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on-a-lucky-tide · 14 days ago

Note

fun things to inflict on a pilot who bases his value on how useful he is to others:

temporary blindness >:3c

141 accidentally pierce an old mustard gas canister during an operation. Nik takes the brunt.

cw: injury, temporary blindness, distressed character.

Price paced up and down the base hospital ward wringing his hands as he waited for news, his heart in his throat. The mission had gone south so bloody quickly, and no matter how many times he retraced their steps, Price couldn't pinpoint the exact action that had caused such a monumental fuck up.

Old world war one bunker. Old old. The perfect place for a terrorist cell to store chemical weapons, or at least a lead to them. They had jumped early that morning with Nik because it was in east Germany and he had the knowledge they needed to break through the security systems. The USSR had used it as a base of operations during the Cold War, so without Nik, getting in would have been like chipping away at granite with a toothpick.

They got in. They secured the intelligence - no bloody weapons though - and were on their way out. A small detachment of enemy combatants had infiltrated through a different entrance that hadn't been recorded on the schematics they were working from. There had been an exchange of fire. A stray bullet caught a canister and...

Nik ignored the most fundamental rule of chemical warfare. You sort your own fucking mask first. But no, the stupid wanker grabbed for Gaz's first, because he was closest to the explosion and had only a split second to react.

Nik had been too slow with his own as a result.

Holding Nik in the casevac had been one of the most difficult experiences of Price's life. The skin lesions across his face had been like second degree burns, his eyes swollen shut, streaming. Anywhere there was moisture, the old gas had attacked. Despite the wounds, Price had seen the terror on his face as he tried to wrench the damp gauze off. He couldn't see.

"John, ya nye mogu videt! John... gdye ty? Gdye ty!" His usually calm, sombre voice, with its laid back drawl, broken and cracked in desperation.

In the end, Price had taken the decision to sedate him in the heli, one of those big hands clenched in his to keep him anchored as the drugs brought his heart rate under control and soothed his panic. He had lashed out at Gaz blindly - "otyebis ot menya!" - but between them they had managed to get the sedative into his thigh.

There were other wounds; bumps, scrapes, but none as serious.

"Sir, I'm sorry," Gaz had rasped, chucking the needle back into the bag. "This is my fault."

"No," Price had shaken his head. "Not your burden to carry. G'won, go eat somethin'."

The door at the end of the hall opened and the doctor summoned him with a flick of the head. "Well?" Price demanded, ignoring the pursed lipped irritation he got in return.

"It's temporary," the doctor said, his arms folding. "The gas was old, degraded. Still potent enough to cause damage, but with the right treatment, he'll get his eyesight back."

"How long?"

"Difficult to say. Four to six weeks for the skin lesions to heal. His body will decide on the rest... uh, captain," the doctor reached out a hand as Price tried to walk past, "there is a risk of long-term dyspnea, respiratory problems, awful stuff mustard gas, it attacks the central nervous system too, it can cause changes in mentation, and I understand from his file that he has a medical history of--"

"--I know what's in the file."

"We may be looking at more damage here than just his eyes. But only time will tell."

When Price stepped through the door, Nik startled, looking in his direction even though the heavy bandages over his eyes prevented him from seeing. Price spoke softly as he closed the door at his back. "S'just me, Nik. Easy."

Price nodded tightly, walked by and shouldered his way into the next ward. He found Nik's room but hesitated outside. Nik was awake. He was trying to grope around the table in front of him, searching.

"Captain, it is... well, I would say good to see you but..." He gestured vaguely at his head, his wry smirk shaky, and then that hand returned to patting around the table.

"Did they explain everything? Did you..." ...understand. Fuck, Price didn't understand half of the medical jargon, so he wouldn't be surprised if Nik struggled in his fourth language to parse what they were saying. Fourth out of eight. Asking felt like an insult to Nik's intelligence. The doctor's comment about mentation lodged in Price's throat like a shard of glass.

"Da. It will heal but there may be some future complications, I..." Nik suddenly slammed his fist against the table, anger twisting his mouth into a snarl, "..blyat, where is my phone? I need.." Nik's voice cracked and his chin tilted down with the shame of it, trailing off into miserable silence.

Price reached for him and tried not to let the resulting flinch shred his heart. Once Nik realised it was Price's hands and not whatever phantom his mind has conjured, he relaxed. Price sat down on the edge of the bed. "You don't need t' do anythin' but heal. We've got yer covered."

The way Nik's jaw twitched, teeth clenching at the back, his shoulders rising a little towards his ears; Price could see the clawing discomfort without needing to see his expression.

"You're gonna have to trust us, Nik. I need yer to trust me."

"I do," Nik croaked. "It is... This is not your burden to carry."

"Even if you weren't who you are, you still got injured in one of my operations."

"I let you down. And now I am useless." Nik's other hand clenched into a fist at his side, making the finger monitor creak under the strain.

"Temporarily out of commission. Not useless."

Nik turned his head away, refusing to hear it. They sat in silence, Price's thumb stroking back and forth over Nik's knuckles, giving him a point to focus on that wasn't his burning skin or the darkness of his vision.

"Nik, short of turnin' me over to Al Qatala, you could never let me down," Price said, finally.

Now was the time. Now Nik needed to hear it more than ever.

"You... mean the world to me. I..." he rubbed at his face, tugging at his whiskers, "...I love you. And when I saw you go down, my heart stopped for a second. The world stopped. Believe it or not, I was glad you were screamin' bloody murder in that chopper, cause that meant you were still here."

Nik drew a stuttering breath, but he didn't say anything. The man who had a one-liner or a bit of sass for every occasion sat in mute silence. It made Price ache in a way he never had before.

"'M not gonna abandon you, Nik. Wouldn't have even if this had been permanent. An' I know you don't believe me. I know. But... 'm gonna show ya. And you can grumble and cuss at me 'til the cows come home."

Nik's head fell back against the pillow and he sniffed, scowling with a muttered curse.

"You olrigh'?" Price squeezed his hand.

"Da. I am crying like little girl and it is stinging my eyes."

Price chuckled, patting their joined hands against his own thigh. "Soppy git."

That had to be a good sign. Tear ducts were what the eyes used to heal and maintain themselves, right? And he could feel the tears. Positive. This was positive. Price lifted Nik's hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, lingering there to feel the warmth of his skin.

Nik swallowed, his fingers tightening in Price's grip. "If I had known that losing my eyes would have earned me John Price, I would have cut them out years ago."

"Fuckin' 'ell, Nik," Price said incredulously, always somewhat taken aback by the intensity with which Nik expressed himself when it was just them. He sighed. "Yer've had me all this time. I just... I'm just not as brave as you are."

Nik huffed. "Bravo Six is the bravest man I know."

"Only for some things. Not feelin' particularly brave right now, and you're the one in the gurney."

Nik tilted his head towards Price, so desperate to see his face. Price was glad he couldn't. His damn eyes were watering. "Then, I will be brave for you. This, I can do without my eyes."

Price smiled and made sure Nik could feel it against his palm, promising him silently in that moment that he wouldn't waste a single second more of their time together on this bloody earth. "Sounds like a plan."

#nikprice #captain john price #cod nikolai #this could be a much longer fic #oooh boy #Nik letting John bath him #feed him #how he would get angry and impatient #oh and mustard has attacks the nervous system and can cause severe depression #in case you were wondering why the doctor was particularly worried about Nik

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astridthevalkyrie · 8 months ago

Text

inspired by rafayel's when light falls memory.

cw: fluff, bratty raf, temporary blindness

When he stumbles into the room, you're on your feet immediately, staring furiously.

"Rafayel."

"Hey, no, you can't be mad." He points in the direction of your voice, and he's slightly off, which only makes you angrier. "If you think about it, this is your fault."

"Rafayel!"

"You sound so pretty when you say my name like that. Say it again?"

It had been on the tip of your tongue, but at his words you swallow the third utterance, merely glaring with a look that would make him shudder if he could see it.

If he didn't, y'know, blind himself again.

"Hmm, does the opposite effect work on you? Let's see. Don't kiss me. Don't get me food because I'm not hungry. Don't take me to bed and lay me down and push my shirt up and ogle me, I'd hate that."

"You're not funny," you snap at him, walking up and snatching his palm. Despite your obvious anger, Rafayel lets out a soft breath of relief at your touch, and doesn't protest a bit as you guide him to sit on the couch. When he'd told you he'd meet you here, you didn't suspect anything. When he said Thomas would be dropping him off, a bead of nervousness had build up inside you. And when Thomas texted you a simple apology text, you'd feared the worst.

He always does this. This is the third time it's happened since you've known him. Each time he cheerily tells you that the doctor has warned him it could be permanent if he keeps being so reckless. And each time, Rafayel ignores that advice completely and stays up another forty-eight hours to paint.

When he's seated, he sighs happily, tugging you close and tucking himself into your chest. "You smell good."

"Shut up. Do you even register how dangerous this is?"

"Mmhm." You see his lips curve into a smile. "Maybe this'll be the time it sticks."

Placing your fingers against his forehead, you push him back and he whines, slouching with a pout on his face. You don't dignify his hypothetical with an answer, stomping away—loud enough that he can hear your displeasure—to take a wrapped sandwich from the picnic basket you'd brought over.

Rafayel's brows furrow when you drop it in his hands, and he has to fiddle a bit before he can take the foil off. Cautiously, he takes a bite, knowing better than to ask you before eating if you're trying to poison him or not (your answer will always be a deadpan yes), and moans a little when the flavor hits.

"This is so good. Did you make this?"

You sit down a foot away from him, crossing one leg over the other and staring stoically at the wall in front of you. "I did. For a date."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his eyes widen, as though he's finally realizing how much trouble he's in. Abandoning the sandwich on the couch, he extends his hand out for you, finding your face first before he wraps his hand around your arm.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. You put all this effort in and I—"

"Completely ruined our plans by showing up without your eyesight? Yes. You did."

"I'm sorry," he says again, pulling at you a little. You acquiesce, if only because the sight of him reaching for you makes you feel slightly bad. He pulls you into his chest this time, hiding his face in your hair as he murmur out apologies.

That's the thing with Rafayel. He can tease and poke and prod all he wants, but the second he actually feels something, he makes it blatantly clear. The guilt is practically dripping off him in waves.

"I'm not mad." You hold both his hands in yours, kissing his knuckles like they're precious—because to you, they are. "At least, not about the date. I am mad that you keep doing this to yourself even though it's bad for you."

His hands squeeze yours, and his blank eyes fill with an emotion you're not even sure he realizes he's expressing. "I told you, s'your fault. I was up three nights in a row working on something you inspired."

"Right." Shifting so that you can kiss the top of his head, you mumble, "So what I'm hearing is I should break up with you and then you'll be absolutely fine."

For a few seconds, Rafayel doesn't say anything, and you become concerned he thinks you're serious. But then he presses into you more, lips grazing against your collarbone.

"That'd be even worse."

"Oh, really?" You run a hand through his hair. "How so?"

"Heartbreak is amazing for creativity. I wouldn't sleep for weeks. Even after my eyesight was gone, I'd just keep paining...and painting...and painting..."

"Okay, okay, I get it." Kicking your feet out, you lay down, pulling him down on top of you. Rafayel sighs, one arm sliding around you as he tucks his face into your neck.

"You really do smell good."

"Please stop doing this to yourself. I'm genuinely asking you, Raf, I'm begging you to just let the inspiration stew—call me if you can't settle and I'll help. But stop it with these all nighters."

His fingers find yours, and he holds your hand against his chest tightly. "Okay," he whispers, "okay."

You don't push it further. If he's agreed, then he'll stick to his word, you know that. You'd feel guilty, at how much he bends to your every request despite the complaints, but it's not like you're trying to get him to buy you a diamond ring (and Rafayel would, should you so much as glance at one). You're making him promise for his own benefit.

"Even if I did lose my eyesight, I'd still remember how you look, y'know." He brushes his lips against a nearly faded hickey on your neck, pressing a soft kiss there. It's incredibly impressive that even without seeing, he knows exactly where his marks on you are. "Wouldn't stop calling you beautiful—promise."

A gentle hum escapes you. "I know. Believe it or not, my ego isn't what I'm worried about."

He laughs quietly, reaching down to kiss your chest before pressing closer to you, listening to your heartbeat with his eyes closed. "Yeah, you're worried about me. That's so embarrassing, you have a crush on me?"

