. As you climb, everything melts away except the cadence of your steps - the light crunch of each footfall, the steady puff of every exhale, the rhythmic swish of jacket sleeves with each swing of your arms.

Three-quarters of the way up the hill, Kei breaks the silence. “Where are we going anyway?”

“To the top,” you huff, winded now.

“Are you gonna make it?” He quirks an eyebrow.

You keep walking with a snort, your shallow breaths condensing into a string of tiny clouds. He wordlessly grabs you and tosses you over his shoulder, ignoring your squeals. You flail in revolt, but he’s got an iron grip on your thighs and you quickly tire yourself out, settling for an occasional squirm of protest.

Finally, Tsukishima sets you down gently beside your favorite pine tree, spinning you around to face the view. “Happy now?” He grumbles, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your knit hat as his breathing slows. You hum in affirmation, reaching up to wipe the fog off his glasses before returning them.

Both of you drink in Sendai from atop the hill, its streets and high-rises swaddled in a soft white blanket. Below you, the museum’s triangular roof juts out of the snow. You spent many a lunch break under it, brazenly flirting with Kei before you finally gave up on dropping hints and asked him out on a date point blank. To its right are the ruins of Aoba Castle where he tricked you into kissing him for the first time (you eventually confessed that Yamaguchi told you about the plan beforehand, but you went along with it because you love Kei’s triumphant little grin when he thinks he’s being clever). Behind the castle, the Hirose River flows lazily out to sea, nestled between two paths lined with trees. Their canopies, now brown and bare, were flaming red and orange when Kei first told you he loved you, his cheeks as vibrant as the leaves. Out beyond the city, through the snowy haze, you can just make out the shoreline. Maybe this summer, you’ll convince him to rent a beach house together with all of your friends for a weekend. You let your head rest against his arm as you inhale deeply, the dawn air stinging your throat.

“Can we go yet?” Tsukishima bends down to plead, his breath hot against your neck.

“Just a little longer?” You ask wistfully, your eyes trailing a train as it weaves between the buildings.

He peers at you. Your face glows with a childlike joy at the city before you, eyes glittering, soft lips parted in reverie. Your enchantment is aggravatingly contagious. “Fine, but you have to keep me warm.”

He removes his gloves and stuffs his hands into your pockets. You interlace your fingers with his icy cold ones, letting your body heat steadily flow into him. You feel a pleased hum against your crown as Kei pulls you in tighter. The two of you admire the city, your home together, stirring awake under Kannon’s serene gaze. Above you, the pastel pinks and purples of the early morning meld into a steely blue-gray. The sun catches at the corners of the tallest skyscrapers, glinting off the windows and showering the city with warmth. Under the shade of the pine boughs, you feel no less warm. Each beat of Kei’s heart at your back and every contented murmur that passes his lips float into you like sparks struck off a flint, igniting fires wherever they land, stoking the flames inside you.

[rabbitenn]

HIDDEN REGION.

No one dared to brave the castle deep in the snowy woods. The legends told obscure tales of lost souls that followed the singing voice through the trees. And yet, you don’t believe it. What awaits inside the palace’s rooms?

ft. dragon prince Kujo Tenn x gn! reader.

cw/genre: halloween special, romance, fluff, fantasy au, reader wears a dress.

Something special I wanted to write based on TRIGGER’s spooky night artworks ! I’m not sure I’ll be able to write one for each of them, but I wanted to at least post one for my dear Tenn 🩷 I hope it’s an enjoyable read for you all <3

Don’t step into the woods in winter.

Those were the words you had grown up hearing, ever since you were a toddler, cuddled up in bed with your stuffed animals, as your mother told you stories.

You had heard the legend countless times, and yet, you couldn’t help the fascination that came with it.

No one knows what lies at the end of the snowy lane.

The trees sing, and those who dance to their wintry song lose themselves, never returning the same.

Why? What hid in that forest that could be so scary?

Despite all the warning signs, the more you heard the tale, the more intent you became on deciphering this enigma.

Theoretically, there was some kind of palace or fortress past the woods.

Or at least, you had been able to infer as much after thorough research on the topic, varying versions of the tale being depicted in the books at the local library.

Still, there were missing pieces to this puzzle…

Something is definitely not adding up.

And so, now here you stand, in front of warnings inscribed in blood red, an attempt to dissuade trespassers or utterly reckless souls.

You take a deep breath.

Then, you step inside, under the decrepit tree canopies that seem to curve into each other, obscuring the soon to be dusk sky.

Nothing seems amiss so far, you think, as your footsteps leave indentations in the pristine snow.

Just… the silence.

It’s a little overwhelming. As if the tortuous branches were holding their breath.

They are too still now that you pay more attention to them…

Your steps suddenly feel too loud. Even your breath forming puffs before you seems to intrude in the silence of the trees.

The calm before the storm.

For, the next thing you know, music fills the gelid grove.

Or rather, a voice.

It’s… gentle, soft… like…

An angel’s.

You feel compelled to follow it, the trees swaying now, a gentle breeze lifting up rivulets of snow, glittering against the twilit sky like starlight.

And yet, you don’t feel cold.

You power forward, keeping your wits about you.

Whoever’s singing must be nearby.

By the time the crescent moon watches from her throne, and flecks of stardust are the only illumination in the woods, you reach the end of the road.

A huge building rises before you.

A castle, its walls of molten moon.

The bricks forming it have a bluish sheen to it. Almost as if…

You put your palm against the stone.

So cold.

Like ice.

You take a couple steps backwards, noticing the big picture.

The gates are open and warm light pours out of the windows.

The voice seems to emanate from them.

You step inside.

—

Despite the icyness of the exterior, the palace’s hall is warm, as if gentle sunshine was clinging to you.

And that melody.

You believe it’s that voice that’s keeping you warm.

It’s louder here, wrapping around you like your blankets did as a kid, as you listened to the story you’ve decided to become the protagonist of.

You follow the notes, until they stop.

A white door stands before you, a crystal handle shaped like a scaly wing beckoning you to turn it.

You swallow.

Silence again, like in the woods before your guiding song started.

For a moment, you close your eyes, steeling yourself.

You place a hand on the knob.

The door opens.

“Hello, outlander.” A male voice, the same voice that’s led you here, greets. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

—

Your eyes snap to the end of the room, where a table is set, someone already sitting down.

Maroon eyes meet yours, quartz-like, speckled in rosé in the dim light. The gaze is… harsh, cold, but beneath it you feel unbridled kindness, the sweetness of powdered sugar in chilly wintry dawns.

Framing them, deepest night and stardust seem to converge, the man’s long lashes casting shadows over the pools of sunrises contained in his stare.

Silken moonlight falls lightly around his face, perfectly framing his features.

He’s the prettiest being you’ve ever laid eyes upon.

Almost angelic, were it not for his frown and the tight line of his lips.

“Please, take a seat.” He gestures to the multiple empty chairs gathered around with the cup he’s holding.

Bright cobalt liquid glimmers inside of it, oddly enticing despite its unusual color.

And against your better judgment, you join him.

A crown of pure white hovers above his head, akin to a thorny halo, a spectral glow radiating from it.

A few moments pass in silence, with you trying not to stare at him (and failing).

You just… can’t take your eyes off him.

Who is he? What is he? A prince? But where is the rest of the court?

A fallen angel perhaps?

To live in this frigid plane… It must be so lonely, so desolate…

He graces you with a subtle smile, the melodic lilt of his voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

“All questions will be answered at tonight’s ball.” Your glass magically fills with the same blue liquid as his.

At your fearful expression, he chuckles.

“It’s not poisonous, rest assured.” As if to prove his point, he takes a sip from his own drink.

And that’s when you notice the lack of color on his lips.

Like faded peony blooms, washed out pink is overridden with nightshade.

Does he feel cold? You wonder, your brows furrowing in concern.

“Can I at least…” You begin, before you can stop yourself. “Know your name?”

You aren’t sure what made you ask this question, but something in you broke a little at the sadness and hurt you could see in those kind eyes, burdened by hardship.

“Tenn…” He softly utters. “My name.”

You give him a kind smile, introducing yourself.

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Tenn.”

The rest of the meal goes by in comfortable silence. The food feels homey and warming, regardless of the biting winter ruling these woods.

As for the blue drink… you temptatively take a sip. It’s cool and sweet, not unpleasant in the slightest.

After a while, something frigid touching your hand jolts you up from the tranquility.

You look down to see Tenn’s hand gently grabbing yours.

So cold…

“Come with me. Let us join the ball.”

You wonder if there’s anyone else in this castle, or if what he calls ‘ball’ is some kind of prison cell where he’s going to throw you in until you freeze to death.

However, you don’t feel any kind of animosity from him.

Tenn just seems… very sweet and very lonely too.

A soft symphony can be heard, its ebb and flow coming from somewhere higher; it gets louder as you and your host ascend spiraling stairs.

When you finally reach the top, Tenn pushes open a door.

Behind it, a dim lit room awaits, shadows of the starlight above reflected against its wooden floor, as a music box plays the incessant melancholy song.

You stare at him, wondering.

“Ah… Excuse..” You begin.

But then, the man turns to face you, brushing away a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Oh, yes, how could I forget? You will need a proper dress for the occasion.”

With a snap of his fingers, the corner of his frigid lips rises as he nods in approval.

When you look down, a silvery gown matching his own clothes falls around your waist. The skirt is adorned in flecks of blue glitter, like pieces of the fragmented sky through snowy clouds.