"I'm in love with you," you respond, and predictably, his ears turn scarlet at your open words and he groans, fingers clutching your shirt as he wallows. "Don't dish out what you can't take, honey."

"You're so mean," Rafayel whispers, "stay with me?"

What a pain in the ass. But he's your pain in the ass, and you wouldn't have it any other way. "M'not going anywhere."

#i have to treat him like he's my princess babygirl i have to i'm sorry #love and deepspace #l&ds #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x mc #rafayel #valkyrie stories

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 7 months ago

Text

Temporary Fix. || cheater!Johnny

Rating: E + TABOO Words: 5K with the bonus (this one got away from me, I'm sorry) CW: cheating (on Johnny's part, Reader doesn't know), smut smut smut, a bit of BAD dirty talking, oral sex (m!receiving), protected piv sex, breath play (if you squint), praise kink (lots of 'that's it' + 1 'good girl'). Tags: afab!reader, fat/chubby!reader, you/your pronouns, one-night stand but more like one-week stand. Summary: Johnny's a dog who cheats on his girlfriend, unbeknowst to reader. a/n: this is for my chubby gals and also for my @/☠️ anon, who motivated this with a DM of hers (spot the DM at the bottom of the post).

The thing about soldiers… Is that they tend to have lovers. As in, for as long as they stay deployed in a country, they’re bound to get themselves a toy they can have a shag with. Sometimes it’s prostitutes. Sometimes it’s regular women.

Even those who have a family, a wife, a partner of any kind, waiting for them at home do it. It’s an open secret. Your buddy might be cheating on his wife… And you might know your friend’s wife, hell, your wife might be great friends with his wife. But you’ll never tell her. All things considered, she might already know and be turning a blind eye.

This is a lot more common for enlisted soldiers in the Army. The types that get deployed for 9 to 18 months at a time, fighting in a way that keeps them far away from home for so long that they “can’t help” but seek affection on the side.

But that’s not to mean Special Forces soldiers, especially those kept on ‘stand by’, always ready for a quick deployment that, at most, lasts a month or two, don’t do it. They do.

John Alistair MacTavish has a bird at home. He does. He really does. But you wouldn’t think that, seeing as he cheats on her as often as he breathes.

He goes on and on about his bird every chance he gets, has phone and video calls with her whenever he has the time, coos at her as she talks about her day, tells her how much he misses her…

Only to end the call and leave base with his team to end up at some bar or club in civvy clothes, find a nice bird or bloke (he’s not picky) and go home with them.

A dog, any normal person would call him, a womanizer, a skirt chaser, a player, a cheater.

He’s not above calling himself that. He knows it’s wrong. That doesn’t mean he’s stopping. Hell, that doesn’t mean he even feels guilty. He doesn’t.

It’s not that his girl back home is bad in bed, or boring, or that he feels trapped or… It’s simply that he has an itch that he wants scratched…

And as useful as his fist is, he’s not a sixteen-year-old anymore, rubbing one out in his bathroom during a quick shower. That just doesn’t cut it anymore. If he has the option to shag someone, why wouldn’t he?

Now that he’s in the 141, the philandering just gets much worse. Whenever they have downtime on a foreign location somewhere, a night free before they return to England, a night before they get the go-ahead to go on a mission, what have you… He’s out getting himself a shag.

And, worse of all, he brings Gaz along.

Gaz doesn’t have the same issue, he’s not got a partner at home, so he can do all of this with a clear conscience. Maybe that makes Gaz a bit bad too, because he knows that Soap has someone at home, and he still goes out with his mate and they both get wasted and laid without a care.

Maybe Gaz doesn’t think it’s his place to intervene, or maybe he just doesn’t care enough to.

Camaraderie and all.

That’s how they ended up in a club downtown, flashing lights all around them, loud reggaeton playing through the speakers, men and women around them with more skin on display than they had covered rubbing their bodies, sipping drinks, spilling them over each other… Oh, the wonders of a Colombian night club.

They saw you before you saw them. Kyle tapping at Johnny’s shoulder as their eyes perused the space individually, then, he drew the Scot’s eyes to you, standing with your friends, laughing, drinking, softly swaying to the music.

Soft curves in a copper-colored dress that left little to the imagination, clinging tight to a round ass and a thick belly, the hem constantly pulled down by your hands, as it insisted on rolling up, up, up, exposing more of your smooth thighs than you wanted it to.

It didn’t stop you from still rolling your hips to the music, however, turning the fixing of your dress a near impossible task, repetitive, useless, and maddening, Sisyphus-and-his-stone.

Turning to each other, the two sergeants hands shot to the middle of their bodies, a quick rock-paper-scissors ensuing… which Johnny won.

And that’s how you ended up turning around to the sight of a foreigner with the broadest shoulders, thickest arms and pecs, and bluest eyes you’ve ever seen… As well as a mohawk, something you didn’t often see on… anyone, really.

He was a soldier, you could tell, even out of uniform. Not your first time seeing one, this being a city with a military base attached, and certainly not your last time being approached by one.

Oh, how soldiers seem to love fat women. You’ve experienced your fair few, many of them assuming your weight would equal desperation for love and affection, which would result in you accepting a rushed wedding for the sole purpose of getting him out of the barracks.

But you’re not desperate. Other than for a good lay, maybe.

“Erm… Hola.” The soldier in front of you says, blue eyes locked on your face for a surprisingly respectful amount of time considering the sinful cleavage that this dress and your bra give you.

His Spanish has the thickest accent you’ve ever heard, meaning he’s not American… But his pronunciation is off, so he’s clearly an English speaker. Though he’s not English either, you can tell.

“I speak English. Hi.” You told him, watching as he let out a little sigh of relief. Then, the corner of his mouth popped up in a dirty little smirk.

“Well, tha’ makes it easier. Hi.” He replied. “I saw ye from over there… Was wonderin’ if I can buy ye a drink?” He offered. Only then did he allow his blue eyes to slither down, down, down, trailing every inch of your exposed skin down to the black ankle booties you’re wearing, thick, square heels to prevent your hamstrings from feeling the pain of stilettos the next morning.

“Why?” You decided to ask him with a cocked brow, forcing his eyes to shoot upward to meet your face again, locking onto yours with a surprised expression.

“Why, what, pretty thing?” He replied, his own brows, thick, straight, rising up to meet his hairline. He’s confused, his eyes blinking a bit. His intentions had been clear as day. Obvious enough for you to pick up on, but you’re playing dumb, or maybe hard to get.

“Why do you wanna buy me a drink?” You asked him as you dipped your head to the side, your eyes slowly trailing over every inch of his handsome face. Those blue eyes of his are locked on you, pupils slightly dilated, hands hanging off his hips, fingers looped onto the belt loops of his jeans.

“Because you’re proper beautiful.” He replied. Your cocked brow and unimpressed glances up and down, cause him to continue. “And I’d love to take you home, find out what you’ve got on under that dress, and make sure your neighbors hate you from today onward.”

His words are crude, his voice loud and crass, disregarding the public space you’re in, the fact that there are others around, not just your friends, but complete strangers too. Maybe he’s hoping they won’t understand English. But they do. Hell, your girlfriends look at you and exchange coy looks with you, before them, and you, break into a fit of giggles.

He looks at them, noticing they caught what he said, even through the loud music, but then looks at you again. “So? What do you say?” His brogue is getting easier and easier to listen to with every word he says.

Rolling your head to the side, your squint your eyes at him and then shrug. “Do you have to buy me a drink for that?” You challenge him, your eyes snapping back and forth between his own, almost taunting him with your inquiry.

“Not if you don’t want to.” He tells you, eyes lit ablaze and a smirk on his lips.

So, you simply grab him by the arm, bid farewell to your friends, with a wave, and grab your clutch from the table, before dragging him out of the club.

Johnny was expecting a flat, a home, maybe even a university dorm room considering your age. What a surprise it came to him to find you taking him up to a hotel. Not that he’d complain when he noticed the large king-sized bed and the large view, providing a beautiful view of the illuminated city of Cartagena.

His hands were on your broad hips before you even got to closing the door, his mouth clashing onto yours as he pushed you against the wall by the door, calloused hands already sliding over the slinky fabric of your silky dress, tugging it up, so they could slip underneath.

His tongue pushed into your mouth, wet and drooling, saliva traded between your mouths as his strong fingers caught hold of a greedy handful of your ass, digging into the supple flesh and groaning in delight at just the feeling of you at his fingertips.

Your own hands already slid up and around his torso, feeling him up through the fabric of his t-shirt, before sliding down to pull the navy blue fabric out of its tuck into his jeans, rolling it up to expose a strong, bulky body covered in a generous amount of body hair.

Your lips broke apart for a moment, only long enough for you to take off his shirt, tossing it onto an armchair in the corner, and for him to unzip the side-zipper of your dress, taking it off you too.

Then, he grabbed you around the thighs, causing you to shriek, as he bounded for the bed, dropping you so hard onto it you almost swore you’d bounce off. Still wearing his jeans, he slotted himself between your parted thighs, his body bending over yours.

His stubble scratched your neck as he kissed you all over, licking stripes of your skin as his hands pulled off your boots, unfastened your bra… They were surprisingly nimble for such a hulking man. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Johnny cooed as he let his eyes run down your body.

He dragged his mouth down from your neck, across you clavicle, over one of your breasts, and caught your nipple between his teeth, beginning to suck on it, noticing how you hissed a bit, leaning back on your elbows as he did so.

One of his hands caught your other breast, grabbing and carefully kneading it between his fingers, as his eyes shot up to your face, blue irises beneath a pair of dark eyelashes, fluttering slowly as his pupils blew out from how horny he was. His other hand found your black panties and pulled them aside, (more so ripped them with how aggressive he pulled on them), the rough and calloused pads of his fingers catching your lips immediately and beginning to slide up and down, running over your slit.

The moment his cracked fingertips grazed your clit, you whined, your legs spreading apart even more, your body jumping a bit. “Fuck…” You grumbled under your breath, your eyes locked on his face and the way he eagerly played with your nipple.

“Relax.” Johnny told you once he let go of your nipple. Then, he rolled his tongue around in his mouth, collecting some saliva, before letting it drip onto your slit, his fingers catching it and spreading it quickly as he resumed playing with your clit, hand craning in order to push a finger inside.

“Oh fuck…” You moaned softly, hips bucking up against his hand, following his ministrations as he pushed a second finger inside of you and hooked them up to graze your g-spot, pumping them in and out, the rugged feel of his cracked fingertips drawing a surprisingly pleasant sensation of pleasure from the depths of your soul.

His other hand moved away from your breasts in order to undo his belt, leaving it to hang around his waist as he also undid his jeans, sliding them and his boxer briefs down one-handed, in order to allow his cock to spring free.

Your eyes lock onto it as he continues fingering you, a bit sloppy and rough, his palm pressed to your clit and his fingers constantly drawing a ‘come hither’ motion inside your wet walls.

His cock is stubby, shorter than some of the men you’ve been with, but so thick you can’t help but wonder just how he’ll make it fit inside of you, and how straining the stretch of it will be. It’s heavy too, uncut, hanging down even while already full-mast, too heavy to spring back against his belly button. His balls are heavy too, full, round and strained as he continues to play with you, watching your reactions to his touch.

“You like what you see, huh?” He asks you, noticing the way your eyes don’t slip far from his cock before returning to it, watching it lay against one of your smooth thighs, the ruddy color and constant twitching only bringing more attention it as it rubs against your skin, dripping pre-cum over your stretch marks.

“Mhm…” You reply softly as your hand reaches down to tug at it, carefully wrapping around it and drawing it up and down over his length, only letting go to cup his taut balls and fondle them a few times.

“Tha’s it…” He murmurs and hisses under his breath as he looks you right in the eyes. “Wanna be good f’r me?” He coos at you, and you nod in reply as you bite your lip. “How about you get on your knees and let me see how you suck me off, hm?”

Nodding, you untangle yourself from around him, his fingers slipping out of you, as you took your spot on the floor, the soldier having been caring enough to toss a pillow from the bed onto the floor to cushion your knees.

He sits on the edge of the bed, strong, muscular thighs spread open, as you sunk your mouth onto him, without so much as a second’s worth of hesitation. The stretch as you tried to swallow as much of him as you can tugged at the corners of your mouth, making them feel a bit sore, your jaw already protesting at the size of him. But that doesn’t stop you.

You start lapping at the underside of his cock eagerly, wetting him as much as possible to make sure you could continue taking him down your throat. The sounds he was making were sinful, low groans and grunts, hissing through his teeth, one hand carefully fisting the bed covers.