It’s beautiful… But how? Who is he really?

Well, you suppose this is the ball, so you take the chance to ask.

“Who… or what, are you?” You venture, as one of his cold hands laces with yours, the other on the small of your back.

“It’s complicated, and maybe you wouldn’t believe it… But I’m a prince.”

Well, you don’t doubt it with his looks.

“But why are you here? Prince of where?” You press forward, as he spins you around the starlit room.

He smiles, and you think the gesture is a little sad.

“I… left my kingdom. To protect my family. I’m supposed to be the keeper of these woods due to my powers, but…” He trails off, those long lashes fluttering closed as he exhales.

“You were cursed.” You finish the sentence for him.

Tenn’s rosy eyes widen, his movements faltering for a second.

“The ice… all the snow… this…” You stop dancing, holding his freezing hands. “This is your curse, right?” You give him a look of concern. “You protected everyone, but in doing so, all the warmth was stripped from you…”

He offers another woeful smile.

“You’re quite sharp, aren’t you?” He whispers, in the starry centimeters separating you two.

He touches his spiky halo.

“This… crown…” Tenn says, disdain and hurt lacing his voice. “Acts as a tether of sorts… It can’t be removed, it will only break when the curse is dispelled.”

In your breathless silence, you realize the music has halted.

You can’t leave him alone here.

You must find a way to help him.

“How can the curse be broken?” You ask, determined.

“That’s part of it. I can’t know.” The crescent moon illuminates his perfect profile.

How can someone so kind suffer this twisted fate all alone?

You’re not leaving here. Not until you find a way to revert Tenn’s curse.

“I’m staying with you.” You blurt out. “I’m staying here until I find the way to end this curse.”

“I can’t ask you to-“

“You’re not asking me to, I’m staying of my own volition.” You cut him off.

With that, the so called ball comes to an end for tonight.

Tenn shows you to a set of unused chambers, for you to stay in freely for as long as you’d like.

You say your goodnights and pass out without even bothering to change clothes.

Today’s been a long day.

Outside your door, Tenn’s cheeks feel a little warm.

When was the last time that happened?

He no longer recalls.

—

Days merge into weeks spent by the prince’s side.

Even if cold reigns around the palace grounds, you’re either getting used to it or the temperature has begun to rise.

Tenn knows very well it’s the latter.

During this time, you’ve learned more about his powers. Tenn possesses dragon magic. Sometimes he can summon wings and a tail, you’ve observed his flying figure many a time at dawn, the sun glinting off of the iridescent scales of his wings.

He’s beautiful.

And after all this time spent with him, you can’t deny the fact that you don’t want to ever leave this place.

Neither of you has voiced it yet, but it is clear you two share a bond that goes well past platonic.

You knew, since the evening nightmares plagued your dreams and he sang for you; in the way his hands (are they warmer now?) linger for a little longer after you two finish dancing, or when he passes a glass to you.

In this icy world, Tenn makes your heart flutter, impossible heat rising to your chest, to your face, sending tingles to your lips; an ache for him.

Would it be okay, if you revealed that to him?

You don’t want to burden him anymore than he already is… And yet, something inside you urges you to whisper the three magical words into his ear.

Luckily for you, tonight Tenn wants to have another ball with you.

You were notified previously this time, and you didn’t hesitate to don the dress the boy your heart belongs to gifted you on your first night here.

A full moon greets you tonight when you reach the attic room.

Multicolored starlight dances across the floor, its sheen entwining with the moonbeams that cast you and your beloved in an ethereal glow.

The nightly illumination catches on the silver accessory pinning the prince’s hair to one side, his crown of thorns dimmed.

No music accompanies the scene this time, as if the spinning ballerina from the music box knew that, for tonight, your heartbeats and your sincere words should take the spotlight.

You take the lead this time, one of your hands tenderly grasping Tenn’s, the other one resting on his shoulder, the silk from his clothes warm under your palm.

Warm.

He’s no longer freezing.

You steal a furtive glance towards his lips.

They’re not that dull frozen hue anymore, no.

A subtle pink fills them in, akin to cherry blossoms after long cold nights.

Your heart pounds faster; perhaps there is hope for the curse to break, maybe him not being alone is subduing its effects.

You must tell him.

“Tenn,” You call him, as you sway around the nightlit floor. “I have something to tell you.”

His hold tightens a little on you, as if he was afraid you’d melt away, an ephemeral ice statue, succumbing to the blazing rays of dawn.

“What is it, [Y/n]?” He asks, quartz-like gaze set on you, the sparkles from your dress and the constellations above, reflected in them.

You take a step closer to him, your noses almost touching.