He carefully gathered your hair away from your face, gripping it one handed. “Tha’s it… Greedy thign you are, wanna take all of my fat cock in your mouth, hm?” He goaded a bit as he looked down at you between his legs.

Any other time, any other place, any other man, you’d already be pulling off him, getting dressed, telling him to fuck off… But something in this soldier’s voice, in his accent, the growl behind his voice, the spark in his eyes…

Maybe you are just desperate for a good lay with the thickest cock you’ve ever seen… But you don’t complain. You simply nod at him and bobbed your head even more enthusiastically, lips struggling to glide up and down his length, spread open sinfully to accommodate his size.

“Tha’s a good girl…” He praises, his free hand coming to grip you at the back of your neck, tugging you slowly, forward, to make you swallow more of him down into your throat, making you gag and sputter on his length, sloppily drooling around the size of him, saliva drooling down your chin and onto the carpeted floor of your hotel room.

“Pretty fucking thing… Gonna make that make-up run, hm?” He offers as he pulled you off and back onto his cock, moving your head for you. “Show some attention to that pretty pussy of yours, go on.” He demands, causing you to nod.

One of your hands found your wet slit between your legs, sliding two fingers inside, which felt like not nearly enough after having had his own, and considering the fat cock that would soon replace them, but you’d make do.

“Both hands, don’t be coy now.” He added. Your eyes widen, already anticipating the loss of balance that’d come from the lack of support from your free hand holding you up on the bed. But you do as you’re told, trying your best to keep a perch on your knees as your other hand starts slowly padding at your clit, rolling circles with it.

When you inevitably lose balance, as you knew you would, the soldier simply pulls you forward against him, making you bury your nose against his pelvis, swallowing his cock in its entiry, causing you to choke and gag, trying to catch a breath through your nose. He, in turn, lets out a loud groan of delight, eyes rolling back, as he feels the warm wetness of your throat.

“Keep your hands where they are.” He demands of you, preventing you from trying to pull away and find balance again with your hands on the bed or the floor or his thighs. You can barely do much more than nod against his hip.

He hooks a leg over your shoulder, pinning you close to him, while his hips begin to rock into your mouth, blindly and sloppily, making you gag more and more, more saliva slipping down from your parted lips, making a mess of him and yourself. “Tha’s it… yeah… just what I fuckin’ needed… Such a good girl f’r me…” He grunts as his hand swipes your hair out of your face as it slips from his grip.

“You like this?” He asks you as he abuses your mouth and your throat, while you sputter and try to fruitlessly breathe between each thrust of his into your throat. Nodding pathetically, mouth to full to speak, you whimper against him, making him shiver and shudder. “Of course you do… greedy fuckin’ mouth…”

He only pulls you off him after another couple of minutes, which felt like an eternity, allowing you to catch your breath only for long enough for him to pull you onto the bed, bending you over at the hips, presenting your round ass to him.

“Mmmmm, look at you…” He grunts out as he ruts his cock between your ass cheeks while tugging your head back at the scalp, causing your back to arch ever so slightly, your tits still pressed against the bed covers. “Round fuckin’ arse… Gonna love see it jiggle f’r me…”

He lets go of you again for a moment only to paw at your ass cheeks with one hand, while the other blindly looks for his wallet in his jeans. “Find me a condom, will ye?” He asks as he tosses the leather wallet next to your head, while he steps out of his jeans, underwear and boots, finally.

While looking for the little clip pocket containing them, you spot his military identification very briefly. It makes you realize you didn’t even ask him his name… Nor did he ask for yours. A green and white striped card titled ‘British Army’, with the name ‘John MacTavish’ and some extra info you don’t really pay attention to. John. That’s his name…

Once you pass him one of the silver wrappers, Johnny rips it open and puts on the slick condom quickly, barely waiting a moment before slipping himself inside of you, down to the hilt in one swift motion. You find yourself squirming against the bed covers with a whine, while he groans loudly behind you.

Although the stretch was still wildly bigger than any other man you’ve been with before, it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as you expected it too… probably because you were wetter and more eager than you expected.

He starts rutting inside of you immediately, huffing through clenched teeth as his big hands grip your ass cheeks and keep you spread open. His fingers dig deeply onto your extra fat, squeezing and kneading it, his blue eyes glued to the way your puffy lips part and stretch to swallow him whole. “Beautiful fuckin’ sight…”

“Fuck… Just like that… Don’t stop…” You beg him and whine loudly, fisting the white bed covers and digging your nails into them, your face resting on them sideways, sliding back and forth with each thrust of his.

You’re sure the hotel staff is going to have a field day washing the duvet, your make-up already staining the white fluffy fabric, sliding down with the sweat, and dragging across with each motion of your head.

You can barely speak or think, moaning in turn with him, each thrust of his causing you to croon and whimper in delight, his fat cock hitting you at every possible angle and rubbing every inch of your walls, the veins dragging against your g-spot, the condom barely there.

“Yeah… ye like tha’? Huh? Ye like it?” He coos at you, already slightly out of breath, hips barelling against your plump ass, making it jiggle as he bounces himself off them.

“Oh, fuck yes…!” You whine loudly. His hands slide up to find your hip, pushing you down against the mattress so he can shift more of his weight onto you, pumping at a downward angle, causing you to shriek desperately.

“Oh yeah…” Johnny grunts and starts huffing atop you, leaning all his weight atop of you as he pounds his hips against yours, his breath ragged against your shoulder and hair. “Fuck… Yer cunts feels so fuckin’ good…” He murmurs in your ear, his thick accent becoming.

“Oh, God…” You whimper, shuddering beneath him, feeling the familiar knot tightening in your stomach, each of his strong thrusts rattling every fiber of your being. “John…”

“Oh… tha’s it… Moan my name…” He orders as one of his hands suddenly shoots up and grips you by the back of the neck. “Moan my name…” He insists as he throws his hips down onto yours.

“John!” You call out, doing as you’re told, panting for air as he pushes your face harder into the mattress, slowing his thrusts down and bottoming out inside you each time at a slower pace.

Good thing he did too… Because the knot in your stomach only tightens more and more and more, and then snaps, making you cry out loudly with a choked moan that gets half-caught in your throat as your walls suddenly clamp down around him, tightening the grip on his fat shaft.

“Oh fuck…” Johnny grunts and picks up the pace again, grasp your hip as hard as his hands can, a bruising grip that’ll definitely leave a mark, as he pounds into your weeping cunt again and again and again…

He finally comes, losing his balance and landing on his elbows and forearms on either side of your body, his chest against your back, out of breath, as much as you, even though you feel like you barely did anything other than take him.

“Fuck… I needed that…” He grumbles under his breath as he speaks against your shoulder blade, before leaning up and biting at your earlobe. “That feel good f’r ye?” He whispers in your ear, an earnest question, receiving a little nod from you. “Good…”

Slowly, he pulled himself up, slipping his softening cock from you and rolling the condom off. “So… how long are ye and yer friends stayin’ here?” He asks you nonchalantly while tying off the condom.

“Are you trying to make small talk…?” You ask him, surprised that you can even find a voice or string together a coherent sentence in the aftermath of that. You try your best to drag yourself up and over onto the bed, and once you succeed, you look at him languidly.

“No. I have a reason to ask.” He assures you as he tosses the condom into the paper bin under the desk in the corner, before shuffling back over to you on the bed, lying lazily next to you, an arm behind his head, the other on his stomach.

“Four more days.” You tell him, and he nods at the reveal of information. You roll your head to the side to look at him, both of your bodies sweaty and sticky, your make-up undoubtedly a mess, not that he shows it in the way he looks at you… And even if he did, he’d likely only show pride at making you look like that.

“Well… I’m comin’ to pay ye a visit every night until then.” He tells you, before wrapping his free arm around you, pulling you close. “I plan on gettin’ that tight cunny wrapped around my cock fer as long as I can.”

Bonus:

cw: phone infidelity (Johnny's gf calls Johnny while he's fucking reader), lying, cheating, and reader is also not a good person.

It’s the dawn of your last day in Cartagena. And, as promised, Johnny has come to see you for the last four nights, fucking you well into the early hours of the morning, before disappearing while you sleep it off in the morning.

Your friends have been so excited for you this whole time, making you tell and retell all your sexual escapades with him, as you sightsee, go to the beach, go shopping, go out for lunch and dinner…

Meanwhile, Gaz already knows of what Soap's been up to... as do Price and Ghost. Kinda hard to miss the way he disappears every night and comes back every morning, with a smug smile on his lips and the signature walk of someone that just got laid. Ghost even took to calling Johnny 'the town bicycle'™️ every morning, not that Soap minds it.

And you definitely should be sleeping… It’s about to be 6 A.M. after all, your flight due to departing at 1 P.M., your bag already packed in the corner other for the dress Johnny stripped off you when he arrived, and the clothes you prepped for the flight.

But it’s your last night here. Your last night with this British man - Scottish you recently found out - you’ll never see again. How could you spend it any other way other than getting your guts rearranged and your thighs so sore that you’ll undoubtedly be wobbling past airport security and into your flight?

Just as he’s rutting desperately against you, murmuring about how good you feel underneath him, eyes locked on the way your breasts and stomach jiggle with each furious thrust of his hips, a phone’s ringtone comes from somewhere on the floor.

It’s a cheerful little tune, one that immediately makes his face harden into a grimace. “Fuck.” Johnny grunts atop you. “Don’t move. Don’t move…” He tells you before he rushes off to find his phone.

You assume it’s work. After all, he sun is already rising in the horizon. Isn’t that when work tends to start for soldiers? You find the idea of it dreadful, waking up so early, to work out?

But the realization washes over you when his voice becomes affectionate and sweet, calling whoever is on the other side ‘baby’. Johnny presses the phone to his ear, before rushing back onto the bed, slotting himself between your thighs.

Before you can say anything, maybe protest at what he’s doing, he’s back inside you, one of his palms clamping over your mouth as he throws his hips against yours.

“I just got up actually… Am at the gym.” Johnny lies as he pounds into you, a great excuse as to what he sounds out of breath. “Oh yeah… hip thrusts, love.” He continues speaking, his eyes locked onto you.

“Mhm… Definitely…” He grunts out. “Let me put you on speaker so I can keep going.” He adds and quickly does so, setting the phone next to your head on the bed.

“I miss you, Johnny…” A woman’s voice, sugary sweet and soft, comes from the speakers, right next to your ear. An accent similar to his, but less rugged, a bit more polished.

“I know, love… Miss you too…” Johnny says above you, eyes locked on yours as he grunts a bit and presses his hips harder into yours. “Can’t wait to finish here and go back to you…”

You don’t know what it is… You should be disgusted. You should be bucking him off, yelling at him, exposing him to this girlfriend as a cheater… But the way he looks at you, the way his cock throbs inside you, the way this feels, so forbidden and wrong… You can’t help but like it.

“What are you up to now, baby?” Johnny asks as he continues rutting against you, eyes lowering to watch the way your cunt swallows his fat cock.

“I’m about to have lunch, that’s why I called early, going with Anna and Delilah for work, just wanted to say a quick hello!” Johnny’s girlfriend says.

Johnny grunts when your walls flutter around him, tightening around him, a sign you were close to your limit. “Oh… fuck…” He grumbles and pants.

“You okay, love?” Johnny’s girlfriend asks, concerned, when she hears the way he sounds. “You’re not injuring yourself, are you? Am I distracting you?”

“No, no, baby…” Johnny grunts. “I just… love you so much!” He tells her, his face screwed into an expression of pure delight, eyes rolling a bit and eyelids fluttering as he feels you continue to squeeze around you. “Yeah… I love you and miss you… so… so much… God…”

“I miss you too, Johnny!” She says, naively, as her boyfriend lets out a grunt under his breath and comes inside of you, blowing a load inside the condom as he rests his head against your chest.

#ikea writes 💚#cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #call of duty #cod fandom #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x reader #soap cod #cod smut #smut #johnny mactavish smut #johnny mactavish is a mutt #tw cheating #cw cheating

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deluxewhump · 6 months ago

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bahkauv

cw: nonhuman whumpee, hunters of nonhumans, torture, burning as torture, fire-induced temporary blindness, mentioned digit crushing, self healing whumpee, it as a pronoun, restraints, muzzle, purchased for research

note: I've taken great liberties with this little german mythological creature. As you will see, its physical appearance is about ninety percent human in this story.

one: hunter's camp

The creature was in the worst shape Arthur had ever seen anything alive in. The fact that it looked so unnervingly human, especially from a distance, unsettled him even more.

Once they heard what it allegedly was, Stephan said it should have big paws and the short golden fur of a lion. Francis said that wasn’t right at all— it should have a human head and torso, legs like a calf with cloven hooves, and soft brown, white or black ears like a calf too… Stephan eventually elbowed Francis into silence as they approached a muddy paddock where the ill-fated things were corralled after being caught.

It was mostly vampires in the hunter’s camp. Vampires were such a problem in the region that Arthur himself had been nearly recruited as a hunter this spring past. He’d been intrigued by the commission bonuses, the idea of travel and sleeping under the stars. He’d eyed the weapons and tools the hunters wore at their belts and tucked in their boots with admiration and envy. But he’d lost his stomach for it after seeing what he would have to do to the vampires he caught.

The Bahkauv was no exception, it seemed, despite being a rarer and much more regional phenomenon, not at all the infamous menace vampires had become. In fact, it seemed to Arthur that the thing was human as it cowered in the mud, eyes tracking the hunter that circled it.

“How do they know it's a Bahkauv?” he asked aloud, not expecting his friends to have a response he didn't have himself.

Meanwhile, the hunter sloshed a bucket of thick, oily substance onto the cowering creature and struck a match.

“Oh good God,” Francis breathed beside him. All three of them were frozen in place, waiting to see if the hunter would toss the match.

He did.

The substance now covering the Bahkauv was clearly some sort of accelerant. Pitch, maybe. Immediately, the fire spread over it and leaped three feet high so the creature appeared as a burning ball, invisible inside a wall of orange flame. Though they could not see it very well, they could hear it. Its shrieks of terror turned to screams of pain— agonized and gut wrenching. Francis was gripping Arthur’s forearm without realizing he’d done so, as if to say do you see this?His mouth was open in shock at the scene before them. Arthur glanced about. Some of the people, hunters and civilians alike, had stopped to see what this particular commotion was about, but they went back to their own business once they realized. This was not out of the ordinary.

“We use the sun on the vamps,” said a hunter who had come up to the fence to watch. “Easy and extremely effective. But that thing doesn’t burn with the sun. They find drunken soldiers and latch onto them until they’re weak enough for them to attack. Vicious, thieving little creatures. And since there’s a lack of drunken soldiers wandering around alone here lately, who do you think we found this one leeching on?”

“A hunter?”

The hunter nodded. “Unwise little thing, no? Sunlight doesn’t really bother it, but we found it a similar experience…” he nodded at the twisting and writhing flame in the paddock. Whatever the substance was was finally burning off. The flames dwindled in the wet mud until they could see the creature beneath, now naked and terribly burned, but clearly alive. The screams tapered off to loud, alarming moans, separated by thin breaths drawn with great difficulty.

“Why?” asked Arthur with an incredulity he later realized must have sounded terribly naive to a hunter.

The hunter looked at him, deciding how to answer. In the end he just laughed, and clapped Arthur on the shoulder before wandering away toward the north side of the encampment.

The one in the ring, dressed identically to the one Arthur had just spoken to, approached the Bahkauv. Arthur was now convinced it was not human after all, or it would not have survived that sustained heat for so long, with no oxygen to breathe. Right? Surely.

The hunter watched the thing struggling to breathe for a moment, tilted his head and toed it in the ribs with his boot. It shrieked in pain, eyes blind and white, blood and saliva dripping from its open mouth, its burned lips. The hunter seemed to consider the condition of the skin, which looked from a distance as though it was already changing from charred to red, from red to pink.

“Is it healing?” Stephan asked in a low voice. He was not sure he wanted to know.

“So quickly,” Francis muttered, his forehead deeply creased in distress. Even so, Francis could not help but watch. Arthur knew he was sharply observing, forming questions. His curious mind would not allow him to look away.

Arthur, by no means a scientist or a scholar, wondered why it was he couldn’t stop looking. The hunter splashed more of the pitch-like substance onto the creature, who howled and threw up its hands protectively, uselessly, against the second lit match that was coming.

“No,” Stephan exhaled in disbelief. “So soon?”

The flames flew to the accelerant faster than their eyes could follow, and the screams began in earnest again, filling the paddock. Arthur winced and looked away.

“I need it,” Francis said, nodding emphatically. “Not a vampire. I need to take that to the University. Why study what everyone else is studying? Sure they’re rare, but that means my research would be rare, too. Possibly unique.”

“You don’t know what it’s capable of,” Stephan cautioned.

“It likes to eat drunken soldiers, for God's sake," Francis argued to the backdrop of horrific wailing. “It will be tied up and muzzled, if we have to. And it's so... pathetic. Look at it."

Arthur and Stephan did. The flames had burned off again. The unfortunate creature was attempting to crawl away from the hunter, who was following it slowly.

“It’s probably less dangerous than a vampire anyway. And it can move in the sunlight without being carried or making a scene.” Francis looked to them for support. Nearby, a shrieking vampire was being dragged into the sunlight.

“This place is making me a bit ill,” Stephan said.

"I did warn you both." Arthur turned to Francis. “If you really think it’s a good idea, I’ll bargain for you. You’re too excited about it. They’ll realize they can rip you off.”

—

The Bahkauv was badly burned. This was nothing new, but each time was its own unending Hell. Every inch was agony as it crawled, blindly, across the paddock. The cool mud might have been a relief but for the way it sucked at the skin of its hands and knees, taking much of the ruined flesh with it as it made each slow inch of progress. It didn’t know where it was going. It only knew that staying put would mean more pain, and it could not tolerate any more pain. It was stripped to its barest instincts, and its instinct was to get away.

Dimly, it remembered the hunters didn’t like when it tried to get away from them, even just a few feet to curl up in a corner or against a fence. They’d stake it in place with one of their sharp vampire-sticks, through its hand or the tendons of its foot, grounding it in place to torment until it was mindless, incoherent and screeching like an animal.

Its melted sight began to come back, and it could see the blurry outline of men’s legs standing in front of it. It stopped crawling, paralyzed in fear. It could do nothing but lie on the ground and pant, throat and lungs burned from inhaling fire, but unable to die, just like the vampires in the sun.

A heavy collar was fitted around its neck like a yoke, and someone was yanking it roughly to a standing position. The Bahkauv shook so badly from the recent pain of burning that it collapsed once, twice. It cringed deeply as the hunter who held the leash backhanded its burnt cheek. “Up,” he hissed. “Do you want another round as a parting gift?”

“It’s fine,” said a new man's voice. “Enough. Enough. Here.”

Through slowly improving vision, it saw its leash change hands. It was not prepared to look anyone in the eye, even once it could see well enough to distinguish faces again.

It kept its eyes down, trembling violently as ropes were wrapped around its wrists and then looped through the collar so its hands had to stay crossed near its chest. A leather and iron muzzle was fitted over its head and tightened around the back of its neck. The sharp bit went to right the back of its throat, almost far enough to make it gag. The sides bit into the burnt flesh of its face. Once, it would have been ashamed of how it drooled pinkish foam in front of all these humans. Now it neither knew or remembered shame when the threat of more pain was present, which was always.

A man was picking it up. It hurt terribly, but all the Bahkauv dared to do was whimper through frantically grit teeth. Another pair of hands went under its armpits and hauled it higher, up and into the saddle of a chestnut horse. Each point of contact from the saddle was fresh pain, burnt skin and nightmarish friction. It tried to sit up on its own for as long as it could, but lacked the strength. Once the horse began walking in the direction of the road, it had no choice but to slump weakly against the chest of the man sitting directly behind it and holding the reins.

It received no punishment, except for the way the man's rough clothes touched its skin. As the Bahkauv's sight returned to normal, it looked about to see two more men on horses of their own. Its healing skin itched and burned, but all it could do was twitch helplessly and watch the horse’s bobbing mane in front of it, or the leafy spring forest pass on either side. It shivered intermittently.

"Give it a blanket, Francis," one of the men said.

"Won't that hurt it? Its skin still shines like a burn."

"Remarkable how minor a burn it looks already though," said the man behind it in the saddle. "Considering."

The human voice, so close it could feel the vibration from it in its back, set it to trembling again.

Exhaustion from the days torture soon set in, and it fell into bouts of unconsciousness that only resembled sleep. It woke from one such period of dreamlessness with a startled flinch, unsure where it was or what was happening. The man he was riding with had his arm around its waist, anchoring it so it did not slump to either side and fall from the horse.

Dread and fear pooled in the Bahkauv’s stomach at the human contact, a large gloved hand splayed across its naked belly. Humans were cunning and cruel. They loved fire and tools, like the metal ones they used to crush its fingers and toes in the evenings when the sun was down and the screams of the vampires had quieted.

It felt one of the others’ gaze on it and turned its foolish head, accidentally locking eyes with one of the men it was now traveling with. He was young, dressed in a jacket of dark green wool. He reminded the Bahkauv of the new recruits the hunters would bring in now and then, to see what they had the stomach for. Heart pounding, it looked away, and did not dare lift its eyes again until nightfall prompted the men to stop and make camp.

#whump #nonhuman whumpee #burning cw #torture cw #it as a pronoun cw #inspired by ash and callum #first story i ever read here #muzzle #the next part is short and bittersweet #captivity

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spookypete-94 · 3 months ago

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Nightmare's Wasteland

Chapter 1- Devil's Playground

Been on a Handmaid's Tale kick as of late. Made me wonder how Simon would be in this situation. I have always loved this series and the power behind it. The books are amazing (Margaret Atwood, wonderful, wonderful, author) and so is the tv series on Hulu. It is just the concept being used, will not involve places, names and/or characters of The Handmaid's Tale.

Small series. Reader is a female character in a dystopian world where the ability to conceive is limited to a small percentage of people. Reader is of that percentage and is assigned to Simon to provide a child to a declining population. She learns how live with him and survive, while he learns about her life prior before being delivered to hell. Def a darker read, MDNI.

CW and heads up- Reader is female in this, also has tattoos. Leave it to the imagination, only one described for now. Also language (we know how i love language)

If Simon Riley could be described as anything from a word in history, Warlord would be listed at the very top. Warrior. Solider. In reality, it’s all the same. Pick whatever word in that branch of that tree, and he fits it.

To be able to be such a thing, he had to turn off all things that made him human. No love, no happiness, no peace. It left him in a world without a wife, no children, family gone- left him a long time ago at the cost of his area of expertise.

When the world started to end, and he was too damaged to try to defend and protect it anymore, he was assigned a life. A home. He was given a civilian life… followed by excuses of this was his “reward”. Laughable to him really, this was far from what he wanted. Instead, he was given a different duty and told to provide children for the next generation. Children of strong genetics. Hope to be provided of his strength and wit…Honestly, he’d rather be out on the frontlines again. His duty would be better served there, being a ghost, THE Ghost, was what he did best. Specter in the line of work, no one ever saw him coming. Start to unravel and show how broken you are though, and they send you back to try to be part of the what’s “normal” life now.

Here he sat, in large empty house. A staff provided for all things to run it. Only exception it was barren of all the things that made it a home. Photographs, knickknacks, but more importantly a wife and children. It had been pressed on him to find a wife, but as he explained to his overhead he just wasn’t interested. Apparently, they could turn a blind eye to that, but he still was required to add to the population. He was a fertile, and it was his duty after all. The answer to a wife, was a temporary live in. One he was only expected to lay with during ovulation.

The idea filled him with dread, but not a soul got to have a say in this world of what was going to happen. The government was too strong for its own good now and he was too deep in it. All from being its war dog, and now given his bone and told to go home.

Simon’s inner turmoil was rudely interrupted as one of the house staff knocked on his office door. “Mr. Riley? They are all here, waiting downstairs in the foyer.”

A heavy sigh left him before he called back out, “Will be down in a few.”

Swallowing the rest of his bourbon, he set the glass down on his desk twirling it a few times by the rim with his large finger.

Now or never.

Encroaching downstairs, he saw a gathering of about four people. All dressed in black, one with a hood pulled all the way up hiding their face.

That would be you.

If you could be described as anything, it would be: Not made for this world. Your heart was soft, but the desire to live your own life once again thrived inside. A weed that couldn't quite be pulled out. The ache hurt that soft heart of yours. Children had always been a thought on your mind but deemed not good enough to be a wife from past choices of your old life, you were pushed into the service of bearing them for others. “Good enough to be bred, not good enough to be wed.” As you had been told. To be in the service, it was required of you to learn what was lady like. Quiet, barely there. Don’t fight back and don’t speak your mind. Make yourself small, don’t get in the way. Don’t agree? Great. Here is your issued beating and punishment. Take it on the cheek and turn it for the next one.