“I think…” You start, then close your eyes for a moment. When you open them, you look at Tenn with resolve. “No, I’m sure.” Both of your hands find his, your thumbs running over the back of them, as if you were attempting to dissolve the remains of ice tainting them.

“I love you, Tenn.” You breathe, to him, to the moon, to the stars.

One moment you’re millimeters apart, and the next his lips caress yours.

The hands you were holding are definitely warm now as they cup your face. Your arms wrap around the dragon prince’s shoulders, pulling him closer and closer to you, until your heartbeats dance as one.

Something wet and cold lands on your cheeks.

Tears.

Tenn’s tears.

They pool at your feet, shattered shards of frost that can’t withstand the unbound affection you hold for each other.

His hands lose in your hair, his searing kiss taking in your every heartbeat, a collection of sunrises he could endlessly sing about.

Eventually, however, you need to pull away for air.

And yet, when you do, you gasp, holding your breath.

The thorned halo that used to rest atop his head is no more.

It lies shattered on the ground.

In its place a silver crown with subtle rose gems sits.

A wide grin curls your lips.

“Tenn… the curse…” You can’t quite finish the sentence before his arms have tightly wrapped around you.

“It’s over.” His forehead rests on yours. “You broke it, my [Y/n]. Thank you so much.” Tenn utters, with a last fleeting kiss.

If you had paid attention to yourself, however, you would have realized your own dress resembles a gentle dawn now; shades of lilac and gold glittering on your skirt.

Beneath the full moon, your gazes cross.

“I love you too.” Are Tenn’s words, as the music starts to play.

[miguelswifey04]

Hi Lin!

May I request a fic involving either Spider Noir or Miguel O’Hara training with their loving girlfriend, Spider![Reader] like sparring together, getting prepared for future missions, exercising their Spider abilities for improvement, etc.?

Training progress tend to get a little intense and towards the end things are getting hotter and steamier. (If you know what I mean.)

let’s do spider-noir just because i’m in a spider-noir kinda mood and he deserves the hype 🤍

🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰

In the dimly lit training room, Spider-Noir and you found yourselves engaged in an exhilarating sparring session. The air crackled with the electric energy of your abilities, fueled by a mutual desire for growth and the tantalizing thrill of physical contact.

The two of you danced around each other, your bodies fluid and nimble, effortlessly evading and countering each other's moves. Each strike and parry served as a testament to your strength and synchronization, a symphony of movement that echoed through the room.

As the training session continued, the intensity between you and Spider-Noir grew. The adrenaline pumping through your veins was only heightened by the close proximity of your bodies, the sensation of his every breath against your skin.

Sweat glistened on your flushed skin, dripping down in rivulets, as your muscles flexed and strained with each movement. The remnants of the sparring session clung to your clothes, clinging to the outlines of your body, amplifying the raw sensuality of the moment.

The air grew heavy with unspoken desire, the boundary between training partners blurring as the magnetic pull between you sizzled with unquenched passion. Spider-Noir's touch, once focused solely on enhancing your abilities, took on an electrifyingly sensual edge.

His hands traversed your body with a newfound hunger, guiding your motions, igniting fires of pleasure that intertwined with the exhilaration of training. The intense physicality of your bond became entangled with the forbidden yearning that simmered beneath the surface.

As the intensity of your training increased, a symphony of moans and gasps filled the room. Techniques were honed with fiery lust, each move and counter punctuated by whispered words of encouragement and shared longing.

Spider-Noir's fingers found purchase in your hair, pulling you closer as his lips claimed yours in a desperate cascade of desire. The taste of sweat mingled with the intoxicating mix of passion that enveloped you both.

With a hunger forged in that training room, you and Spider-Noir shed the constraints of caution, giving yourselves over to a sensation that words could not convey. The powerful connection you shared as training partners transformed into a deeper bond, intertwining body, mind, and soul.

In the aftermath, as your bodies settled from the intense release, Spider-Noir cradled you in his arms, his breath still heavy with exertion. A radiant sense of accomplishment emanated from both of you, the realization that your connection had transcended beyond mere training partners to something far more profound.

———

a/n: no dialogue and wordy type of night <3

tags: @kairiscorner @alliwriteistrash @sabcandoit <33

[ashbrat488]

Candy - Chapter 17

Word Count: 919

Cassidy begins to feel at ease for the first time in her life...

MINORS DNI

Cassidy stirred awake to the sounds of activity emanating from the kitchen. She groaned, reluctantly dragging herself from the cozy warmth of her bed. As she shuffled into the kitchen, a delightful surprise greeted her - August, clad only in his underwear, was focused on preparing breakfast.

"Are you making me breakfast?" she inquired with a mixture of curiosity and appreciation.

August beamed at her, his eyes twinkling. He plated a serving of eggs and toast and presented it to her. "Indeed, I am."

A playful smile curled on her lips as she snaked her arms around him from behind, skimming her hands along his trim abdomen until they slipped under the waistband of his underwear. Her right hand ventured further, wrapping around his growing cock.

"Cass..." August sighed her name, pivoting to face her as he leaned against the counter. Her grin remained unabated.

She gracefully dropped to her knees before him, her mouth a breath away from his groin. He emitted a low, appreciative growl as he freed his cock from its confines.

"Fuck..." August groaned, tangling his fingers in her hair as he inched her face nearer to him. Her lips parted, ready to engulf him, and he responded by tilting his hips forward, thrusting into her mouth with fervor. "Fuck... Cassie... That feels so good..."

With a raspy breath, he withdrew his cock, releasing a rivulet of pre-cum that painted her lips and chin. "Taste me, doll..."

His command sent shivers of excitement down her spine. Her pulsating pussy begged for attention. Cassidy obligingly swiped her thumb over her lips, sampling the salty pre-cum.

"Mmm..." she purred, taking him back into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip.

August couldn't suppress his loud grunt, his hot cum flooding her mouth. She greedily swallowed every drop, her lips and tongue dancing down the length of his shaft before she leaned back on her heels.

"Good morning, doll..." August chuckled as Cassidy sported a triumphant smirk, wiping her chin clean with her thumb.

"Good morning, indeed. I think I like waking up to you," she murmured, resting her hands on his muscular chest and leaning up to claim a demanding, passionate kiss. August reciprocated eagerly, holding her close.

"Me too."

Yet, beneath the blissful morning atmosphere, a hint of doubt lingered in August's eyes as he handed her a plate. Cassidy picked up on it immediately. "What is it?"

"After finding out what happened to you, I'm worried I've been too rough with you..."

Cassidy let out a contemplative sigh, maintaining her gaze on him across the kitchen island. "Never. Really. It's not the same when I'm with you. I know that I am ultimately the one in control and that you would stop at any time if I asked."

"That is true. So what we do is okay?"

"It really is, Auggie. I promise."

August's shoulders visibly relaxed at her reassurance. He couldn't help but smile at her, his affection for her evident in his eyes. Before he could respond, a knock sounded on the door, prompting a loud groan from Cassidy as she stood up and August retreated to the bedroom.

She flung the door open, expecting Joe, but was surprised to find Lloyd in front of her. "Of course, you know where I live..."

"Yup." He leaned in, planting a soft kiss on her cheek, and then entered her apartment as she moved aside to let him in. "I came to check on you. See how you're doing."

"Did you kill him?" The words slipped out of her mouth more easily than she'd expected, and he responded with a sly grin while August emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed.

Lloyd pointed between her and August, feigning surprise. "Ah, I see... you guys had a party I wasn't invited to."

"A party of two," August stated firmly, giving Lloyd a pointed look before turning his attention to Cassidy. "I need to head home and shower before Sara gets back."

"Yeah, of course," Cassidy replied, shifting her gaze to Lloyd. "I want to talk to Lloyd about something anyways."

"Fine. We'll talk again soon. Maybe you could come to the zoo with Simon and me next weekend?"

She grinned widely up at him as he fiddled with the ends of her hair. "Really?"

August nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "He's been asking about the pretty girl with orange hair from the New Year's party."

"I'd like that," she said with a smile, tilting her head slightly as she silently requested a parting kiss, which he gladly granted.

As August left, Cassidy turned to Lloyd, her tone shifting to something more serious. "Without going into details... did he suffer?"

"Absolutely," Lloyd replied without hesitation, leaning on the counter beside her. "What else?"

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before finally meeting his eyes directly. "I don't want to be involved, and I don't want to know anything. But can you..."

Lloyd watched as her gaze dropped to the side, his hand gently cupping her cheek. "Take care of your mother for you? Already on it."

"Thank you, Lloyd."

"Anything else I can do for you?" He gave her a sly wink, playfully nudging her shoulder, and her laughter filled the room as she shook her head.

"Not today."

"Fair enough. You have my number. Mr. Pink is always at your service, pumpkin spice. I'll see you around."

As the door closed behind Lloyd, Cassidy let out a sigh, feeling a weight lifting from her shoulders. While she might not have chosen this particular course of action, she couldn't deny the relief she felt knowing that August and Lloyd had taken it upon themselves to handle her stepfather.

Chapter 18 Candy

Taglist If you want to be added or removed from my list, let me know 🫶🏻

@identity2212 , @alicedopey , @propelkitten , @critfailroll, @mrsevans90 , @carrie80reads , @thearcana-moonlight , @devotedlythoughtfulanchor , @alwayzmsbehvn , @dangerousblizzarddreamer , @secretdream2 , @evansabove1981 , @juliaorpll78

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Day 18 -- Red Lucy

The (nsfw) details for Kinktober 2023, Day 18 are just below the cut!