Those who could not bear children, were put into hard labor. Running a house, in home cook, cleaning maid, you name it. If you wouldn’t comply to meet the new standards, you were shipped off to work in the mines or sent to death. Funny a world so eagerly wanting to make life was so quick to snuff it out.

Never once you would think your life would be like this. All those freedoms taken and stripped from you. What you would give to have your old life back. Be able to sleep in. Go outside and to the stores when you wished. A fucking latte? What you would give for any of that now. All of that taken for granted...

Passing through the requirements made you fit for duty. Issued your new place of residency, to meet your new Master and Lady. Only this place didn’t have a Lady. The Master so much of a brute of a man to never take one, was rumor you had heard. It scared you. A man that clearly couldn't even be gentle enough to have a wife. Maybe that was why they picked this place for you first, to make you fearful of the new world. More submission.

Standing in the entryway, heavy boots could be heard on the bare wood. You wanted to look up at your new Master but deemed it best to keep your head down and eyes on the floor. Make yourself small. Lady Like. Pressing your hands tightly together in your front, fingers laced together in a way to try to compose yourself. In the old world you might have twiddled your thumbs together, but in this new one not even that would be acceptable.

“Mr. Riley,” your Governess spoke with fake pleasantry, “We apologize for rising you from your office. We are early after all.”

On time. He was late. This was her way of trying to stroke his ego, all while of pointing out the time to him. Only made her look dumb.

Not even a reply, just a grunt. His boots finally appearing at the bottom of the steps. The place you had been looking but now diverting your eyes further down. You noticed his boots were perfect and polished, the black shining from the light in the room. It looked like military attire.

“Today is a happy day, this is your new Chamber Maid.”

The term made your face hot, red. Your life you had before… and now reduced to a “Chamber Maid”?

What the fuck.

Your black hood being wrenched down so your new Master could look down upon you startled you.

Carefully, you glanced up. Your heart had hit the bottom of your stomach seeing a man with dirty blonde colored hair shaved down in military fashion. Matched the idea of his boots. His nose crooked from being broken by at least once… or a few times. A scar that ran across his mouth to the bottom of his nose on his cheek. Brown eyes burned down into your wide orbs while he all but sneered down at you. Here, you were certain the devil was standing before you. Handsome and scary all at once.

“Introduce yourself, don’t be rude,” Your Governess nudged into you roughly with her elbow.

New manners that had just been taught, returned to you. A small curtsey before him, careful with your legs as your head ducked down and standing back up fully. It was executed beautifully. Quietly, you gave your name. Instead of him giving you his, he grunted once more. You knew his name already, why waste his time with all this fake bullshit was his thought.

“Your room is upstairs; the staff will show you around.” His voice a deep threatening rumble.

This was all you got? Your living quarters? Your heart fractured. Not even worth being shown around by the man that was supposed to impregnate you. You could drop to your knees and cry right here if able. Lady like. You must not show any emotion, any thought behind your beautiful eyes. Just a breedable doll is all you were now.

A hand wrapping around your arm and tugging you along made your attention divert. The staff. An older woman, “My name’s Kate. Come with me.” Mr. Riley had already started his way upstairs, your Governess and other hierarchy leaving. This felt so strange to you enough as it is, but to have an abrupt goodbye made you feel like an adopted animal.

“Is there really no wife?” you whispered to her. Is he really a brute? Was the question you wanted to ask.

“No, no wife, but Mr. Riley is really not hard to live with,” she whispered back.

He might not be, but you felt your circumstances would be different.

A quick show around the large house ended with your room. It wasn’t bad in size. A full-sized bed shoved up against the wall with a window and rocking chair provided. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was there for an eventual baby, one that you would rock to sleep.

Starting with trying to settle in, you unpacked your clothes. Or rather uniforms. Because you had “sinned” in your past life, your uniform is a long black dress with long sleeves. Because you had tattoos scattered across places, you were to cover them. The only time your uniform was to be off was when you were alone. Even when you were to lay with your Master, the dress would remain on, both of you to be fully clothed. Still with your clothes, you felt naked at the idea. Stripped of any dignity.

Settled in, you had found Kate once more and helped her with her house duties and making supper. Idle hands were the devil’s workshop or some shit like that.

“You’re to sit at the table with him.” Kate whispered, nodding to the direction of the dining room. "Requested you himself."

Nervous, you smoothed out your dress, pressing away any crumbs from making supper. Looking back up at her, she nodded in a silent reply of asking her If you looked appropriate.

Quietly, you made our way into the dining room a large table that could have sat an army before you, Mr. Riley already sitting at the end of it. Even though the table was so large, a chair was all the way at the other end. Unsure of what exactly to do, you stood in front of the door with your hands interlocked together again.

“Well go on, sit,” Mr. Riley said gesturing to the end of the table.

“Yes, Mr. Riley,” you said meekly quickly walking to the end of the table to sit down.

One by one, the house staff filed in carrying the food and placing it on the table, making you both a plate as they did. The plate placed before you was steaming, filled across the circumference. Been a long time since you had a home cooked meal.

“Heard you had a helping hand with the meal tonight.” He said cutting into his piece of fried chicken.

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“Not expected of you.”

Your tongue wanted to fire back, wanted to cut him from the knees down. Would rather that then what is expected of me. But instead, you were quiet, choosing to eat instead.

It stayed silent like that through the rest of dinner besides clanking of dishes and silverware. Mr. Riley getting up and going to his office after he had cleared his plate, leaving you alone to finish yours. Made you wonder if he lived in that room.

Deciding to get up you helped Kate with clearing the rest of the kitchen and cleaning up from dinner. Most of it taken care of you told Kate to step out and take a break willing to finish the dishes. Having a task at hand to focus on now was helpful. The feeling of walking into the twilight zone curbed with getting food off dishes.

The calm you had felt left seeing a large man move into the kitchen. The only large man here. Looking over your shoulder you watched him get into the fridge pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher.

“Told you we have help for that.”

“I told her to go take a break.”

“ Y’ sure you should give orders like that? Do you have the authority to do so?”

Shit. You had insulted him in his own home on the first fucking day. What a good start.

“I didn’t mean it like that-" but you were abruptly pushed forward further against the sink by him. Your breath was caught. You wanted to turn around but couldn’t. Expecting a strike, you flinched inward, but instead three large fingers grab carefully at your collar tugging it down, his thumb sweeping against the back of your neck.

“Skull and cross bones, huh?” He asked.

He was referring to the tattoo on the back of your neck. Some how he had caught it, even with the ugly collar on your dress.

“Was my very first one.”

“And that’s what you picked?” Was he bantering with you?

“I picked it out at a rock concert.”

“That the type of girl you are then? The one that gives breaks and gets skull tattoos?”

You were unable to find an answer. It seemed rhetorical anyway.

“Asked you question.”

Fuck.

“Appears to be that way, yeah.”

Cheeky.

He chuckled, swiping his thumb across it once more before giving you a light shove against the sink from his hand that held your hip. No longer where you terrified. It all almost seemed playful in nature.

“Tomorrow, Kate does the dishes. I can’t have her slacking.”

“Yes, Mr. Riley.”

Standing there feeling dumb, you closed your eyes at feeling his rough hand on your neck over and over again. Mind eye picturing what he looked while he was behind you. Perhaps he wouldn’t be too hard to get along with after all.

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

Nightmare's Wasteland Masterlist

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reptileyan · 1 month ago

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Cw: yandere, cute monster boy fattening you up because being fat is cute and makes you perfect for terato breeding

Monster boy with sharp teeth that loves all manner of food-a wonderful chef who drags you off to his home after you eat one of the treats he left in your kitchen.

They were wonderful, and worth it, your first thought when you awake is that you absolutely have to have another of the lovely little tarts that you can't seem to remember buying.

You're blind, temporary magic, something he put in the food. He doesn't want to face the heartache of you reacting to his appearance just yet. Better to blame it on you being startled, waking up in an unfamiliar place, missing one of your senses. It'll make it easy to keep you nearby as well. Even if you could see where he keeps the keys, even if you could reach the locked door and rush past him, you wouldn't get very far, now would you? If you have any good sense, you'll stay and be pampered like a good pet.

All you have to do is ask for one of the treats and it will be happily given to you, once you finish your silly hyperventilating and crying. Your captor strokes your cheek with an enormous, calloused hand, careful with his claws as he admires how soft it is, but it could be softer, fuller.

He coos in dismay as your tears fall. Poor little thing. Didn't your mother teach you not to take sweets from strangers?

No matter. You're safe with him now, cherished and spoiled no matter how you hiss and scream and cry and kick. And you don't do much of that, because why would you? He's very strong and can see, you aren't and you can't. You could be in Antarctica for all you know. The birdsongs you hear could be recorded, the giant soft bed that smells like lavender could be a mile underground.

This could be a lab trial you don't remember signing up for, a fever dream that warps your sense of time, a strange purgatory.

You suspect it's your average kidnapping, that you're in the woods less than five miles from home, and you're being fattened up to be cooked and eaten. You're mostly right.

You are being overfed to soften you up, simply due to your new mates preferences. He prides himself in making you plump, so you look properly cared for, well on your way to being fat enough to safely cradle and nurture his pups inside that cute round tummy of yours.

Your chest is heavier than it used to be, ready to be full of milk for his little ones and to make your poor bones sore in the meantime. You get apologies and backrubs and hot baths to ease the aches that carrying all this new weight brings. You are granted no relent from the constant onslaught of delicious morsels, huge meals, he refuses to stop feeding you and you can't stop eating. The food he makes is just that good.

You accuse him in your small trembling voice, of plotting against you, of planning to abandon you or selling you off, of changing your body for a cruel form of amusement, of carrying you everywhere so your meat isn't tough. Time and again a honeyed, raspy voice tells you otherwise, as strong arms wrap around you, remind you how small you are in comparison. You are his mate, and you are safe, and you are loved. Your purpose is simply to be loved and spoiled, and once you stop being terrified of him, shaking in his arms, he'll be honored to breed you nice and deep.

It's taking awhile though, so maybe he'll get a taste. You learn of his snout and sharp teeth for the first time as his maw envelops your cunt, as a giant tongue stuffs itself into you-it can't all fit in but that's okay! You have the rest of forever to be stretched out.

He breaks after half an hour of making you scream and clench and sob around him, carrying you to the bubble bath, bringing you petit fours-your favorite!-and massaging shampoo into your scalp.

You can't see his smile as you tug on his arm, inviting him into the tub. But you feel his body surrounding you, you smell the freshly baked pot pie cooling and him, familiar and warm. You hear the soft hum of delight, the fire crackling, water moving around you. His oddly-textured skin beneath you, cool thighs and belly and chest that you can sink into, hot water and bubbles, a treat pressed against your lips, into your mouth, tea after. He says he grows everything he can. If you're very good, you can join him in the garden one day, lounge while he works and talks with you.

Everything he makes tastes like love, and you are soft and safe and warm, and less terrified than you should be.

#yandere terato #yandere teratophilia #reptile yandere #monster x chubby reader #monster yandere #monster x reader #yandere x chubby reader #chubby reader #nsft #yandere nsft #monster fucker

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sukunastoy · 1 year ago

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Shameful Attraction (CEO! Sukuna x Female Reader ~NSFW~ Part 6)

Pairings: CEO!Sukuna x fem!reader x fiance!Toji (Non-Curse AU)

Synopsis: You've been in a long-term relationship with Toji from high school, who is the love of your life. Well, sometimes he is... You turn a blind eye to all of the heartaches he seems to deliberately bring upon you and the relationship. Despite his actions, you've remained loyal and true. That is, until Sukuna, a CEO and your new boss, draws you into an affair.

CW/TW: This story has moments of mistreatment and abuse in it. There are references all throughout about this behavior—Hitting, name-calling, degradation, hiding bruises, domestic violence, sexual assault, being drugged/unaware, cheating, unfaithfulness etc. Also, reader is thin/underweight, unprotected sex, fingering, pet names (i.e., doll, pretty thing, little one, princess, etc.), praise kink. Mentions of depression and thoughts of suicide in later chapters.

(This chapter in particular mentions thoughts of suicide.)