Minors, please don’t interact.

Temperature Play with Red Lucy x g/n!Six

Red Lucy is just... she's like, the coolest? The absolute coolest. Love her style, love her flair, love her... well, her colosseum isn't like the best thing ever (morals-wise lol), but she just makes up for it by being really awesome.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Here is the link to my  Kinktober 2023 Event List so you can stay up-to-date, or re-visit these works as you please.

Included: Temperature Play, cigarettes, cunilingus, dirty talk, overstimulation, masturbation, light masochism, light dom/sub dynamics.

Words: 1.4k

--

Gray smoke left her in delicate rivulets, dancing out from between her slightly parted lips as Red Lucy exhaled on a moan. Crimson hair allowed beaded sweat to drip down into her half-open eyes, blurring the dark eyeliner in thin creeks down the light creases of her face. 

“Easy, hunter…” Her voice rasped, her steely eyes meeting Six’s hungry ones as the courier peered up from between her thighs without removing their mouth from her core. “Pace yourself, we have a ways to go yet on our journey tonight.” 

Six only groaned into her, their open lips caressing Lucy’s heat like it was a delicacy, not only to be tasted, but savored. The redhead’s muscles clenched at a particularly harsh drag of Six’s mouth over her, as their teeth roughly scraped over that sensitive point nestled within her folds. 

“Even after your fight, still you are as ravenous as one of our beasts.” She took another drag from her cigarette as her free hand went to her hunter’s head, fingers rooting themselves in their hair, attempting to draw them back from their conquest, from that same calculated savagery she’d seen earlier in the evening, this time with the aim to thrust her pleasure upon her. “Did the kill not sate you?” 

Six shook their head, as intensity emanated from their glowering eyes. Bloodstains littered their skin in nebulous patches, a stark red so deep it nearly appeared black.

Despite their insistence, Red felt her partner pull away. 

“Haven’t you ever heard the term ‘bloodlust?’” They asked, panting. 

With that, the ex-courier was back in the fray, the threads of their hair slipping easily through her fingertips as their lips, teeth and tongue worked mercilessly in tandem, attacking with the express purpose to consume. 

“Easy now, hunter.” Lucy hissed from between her teeth, just as her partner’s scraped over her lower lips to the point of pain. “You may have fought and won against my beasts. Ahh–”

Six’s growl against her nearly made the cigarette slip from between her suddenly clenching fingers, the vibrations sending shivers up throughout the whole of her body. 

“But,” Red continued through gritted teeth, “I am still their master. And yours.” 

Six could only moan out their agreement, seemingly drunk on the nectar pouring from their master’s core. Pleasure-fogged eyes intently stared at nothing as they mindlessly laved and lapped until they felt Red’s thighs begin to quiver against their attentions. 

The Thorn’s leader attempted another drag, despite the pleasure mounting in her like wildfire, burning through her veins like so many fine specks of gunpowder were nestled in every vessel. With a violent motion, she quickly pulled the cigarette from her lips as a moan escaped, as her back arched against the sofa cushions, as the motion drove her sensitive clit heedlessly harder into her hunter’s aggressive motions.

Her exclamation only seemed to encourage them, as her hand tightened its grip in their hair, and their’s clenched more firmly, stubbornly, to her writhing hips.  

Suppose you have to be stubborn to live through the trials of the Thorn. Only… didn’t expect something like that to bite me in the ass this way. Or rather, bite me in the–

“Fuck, Six, give it a rest before you drown in me.” 

They all but grunted at her request, and continued without even a whisper of a hint that they would humor her. 

“‘S what I thought– gaahh, shit, takes more than just one broad to satiate your bloodlust, huh?” 

The smoldering ash in her cigarette was sadly wilting away, without her to aid it; all but forgotten, now that Six was rolling their mouth over her, the pressure of their siphoning lips tugging and massaging her most sensitive places. They obviously hadn’t heard her question, nor did they heed her fingers’ adamant pulling against their hair. 

“E-enough, want to still try–”

With another involuntary groan, she pulled her hand from them and snapped her fingers. She felt the pleasure building, mounting quicker, more loudly, more vividly as she noted the way Six’s hand moved between their own legs, spurring their arousal onward with each rub and tug of their fingers over themself, each savoring lick over Red. 

“Dammit, ya fuckin’ listening to me, hunter? I said down.” 

With the searing hiss of her voice, a flick of her fingers dashed the burning ash of her neglected cigarette over her partner’s bare back. Their glistening muscles clenched as the burn scattered upon their skin, and finally, Six’s lips pulled away, giving Red her reprieve. 

“Finally. Thought you were gonna snuff me out, but now…”

Red Lucy’s eyes set upon her partner, the irises following their hand’s continued movement over themself, the way their brows clenched together and goosebumps erupted over their skin. 