Wordcount: 3.6k+

Saturday 1:33 AM

It's happened again. You went to bed with the man that wasn't your fiancé. It might have made you swoon in the moment; being overfilled with the aching desire for attention of someone other than Toji— but it left you feeling sick in the end. Especially since this wasn't going to bloom into some relationship. That little text from the previous night reminded you of that. Waking up next to Sukuna was something you could live for, but, it wasn't right. It wasn't something you should get used to. Glancing at him; admiring how relaxed he was— you felt your bottom lip quiver at the unfairness of it all. He was incredibly attractive. Wealthy and powerful. Gave you so much attention. And made you feel absolutely amazing in bed. He made you feel safe...made you feel wanted. But this was just some temporary enjoyment. A man like him wasn't going to settle down. Not anytime soon anyway. And certainly not with someone like you. Slowly you crept out of the bed, not even remembering when you fell asleep. As you stood in the middle of his large room, you let out a shaky breath. Why was this so hard to be okay with? Toji was awful to you. Why did you still feel such guilt over this? Maybe because this was all a fool's errand. Trying to forget about the misery that was your life by letting your boss fuck you senseless whenever he wanted. Toji didn't truly care about you, and this man probably didn't care either. But...at least one of them treated you with a sense of decency. You quietly tiptoed out of his room, slowly going down the hall towards the living room. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness after some time, and you stood near the balcony doors in the living room, debating on what to do. The worst part of all this was that you'd have to go home at some point. Something that was getting harder and harder to do each time. Sliding the door open carefully, you snuck outside into the cool air, inhaling deeply to try and relax your mind. Sitting still made your mind race, and you wanted some kind of distraction. Needed some fresh air. You walked along the massive balcony, not even surprised that it was just as luxurious out here as it was inside. Most of it was covered by a roof to enjoy on a rainy or too sunny of a day. A few chairs were placed outside the covered area, giving a varied selection of where to sit. It wrapped around the edge of the building, and as you followed it, it opened up to even more space. There was a hot tub with lovely plants surrounding a couple sides of it, and the soft steam rising off of it looked so peaceful. The gentle hum of the small bubbles kept your mind busy for a moment as you sat on the edge of it, debating if you should put your feet in or not. Only a few feet away was a small pool in the floor of the balcony and to the edge with a glass wall. He really had anything he could possibly want or need. It was a bit chilly, but being out here already gave you a sense of ease. You looked into the hot tub, the light inside of it slowly changing colors to illuminate the water. The temptation overtook you, and your feet slowly dipped into the hot water. A small hiss escaped your lips as it was both relaxing and a bit of a shock all at once. None of the main jets were on, and you made sure to not push any buttons so it would stay quiet. You stretched your toes apart, watching them in the water as it eased your tension. Something about the tiny and gentle air bubbles coming out from the idle jets and going between your toes kept your mind occupied from the dread trying to invade it.

Time was lost, and you had no idea how long you'd been out here. But you found yourself at the edge of the pool now, sitting by the side with one leg dipped into the cool water. Your other leg was bent and your arms and cheek rested atop your knee.

You slowly twisted your engagement ring while lost in thought, noticing it wasn't as loose as it was before. Had this past week with Sukuna feeding you made you gain a little weight? Shit...what if Toji noticed that..? He wouldn't be too happy, and he'd wonder where you got the extra food from. Wiping the small tears in your eyes, you stared up at the sky, just barely able to see some of the stars. What if Toji was home tonight? And you're not there? You kept doing this devious act despite knowing the rules. You weren't allowed to be away from home without him knowing. He'd beat you for not being there. Should you head home now? But how could you get there so quickly? The trains weren't running anymore. You couldn't afford to take a cab that far. What if he went looking for you?

You let out a sob while clenching a hand into your hair, begging the horrid thoughts to pass. It hurt. It always hurt. This constant fear of getting in trouble and being punished left you on edge. All day at work you had to keep a smile and cheery attitude. Around coworkers and strangers, you needed to remain normal and worry-free. A fake version of you was all anyone knew. It was exhausting to pretend that you had everything under control.

Toji had you under his control...and it felt like an invisible chain was going to be forever tightened around your neck, jerking you back to his side.

How much longer were you going to be able to handle this? Sukuna provided relief but the reality in the end was you were stuck with Toji. Forever. You overlooked most of the torment...but what happens when he goes off again? What happens when you end up in the hospital again for him beating you so severely over some minor mistake? How long could you continue covering up bruises before they got too intense to keep hiding? You winced, feeling every slap, every shove, and every punch that he's easily done to you. You just wanted out. You just wanted free!

You looked out across the pool at the railing while trembling, hating your life. Hated how you ended up in such a shitty relationship. Hated how you were in so much debt you probably could never get out of it. Hated that your parents refused to talk to you. Hated that you felt safe with some man you just met but knew it would never be anything serious.

The intrusive thought always found it's way into your mind. The thought of just ending it all. Just being done with the bullshit you were constantly dealing with. Honestly, who would miss you? Toji would only be angry that his obedient little punching bag had to be replaced. Your parents certainly never checked in on you. And you only just started to work at this new job. You'd be forgotten soon enough and someone else would be hired in your spot.

Panic crept into you, and you shoved yourself from the edge, plunging your body into the cold mass of water. You sank down to the bottom while letting out air, not wanting to surface. Not wanting to keep facing reality. The gentle hum of the pool pumps filled your mind instead, and the blurry glow from the city lights coming through the glass siding helped shield out the real world. It was quiet and soothing.

You needed to breathe. But, you didn't want to. You didn't want to come out of the water and face your life again. If only you could just stay in this dim, cold pool forever. Not like your life was any better. Your chest tightened as your body begged for air, yet you restrained. Just a little while longer. Please...

Finally shoving yourself from the bottom, you gasped for air once breaking the surface, coughing and feeling water painfully drip from your nose. You fumbled for the glass edge of the pool, holding onto it while panting hard. The glass siding was almost level with the water, and anyone foolish enough could easily climb over and fall from the height to the ground below. Just knowing you even considered such a horrendous thing brought tears to your eyes. Resting your cheek on your arms, you sobbed quietly.

Saturday, 4:47 AM

Standing in the shower in the hall bath, you stared down at your feet while the hot water poured over your head. Your clothes were hung up over the towel racks to dry, and it was only now that you felt extreme shame for your previous actions. Luckily, Sukuna hadn't woken up to find you out in his pool. Being wet from an early morning shower would be more understandable than from sitting in the pool with clothes on. You worked on getting your practiced emotions back in order. To seem like you had everything under control. To act as if nothing was really bothering you and that you are doing well. It was difficult, but, it was all you could really do. Slipping the mask back on was what you were good at. It kept people from asking too many questions. You washed yourself with the small loofah and soap you brought from home, getting the smell of chlorine off of your skin and out of your hair. Maybe you could make some sort of breakfast for him this time before he woke up. To show your appreciation for this past week.

After drying yourself off, and putting on a large shirt from your bag, you went into the kitchen. Everything was so expensive looking, you almost felt worried to touch anything. His fridge was filled with neat containers and dividers with fresh foods, and as you took a few things out, you wondered if this was even a good idea anymore. You hoped it wouldn't make him upset for rummaging through his stuff for a meal. After taking several moments to try and figure out his fancy coffee maker, you were able to get a couple cups ready to go as well. You set the table with a few plates of food, trying to make sure everything looked okay. What if he didn't like it..? What if this was crossing a boundary in his home?

Saturday, 8:03 AM You swallowed hard while going back into his room, unsure of how to even wake him up. He was on his stomach, with his arms crossed under his pillow, and his face turned towards you. Setting your hand gently on Sukuna's shoulder, you gulped. You said his name softly, giving his shoulder a small squeeze while doing so. You could feel his muscles slightly tense under your fingers, and his expression changed slightly. He was uncovered most of the way, and your eyes trailed down his muscled back, realizing he had even more tattoos here. You traced the black lines softly with your fingertips, admiring how gorgeous this guy really was. His muscles were well defined, making it clear he kept himself in good shape, despite spending so much time with the company. You said his name again, leaning closer down to him and a small, sleepy groan left his lips. "Sukuna, I made some breakfast for us." You whispered, running your hand gently along his back from shoulder to shoulder. It's how you'd wake up Toji if you needed to. Just gentle and calm. He inhaled deeply while his body stretched, and one of his eyes lazily opened to look at you. He looked at you with an odd curiosity, as if trying to understand why there was someone here. A yawn overtook him, and he turned to be on his side while rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose. "Hmm?" "I made some breakfast for us." You said again while sitting next to him on the bed, gently placing your hand on the black bands of his bicep. "Figured last night probably took some energy out of you." You teased lightly. A small grin spread his lips while he leaned his head to the side and looked at you. You couldn't help but admire his sleepy expression. He was still so incredibly hot even with his pink hair tousled in this early, gray dim of morning. "I don't think I'm hungry enough for it yet." His grin widened as his hand now suddenly gripped onto yours. You were pulled into the bed at his side, breath escaping you as he kissed your lips hungrily. He nipped at your bottom lip, causing your lips to open so he could push his tongue into your mouth. You moaned softly through his kiss, letting him maneuver your body underneath his. You were used to Toji just demanding sex from you whenever, but, it felt different with Sukuna. He wasn't doing it for some malicious reason. It wasn't to put you in your place or claim ownership over your body. It was primal fun, a normal human need and enjoyment. And he was fucking good at it. The times you spent in bed with Toji paled in comparison to how Sukuna treated your body. Toji was your one and only guy, prior to Sukuna. So everything seemed good until you got a taste of how a man could actually fuck. Your head hung off the bed while Sukuna sucked and bit at your neck, surely leaving marks that you'd later see. But you didn't care. All you cared about was how good he was making you feel, and hoping that you were making him feel good in return. His hard thrusts knocked your breath out each time, and your eyes glistened as they brimmed with tears. The way he hammered into your sweet spot nearly made you delirious. And it hurt so fucking good. Though his hands held your wrists firmly into the bed, you felt so safe and secure in his grasp. He could hold you here as long as he wanted and you'd leave yourself open for whatever he desired.

"You didn't have to get up and cook." Sukuna said while sitting down at the table with you. You shrugged it off with a small smile, still high on ecstasy from not too long ago. "I just wanted to thank you, for making me breakfast last week, and buying lunch for me all this week." He chuckled slightly before taking a drink of his coffee, eyeing you over the lip of the cup. But, he saw you doing it again. Waiting. Waiting for him to say you could begin eating. You stared down at your food, feeling the saliva gather in your mouth like a starving dog. "Hey." Hearing Sukunas voice, you looked up to him expectantly, happily waiting for his permission. "You don't have to wait. Why do you?" "I just...I'm used to it. My fiancé is a bit, controlling at the table. It's just easier to let him start eating first." "Is your household a hierarchy or something?" Honestly, you laughed a bit at his words. It did sound ridiculous that you couldn't eat without permission, but you didn't know how else to be. Toji would slap your hand if you ever sat down and just started to help yourself, and that would be the nicest of his reactions. "It's something he's always been adamant about...I try to just respect it." You shrugged, it's just how shit was in your home. "So, he makes you cook, and then doesn't even let you eat without allowing you to." It was more of a statement than a question, and you gulped hard at the reality of it. Everything at home seemed so normal, but you often forgot that to others, everything you mentioned was extreme. "I mean...no, o-or...I guess..." you stared down at the table, trying to find an answer somewhere on it. Trying to find some typical excuse for how Toji treated you. Trying to make it sound reasonable or understandable. Sukuna clicked his tongue, snapping you out of your desperation for excuses. "Never mind it...just don't wait for me to eat." You smiled weakly at his words, starting to gather food to your plate. Rarely did you get to eat your own meals, usually only cooking for Toji. Rough habits to break...

The two of you didn't get to make it too far into the meal before his phone started ringing. Looking at who was calling, he simultaneously sighed and smirked. "So impatient..." He commented before standing up and answering the phone. "What, MeiMei?" Your chest tightened at the name, though you tried to just ignore it and eat without paying attention. He went into another room to talk, but you could still hear him for the most part.

"No, I haven't left yet." ... "What, I can't enjoy breakfast first?" ... "Don't worry about it. Not your business, is it?" ... He let out a rude laugh before sighing. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, MeiMei." ... "No, you don't need to know her name." ... "Don't bother me again unless it's important, or I won't waste my time coming over later."

You knew you'd have to go back home at some point, but you were grateful he didn't send you home right away just because this MeiMei had called him. Jealousy didn't suit her? What did that mean exactly? Was she jealous that someone was with Sukuna in his home right now? You did your best to keep your smile to yourself as Sukuna sat back down to eat. It might have been ridiculous, but it made you feel somewhat special. And you'd take any little bit that you could get.