“You… Course you do.” She shook her head as she watched them grow more flushed, as their panting breaths turned to throaty huffs that had her own arousal mounting once more. “You like it, huh?”

Their eyes flicked to her, and the tilt of their chin told her they agreed. 

“You like when I do this?” 

Another flick, and an intake of breath, a shudder of their body, and Red felt in control again. A half-smile dragged at one side of her ruby lips. 

“Your mouth, Six. Back on me. Now.” She commanded.

Another nod of their head, this time more enthusiastic, and then they were obeying her. 

“And keep your hand moving as well. I want– uuhh.” 

Chills ran up her spine as they renewed their efforts, as heat took hold of them, from the outside in. 

“Want to see you cum with me on your tongue.” 

A moan sounded into her folds, the spill of their breath like flames licking over her lower lips. Her hips bucked against it. 

“Want to see you desperate, g-gasping for me.”

Their hand moved faster over themself, and Red let her cigarette wilt between her fingers until the smoldering head of it pressed to their shoulder. Her lids grew heavy at the way they flinched away, their expression… the way those eyes rolled back, their breath caught, that they groaned into her and their hands flexed, their veins popped. It was like an aphrodisiac formulated especially for her. 

She felt her clit throb, her walls clench around nothing wantonly, seeking out Six’s mouth like a reaching hand in darkness, clasping desperately for a lamp. 

“Want to see you, mighty hunter who conquered my, fuck, my beasts.” Red gasped, her head falling back as she felt her body spilling over that crescendo, “Want to see you conquer me. Take me… Make me yours.” 

The last bits of her request were rambled out between heavy breaths and tensed muscles, as they laved at her, drinking like a cactus from rain, their touch just as prickly as her overwhelming pleasure soon transformed to overstimulation. Her fingers clenched so suddenly, so wholly, that her cigarette finally slipped from her hold, and dashed itself against their back with a burst of red and black ash. It rolled down the line of their spine, leaping and tumbling like a wild animal as it burned a trail down their skin. 

As Red opened her mouth to finally halt them, to plead for them to cease their fevered motions, Six’s mouth tore away in favor of releasing the evidence of their own pleasure. Their hand and the sensation of scattered ash upon their skin forced them over their great threshold with one final, explosive motion, and they were releasing onto the floor below. 

Red Lucy watched with tired eyes as they wrung the last of their spend from their quivering body, and smoothed her limp fingers through the sweaty strands of their hair in a show of rare tenderness. 

“Yours…” They managed out between breaths, “To command. Master.” 

“Now that… That’s what I like to hear.” Her fingers continued their playing over them, falling now to smooth over the lines of warmed skin on their back, where she’d burned them slightly. “And this?” Her finger pressed to the worst of the little wounds. “This is what I like to see…” 

She pulled away as they gasped at the pressure of her fingers, setting the digits instead to her partner’s face, grasping at the point of their chin and tilting their fatigued gaze to meet hers. 

“Like to see you come undone this way…" Her lips curled into a smile as she spoke, "We’ll have to play again soon, hunter. After your next match, come and find me.”

[dujour13]

For the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt--I can't pick between catching the other wearing their clothes and adjusting their tie/collar/jewelry!

Thank you!! 😘

I did the clothes one separately so here's an Act III pre-relationship random encounter featuring Siavash’s version of dazzling display.

---

He’s gonna do the Thing.

Good, it would at least buy them time. Woljif started to rattle off an incantation to light up those damn archers while still keeping a wary eye on the chief, who’d been separated during the ambush.

They had taken refuge on one side of the ravine and were pinned down by a pair of succubus archers above. Arue was sneaking up the steep hillside to try to get the jump on them, while Woljif had gone invisible and positioned himself so he could snap off a fireball and then dive for cover. Across the ravine the chief and Aivu hid among the rocks at the base of the cliff where the archers couldn’t get an angle.

That’s when the nalfeshnee came around the corner. And not just a giant, voracious nalfeshnee, but one of the crazy, drooling, overpowered, purple-crystal variety. It swung its massive, tusked head around and homed in on Siavash.

Thus—the Thing.

Siavash’s buckler clattered to the stones. In a shower of prismatic sparks his left fist rose like the spring sun, emanating a melodic hum that cleared the foul air and made you feel fresh and invigorated, like a draught of crystal mountain water. A flock of ethereal butterflies flickered in the air around him. In his right hand he twirled his sword the way Seelah had taught him, just once, and then he settled not into a battle stance, but a supremely relaxed, carefree slouch, leaning on the cliffside rocks with his ankles crossed, smiling like a day at the beach.

It made your knees go weak.