Saturday, 6:32 PM

"Ahh...I've needed a good fuck." MeiMei sighed in contentment after Sukuna rolled off of her to the side. He said nothing in return, and turned to her nightstand, taking a cigarette from his pack and lighting it. He took a long drag before exhaling, staring at the ceiling through the smoke. "So, heard you got a new little assistant hired. How's that going so far?" She questioned, flipping her hair back. He shrugged casually, taking another long drag. "It's fine." "Uh oh. I know that tone of yours. Is she already getting on your nerves?" She smirked, moving closer and resting her cheek on his chest. "No." He said and rolled his eyes as she took the cigarette from him. "Well, I guess she's not much to talk about, since you're being so boring in this conversation."

He chuckled briefly before sitting up, turning from her to leave. "I have work to finish before morning."

"Sukuna." MeiMei smirked while sitting up as well, crossing her legs and leaning back. "That's all you're giving me for the night? I had plans to stay up late. You brought a whole box of condoms, gonna let them go to waste?"

"Seems so." He said while getting dressed. Normally he would stay all night. And they'd have round after round into the early morning. But she just couldn't hold his interest. At least, not this time. Someone else was taking up the space in his mind, making him worry, despite him not trying to. "Want me to hold onto this box then, til next time?" "Fuck no." He said while taking his cigarette back. "Think I trust you with that?" He certainly didn't. She could say she was on birth control, but he didn't believe it. She was cunning, and the last thing he needed was to get baby trapped, especially with someone like her.

She shrugged playfully while lying back on the bed, stretching out and sighing. "Want to tell me what's on your mind?"

"No." "Oh come on...we used to tell each other everything." "That was before you spread your legs for 3 guys one night in our bed while I was at work." He laughed cynically while exhaling smoke from the finished cigarette. "It was just a night of weakness for me. You were always gone." She pouted up to him. "That tends to happen when you run a company." Hearing his phone chime, he looked over to the other nightstand where he had left it, and MeiMei reached it for him. "From (F/N.)" She smiled while opening the message despite Sukuna holding his hand out for his phone. "Oh! She's asking if you're still up. Aww...Got another one lined up after me?" She playfully smiled while handing over his phone. "Someone else missing you? Leaving me early for some other pussy that feels better?" "Feels incredibly better." He said in a serious tone, overall ignoring her while reading over the next message that came in. Nothing too major, just being informed of an important meeting that was scheduled for Thursday.

She pretended to not act offended, but he certainly noticed the genuine frown on her face for a brief second. "I doubt that." She huffed out.

Sukuna glanced up at her and chuckled before pocketing his phone and turning to leave. "Better have that other report finished by tomorrow when we have the meeting."

MeiMei grinned and shooed him away. "Yes sir." She replied in a mocking tone. She was too money-driven to put her job in jeopardy. She might get on his nerves and he personally didn't care for her, but the way she handled business and money made the rest of her bearable to deal with. For now at least.

Monday, 7:45 AM

Monday couldn't have arrived any slower, but you were delighted to be out of your apartment and headed back to work. Toji still never made an appearance, and you secretly had hoped he never would. Perhaps he just left you in the debt and moved on. You'd prefer it honestly. Not like he was contributing to make it easier on you. Maybe he found some other gullible woman to take care of him. Highly doubtful... There were a few meetings this morning, and you began to gather the files needed for the conference room. You had honestly tried not to think of Sukuna since you left his apartment Saturday afternoon, other than messaging him later that night about a meeting. He said he needed to head to Kyoto for the rest of the weekend, needing to take care of a few things at his other office. Unfortunately, you couldn't stop thinking that he was most likely fucking that other woman. Not that it should bother you. But you couldn't fucking help it. You tried to stop wondering what she looked like, or how she was. Had she been in his life for long? Was she new? Halting yourself, you held your head up properly, shoving away the thoughts again. It wasn't something you should intentionally burden yourself with. If you started acting like some jealous girlfriend, you'd most likely get booted out of his life. And even though it would never amount to anything, you wanted to stay around him as much as possible. You needed this distraction from the hell you constantly had to endure at home.

~Thanks for reading!! Sorry, it was a short chapter! I didn't want the next chapter insanely long, so I broke it up and made this one short. But, it gave a little insight into the role MeiMei plays in Sukuna's life. Hope you enjoyed it! <3~

Masterlist

#Sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff #jjk smut #ceo!au

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kii-nami · 6 months ago

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GILDED DREAMS | SUNDAY

You do not protest the clear display of authority over the most minuscule of details. Maybe you don’t even care for things like that, maybe you even take pity on him for that fact. Whatever it is in the end, Sunday doesn’t know. Neither does he ask. Birds are born to foolishly oppose the safety of captivity, but some will walk into the cage willingly. For they believe it to be temporary. Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood. Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.

cw: 6.5k words; part one of three; next part; fem!mc; nameless!mc; i'm not a hsr lore scholar; sunday get behind me i have a glock and nothing to lose except you;

To survive is to suffer. And crippled birds neither fly nor sing. All they are truly good for is to live a life of captivity. The only way to keep them safe is to build them a cage strong enough to protect them from all known predators. A prison of comfort, peaceful enough for them to forget their broken wings and settle down, with only sickeningly sweet scent of heaven in the air. Idyllic enough for it to become a dream.

Thus, Sunday dreams of eternal paradise in which no bird will ever get its wings clipped. In his gilded dreams, humanity’s life is free of misery. There is no survival of the fittest, for there is no weakness. There is no uncertainty, for there is no future. There is no suffering, for there is only Order. Or so the Dreammaster says.

And Ena the Order dreams of a paradise for everyone but Sunday, as he is a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of peace. One must be crucified for the sake of humanity, and Sunday is more than willing to become a martyr if it means he will finally obtain a cage big enough to contain anything and everything that could threaten his family. Or so the Dreammaster says.

To live is to dream. And you, Sunday decides, dream of nothing. For if you were, you would not have been roaming the halls of this maze. Yet Ena the Order sees none of your trespassing, and Sundays dares not to disturb Them with the news of someone so easily escaping their handmade heaven. Yet the ravens won’t stop screeching, the voices continue chanting. You do not belong here, so Sunday has no other choice but to take you out himself. That is the right thing to do. Or so the Dreammaster says. That is what he wants.

“Be not afraid.”

Your hand stops midair. The ribbons of your intricate sleeves keep swaying gently as your fingers tremble a mere inch away from the marble surface of the statue you were admiring. Then you shudder, dropping your arm limply at your side and finally look at him.

“Fear is the soul killer.” You agree easily, the light tremor of your voice betraying you by giving that very fear away. “I’ve been wandering these halls for hours, however. It is natural for me to expect the worst, Mister Sunday.”

You know him yet he remembers you not. So it must be your first time in Penacony, otherwise Sunday would have surely remembered someone like you. Someone who is capable of evading Order’s omniscience. It matters not, however. For he will guide you back to paradise with his own hand.

“I shall show you the way, then.” Sunday offers you his hand in an exercise of faithless chivalry. The white fabric of his gloves is yet to be stained with blood or soiled with the touch of the passing visitors he is forced to exchange pleasantries with. But soon it will be. He doesn't want it to. “If I may.”

“I would be eternally grateful.” You smile. “My family must be worried sick about me.”

There is nothing but kindness behind your voice and the light reflecting of your eyes can blind a sinner if they look at you. Sunday knows better than to trust the emptiness of words and fool’s gold of flattery for he is throwing those around on the daily. So when your palm presses gently against his own, he leads you to your untimely demise with no hesitation and all the remorse one could have, leaving you none the wiser to his true intentions.

Sunday half-expects to be stabbed in the back with some sort of a mythical dagger bestowed upon you by an Aeon who opposes the harmonious Order he is conducting under Ena’s blessing. He's waiting for you to try and snap his other wing right off his back to make sure he isn't even capable of dreaming of the skies. Yet nothing of the sort ever happens. It's a little unnerving, unsettling in a way that makes Sunday feel the phantom pains of things long lost. He wants to accuse you of treachery yet cannot. He wishes to call you a master of deception yet cannot.

Like a saint, you seem to trust him to help you find your way back. Akin to a sinner, it is him who rules over the silver of his tongue and the steel of his word.

Sunday knows he should dispose of you in the waters of the dream pool like he intended to do. That is what the Dreammaster would have wanted. Anything that is a threat to Ena the Order is a threat to his gilded dreams. And those who threaten the cage will inevitably draw a weapon against Robin. Yet he sees no ill intent in your eyes. Just concern for your family who you supposedly burdened with worry of your disappearance. And as it gradually dissolves with each step he takes to the exit of reality, a conflict in him grows stronger.

Standing at the crossroads, Sunday knows nothing. So when the time comes for you to fall back into heaven, he is there to catch you with a promise of never meeting again.

Too bad he never asked for your name. How miserable it is you never thought yourself important enough to give it to him unprompted.

Even in dreams people like Sunday are not exempt from suffering. To suffer is to survive. That is just the price you must pay for being tied to reality like a Charmony dove that has been chained to a metal ball and released into the wilderness. And Sunday may be the head of the Oak Family on paper signed with a bloodstained feather plucked from his own wing, yet he despises dealing with people from the IPC. All precious stone in only name and nothing else, Aventurine is positively infuriating.

In more ways than one.

“One of Astral Express girls disappeared from her room last night.” His smirk is full of poorly hidden mischief and something else that Sunday simply doesn’t care about. He may crave control over all that is his, yet he wishes not to claim someone like Aventurine as one of his own. “How perfectly aligned with your sister’s unfortunate death…”

The muscles of his back are strained. To dominate over his own desires is just as important as it is to rule over every single aspect of the dream that is this life. The gilded dream of Ena the Order must continue, and Sunday will not be the one to sabotage it. To dream is to live.

Sunday taps the railing, “Are you accusing me of kidnapping now?”

Soothing tone and relaxed posture, Sunday will continue his reign over the dominion of Control no matter what he feels or wants. There is no other way. Crippled birds neither fly nor sing, nor do they grow their missing wings back. And even if some foolish being deems them fit enough to recover, takes pity on them and nurses them back to health, domesticated birds will only use those hollow, mended bones of theirs to plummet right back to the ground.

“Just stating my observations.” Aventurine laughs, a noisy little snicker that pierces Sunday’s ears like a nail on the chalkboard. Then he waves dismissively, the lackluster wiggle of his fingers as he turns around to leave. Good riddance, if only eternal. “Good luck. Her Foxian friend is very fond of fried chicken. Me too, now that I think about it…”

Sunday remains standing on the balcony for another hour. There is no rush. He knows who it was that vanished without a trace, and he knows where to find you. But he cannot control someone like Aventurine so Sunday dares not making any irrational decisions. Unlike Aventurine himself, Sunday isn’t fond of gambling. Uncertainty is at the roots of all evil.

He leaves and goes about his business. A sinner to confess their wrongdoings to him; a passerby to shake hands with, a Masked Fool to dampen already soiled mood; a Nameless to throw him a passing glance of suspicion; Robin’s shadow that should not be there for now. If the vermin – a truly formidable man all things considered, yet simply infuriating – is watching, he will see nothing but a busy head of the Oak Family. If Aventurine has better things to do than to follow Sunday’s footsteps in a feat of uncharacteristic obsession, at least Sunday finished all his work for the day and could finally take a shallow breath of momentary relief.

The halls of the maze are empty as they should be, yet Sunday didn’t expect to find anyone there in the first place. You remain in the dining room, rooted next to a marble statue, fingertips barely grazing the cool stone. The ribbons are swaying side to side and the white of your clothes is stained with pinks, blues and purples right in the middle of your back. The colors bleed out from there and drip down the dress onto your skin.

“Be not afraid.”

“Fear is the soul killer.” Your trembling fingers falter and when you turn to face him, there is way more of those pinks and blues all over your heaving chest all the way from your neck. Sunday knows not of what happened and he dares not to ask; his harmonic tuning failed once, and he will not be deceived anymore. “Are you here to escort me back to the dreamscape again, Mister Sunday?”

Sunday swears that if Ena could see you, They too would be just as terrified as he is at that moment. “I’m afraid I do not follow, Miss.”