And not just Woljif’s. In the face of such absurd confidence, often as not demons would scatter like spooked sheep, or at least redirect their attacks at an easier target, for example Seelah. Which was really funny when you thought about it.

Only this demon seemed nonplussed. Maybe because its eyesight didn’t look too sharp: a purple crystal jutting from its brow overhung one eye, while the other suppurated with fly-infested choler. Its pig nostrils flared, scenting Elysian magic on the wind.

Which drove it into a snorting, sneezing frenzy.

It lowered its head and charged.

Ah, Hells. Woljif’s spell fizzled out as he broke into a dead sprint.

Through the rushing in his ears he could hear Seelah yelling. Aivu let out one of those ridiculous baby dragon squeals that Woljif reckoned only made demons feel peckish.

The chief’s smile faltered. He stooped to make a desperate grab for his buckler. Like that was going to help.

Aivu’s squeal turned into a popping pressure wave of sound that shook loose a rivulet of pebbles from the cliff above and made the charging demon falter—but only for an instant.

It thundered on, drool flying from its flapping jowls.

The chief didn’t look so relaxed anymore. Buckler swinging onto his arm he thrust out a fist and there was a blinding flash of rainbow-colored light—

The demon grunted in pain and stumbled. Too late. The stumble broke some of the momentum of the charge, but not enough. All Woljif could see was one of the chief’s legs shoot out from under him as he went down, the crystal-studded bulk of the demon overpowering him.

He could just imagine the chief like a cookie with a great big bite taken out of him.

Racing against hope, in mid-stride Woljif launched himself onto the demon’s bristling back using his daggers like cliff-rappelling pitons, driving them hard into its meaty shoulders. Steadied with one hand he yanked a dagger free and plunged it again and again into the side of the demon’s thick neck.

At last it collapsed, spurts of blood slowing to a trickle.

All three of them had to heave as one to shift the demon’s bulk so Siavash could wriggle out from under it. At least his buckler had succeeded in fending off the teeth. Winded, he staggered to his feet.

His tunic had been ripped open, a ragged flap hanging loose over his bloodied chainmail.

“I don’t think… that’s… my blood,” he wheezed, seeing Woljif’s expression.

Whump!

They whirled. Both almost jumped out of their boots when a succubus archer hit the ground only a few feet away. Another whump signaled the defeat of the second. Siavash and Woljif stared at each other and let out a weak laugh.

“I guess I’m off my game today.”

“I got this secret trick. It’s called gettin’ outta the way.” Woljif looked him over and frowned at his mussed equipment.

Siavash tried to undo his brooch and fix his cloak but his fingers were shaking.

“Don’t move,” Woljif said, lips pulled into a line. He popped the brooch open and held it in his mouth while he adjusted his cloak, settling it over his shoulders and pinning it securely in place. Next he pulled up the ripped flap of tunic and tied the laces together. Finally he licked his thumb and rubbed a spot of blood off Siavash’s jaw.

Suddenly he realized what he was doing.

His eyes snapped up.

Siavash was watching him with a curious expression: still livid from the attack, but color rapidly returning to his cheeks; still breathing shakily, but with a smile growing at one corner of his mouth.

Face burning, Woljif slunk away and collected his daggers, muttering expletives as cover, because suddenly his whole body seemed flushed with heat. His fingers tingled, especially the thumb, still vibrating from the intimacy of rubbing half-day-old stubble on that handsome jaw.

“Woljif—thank you. It’s like you just came out of nowhere.”

“I was invisible, chief. You oughtta try it sometime.”

“What, and forego dazzling demons with my amazing bladesmanship?”

“I hate to break it to you, but it ain’t the bladesmanship.” Oh gods, he realized too late.

“Oh really?” Siavash was grinning now.

Luckily the rest of the gang spared him from having to figure his way out of that.

“Hell of a sprint,” said Seelah, slapping him on the shoulder. “One second you were next to me and the next you were climbing up that demon like a squirrel. Nice going.”

“Yeah,” said Lann, “you sure can run when you want to.”

“And you sure are good at takin’ aim, ain’t you lizard breath?”

“Well, my friend,” said Daeran, “it seems our mettlesome minstrel isn’t the only one in your debt. You’ve saved me a rather unpleasant mess to have to patch up and my gratitude may extend as far as my personal provisions, should we miraculously survive until camp time.”

“Oh yeah? Got any more a’ them little flaky pastries?”

Siavash watched them walk off chattering happily as they gathered their packs. His heart was still racing, and not only because of the demon. He wasn’t thinking about how close he’d been to death, but how close he’d been to Woljif.

And how close he had come to clasping those deft hands as they worked at his throat, raising them to his lips and searching that bright, golden gaze for a sign—a sign of the trust he hoped desperately to live up to. He needed to prove to himself he deserved it. Until then, he scolded internally, maybe tone down the dazzle.