“Then I shall pretend I said nothing.” You shrug, Sunday’s outstretched hand is hovering in the air for you to take. You do. With no hesitation and all the faith of a religious fanatic, you once more let him guide you out of the painful reality and into a dream as if you didn’t just admit to fully comprehending this fact. “Please be mindful that I will wake up no matter what. Your gilded dream rejects me.”

Sunday stops in his tracks. His crippled wing is pressing uncomfortably to his side, smoothed over bone digging into his skin as a reminder that he cannot ever fly even if he was delusional enough to try to. Every breath is a labor of well-practiced habit and an effort of greatest heights. You’re patiently waiting for him to gather his control back into his tightly clenched fist, the one that is always pulled behind his back to the broken wing he could never repair.

The colors are still bleeding all over your dress as your chest rises and falls in odd intervals. You may have the patience of a saint, yet your fears all eat you alive. Fear is the soul killer. Or so you say. To suffer is to survive. To dream is to live. How can you live if you can never dream?

You furrow your eyebrows. The harmonic tuning has failed yet again. This time without even clouding your mind enough to put you to sleep. Yet your jittering palm keeps trembling in his hold as you exhale lightly, trying to shake off the vibrations of his halo. A delicate cross dangling from your neckless is staring back at Sunday with resentment that he only saves for the person who shot Robin and the Cancer of All Worlds which took away their mother and the scissors which clipped his wings so Sunday would never dare to escape. Or maybe it’s just his reflection looking back at him from the golden glow of the cross.

In retrospect, you did nothing wrong. You don’t even try to hide anything from him, laying your knowledge bare for Sunday to interpret however he wishes to. A sinner that has confessed to their wrongdoings is ought to be forgiven in the eyes of any deity. Yet has this so-called sin been committed in the first place? If you allowed him to baptize you not once but twice, fully comprehending it meant abandoning any uncertain future you humans seem to crave so much.

What is right and what is wrong? What is a virtue and what is a sin? What is an Order and what is a Doubt? Sunday knows not. But he needs to collect all his control and pour it into a cup for you to savor one way or another. If not a sinner, you are a saint. Ena the Order sees you not, so you must have been imprisoned by someone else already. And it is Sunday’s duty to free all of mankind of the shackles of turmoil and lead them to paradise.

For he cannot let you leave yet he cannot bring himself to kill you. Sunday can talk in riddles and try to manipulate your emotions all he wishes, yet you seem to reject the vibrations of Order without even trying. So how does one contain something they cannot control? How does a devout believer tempt a messenger of a foreign god?

“I cannot let you go.” Sunday’s voice is a little hoarse, he is not used to telling the truth. It most often than not leads to suffering, yet something tells him you will see right through him if he does lie. Maybe he has much less control than he initially thought. “You know too much.”

“All is fair, Mister Sunday.” It is not a response a sane woman should give. “However, may I be so bold to ask for a clean dress?”

But saints are all-forgiving, and ordinary people are not meant to understand their reasoning. For there is none. At least not with you. No reason and a heart pinned to your sleeve, bleeding color all over your skin. Sunday needs to know your name so he can search high and low for the Aeon who crucified you for Their own selfish whims.

“I shall pick the best one there is.” Sunday nods.

Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood.

Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.

The dress is beautiful. And so is the next. And the one after that. And all the others that follow.

Ribbons and feathers. Intricate lace and weightless silks. Gold and diamonds. All never worn even once and kept neatly in the wardrobe of your bedroom. If your disapproving sigh is anything to go by, you don’t appreciate the excessive luxury, yet accept them just to hide them in your closet and put on the simplest of garments that he brought to you the day you entered the mansion.

Sunday cannot understand you, but differences are included in the natural Order of things. Reality is a lonely prison of misery, and Sunday returns there for he has no other place to belong to. Yet you seem to enjoy it as a long-awaited vacation. Way more than your family does it back in Penacony’s gilded dream.

Sunday doesn’t think your behavior is reasonable, yet he questions you not. You won’t give him the answer he is seeking, anyway. Your heart may be out there in the open, yet the pages of your thoughts are written with invisible ink and no amount of heat can paint them with life.

You have a habit of refusing things you deem unnecessary or excessive, your friendly exposition never wavering even under pressure of almost constant loneliness. Some days Sunday wonders what would happen if he doesn’t return here after all his tasks for the day are done, when Aventurine with his Nameless Foxian companion and her other nosy friends don’t breathe down his neck with accusatory air. He does not entertain such foolish thoughts; they would break his carefully crafted routine and Sunday is a being of habit. For habit is Order.

And so, against his better judgment of clipped feathers, Sunday returns. To your palace of a bedroom, with three light knocks and a little apology for intrusion. You are rarely there, so he is forced to look for you just as he is searching for the Aeon responsible for your fate. And when he does find you, all Order crumbles.

To live is to suffer. Your suffering is intricately woven into your every breath.

On Mondays you prepare a special dinner. It’s just you and him and a lonely candle on a little table on your balcony. The stars are dripping the color of your blood, the wine in your glass is untouched and you never eat more than could fit in a teacup. A life of such modesty is far too unfamiliar for the bird who was brought up in a cage of golden bars and silver spoons, yet Sunday doesn’t mind. He’s got other, more important things to worry about. For if the Dreammaster finds out about you, he will wish to dispose of you. And Sunday may have already sinned for the betterment of humanity, yet he isn’t sure if he is capable of turning saints into martyrs just yet.

“Won’t it be easier to just kill me?” You constantly disarm him with your questions. Some days Sunday isn’t quick enough to even imagine drawing a weapon to protect his mingled self.

“No.” Sunday answers a bit too quickly for his liking. “I mean you no harm, Miss [Name].”

On Tuesdays you clean. The mansion is spotless for it is empty, and there is nothing, but a thin coat of dust gathered around on the bookshelves of his study. You busy yourself with it even if you are told not to bother with such things. Sunday wishes to treat you as a guest despite the circumstances. All people were born equal and pretending that you are anything less than he is would going against what he stands for. His gilded dreams are not built on bigotry or injustice, only harmonious Order of happiness.

Your presence in the room is that of a dove on a branch behind a glass dome. All hollow bones and disarray of feathers, Sunday cannot ignore you even if it is what the Order would have wanted. Yet what the Order cannot see, that is all for Sunday to keep for himself; to hide under his pillow so it won’t ever be taken away from him by any collapsing dreams.

“Do you think me a madman?” He asks.

You laugh and shake your head in amused disagreement. Sunday wishes he could steal your laughter straight from your vocal cords to fill in the holes in his wings with it. He cannot. Yet would you let him if he asked with the utmost honesty? Only time will tell.

You are a willing participant of all and any conversations, despite allowing him to talk most of the time. You listen and ask questions, give your own opinion in bite size pieces that never overshadow his voice. His dreams are grand, and his plans are fragile, yet for all that is worth you take him seriously. A noble man with a heart which bleeds for everyone but himself, you call him. A kind person with good intentions which will pave his downfall for him, you say easily. A caring brother, who will always put his family first even if it is bound to strain the thin red thread that connects them to each other, you smile wistfully.

“A flightless bird which longs for the sky. That is what you are to me, Mister Sunday.”

His soul aches. All bruised and mattered. Sunday would rather you simply called him mad.

On Wednesdays you tend to the garden. Flowers are blooming here no matter the season. Even in reality Penacony is still a dream, albeit not dusted with a thin layer of gold and illusions. You move around the sea of color like a ghost, the white of your dress stained with soil and a twinge of misery.

You don’t think Sunday is mad and you understand his dream of peace, yet you never condone his drastic approach to things. The dreams in which you hold happiness in the palms of your hands simply do not exist. That is what you say to him, picking two stray peonies from the bush and handing one of them to him with the tenderness of a torn-up heart. The other gets its petals plucked one by one with a gentle touch of your fingers, and the pain of the missing parts of him grows with each one getting lost in the green of the grass underneath your feet.

No wishes ever come true in a gilded cage so people will always seek reality, no matter how painful it may be. Sunday thinks his wishes can only ever be fulfilled by a dream in which nobody will suffer anymore. There is simply no such a thing that cannot be obtained by a paradise he wishes to create for everyone with Ena’s holy rule. And you – the misguided messenger of a foreign god, a martyr for a cause which you don’t stand for – you also deserve your wishes granted to you. For everyone is born equal.

“What do you dream of, Miss [Name]?” Sunday wonders, watching you longingly collect every single petal from the grass, mend them together with the hues of pinks and purples and then tear the peony back into pieces.

“I dream of living.”

You look up at him with misty eyes, clouded with yearning and unshed tears. The colors float around your head like a halo. Maybe one of these days Sunday will finally find an answer in those scattered petals.

Thursdays you watch the stars. Time flies as the stars keep shooting from the sky like fallen angels, and you simply observe as they crash and burn. Your fingers twitch as if you wish to catch all of them, yet you ask for nothing.

Sunday comes, his back hunched by the growing weight of endless responsibilities and troubles. Yet when he leaves with his shoulders less tense and buzzing static in his chest, to return to his life of sacrifice that is necessary for the good of all mankind, he never forgets to ask what you wish for. Silence is the only answer Sunday receives, and the gentle sway of the ribbons in a summer breeze tells him he will regret ever asking this question when you finally deem it appropriate to indulge him.

The stars glow bright when you’re out here in the garden. Caged birds keep singing their woeful tunes. Thread and needle in your hands, you’re mending the hem of your dress, still refusing to wear any of those more extravagant ones. Your nightgown is not made for the outside and you shiver. The night isn’t getting any warmer, yet you ask for nothing. To live is to suffer, yet what is life if you only ever knew of torment.

A jacket he places on your shoulders does little, and whatever selfish wishes Sunday has must be drowned in the sea of shooting stars. For they will not be accepted. There is no place for them in this reality in which he lays his mortal body on a stone and holds the nails which he will get crucified with in his own two hands. Yet if the Dreammaster were here, he would have shared Sunday’s vision of the gilded dream that he is bending and breaking to his will just to make enough space in it for you as well. A paradise in which you stay here by his side forever as the messenger for him and no one else.

“I wish for nothing, Mister Sunday.”

Sunday knows it to be a lie. You whisper your true wish with the last breath you take before falling into restless, golden slumber. He will break this world in half to grant it to you, even if it calls for eternity of loneliness. A twitch of a broken wing, you’re almost weightless in his arms. Sunday does not understand why just yet. But he will.

On Fridays you play the violin. For once it’s his fingers that are stained with color. Sunday is staring at the canvas, hues and tones blending together with shadows and highlights to create a heavenly image of absolute divinity. He thinks it belongs to a chapel right where he gets down on his knees to confess his wrongdoings and pray for forgiveness, yet Sunday knows even existence of such a thought in and of itself is a mortal sin.

The melody is full of sorrow and the birds which you released from the cages are all perched on the pews of the chapel where you put them. They cannot fly, so they cannot escape and meet their end in horrifying loneliness. For now, you are here to catch them if they were to fall, so they can only sing along to the miserable tune of a violin in your hands.

“To live is to suffer. We must make peace with this suffering.” You put the instrument back in its case and lock all the birds back in their respective cages.

They do not resist, so Sunday is convinced you are implying that they’ve made peace with their suffering just like the two of you accepted yours. Yet when Sunday washes the pinks and purples of his fingers, he cannot help but think you are wrong. To live is to dream. And to dream is to slumber in eternal paradise, where no suffering can ever touch you.

The portrait he’s made of you will never do your beauty justice, but no icon could ever depict the true holiness of a saint. He will succeed eventually. You will have all the time in the world in his eternal paradise.

On Saturdays you dance. In a world less cruel, the one Sunday will create in the name of Ena, Robin is there to support your performance with the soothing voice of a Charmony dove. She is not, for you and him are stuck in miserable world where no wishes ever come true.

You would have been one of Penacony’s brightest stars, if only you weren’t chained to reality by those who do not deserve you. A twirl, the wind picks up your ribbons as you move gracefully to the melody of a tearful piano. And in a moment of fleeting weakness, Sunday asks about your shackles. And with a sway of your swan song, you share the tale of Istanai the Repudiation.

The Aeon who claimed you at birth and refused to let go even after They forsook your people, and you abandoned Their rusted prison. They are still following you around even after all those years even if They don’t want you. They make no sense for They reject all of it, along with anything else that They have ever touched. Even Their own children, the natural Order of things, any wishes or dreams; They abdicate everything and nothing, for that is the Path that They oversee. It is the Path you were born into and that is also the Path that you abandoned to pursue eternal Trailblaze.

“To live is to suffer. For you can keep nothing. Cannot wish to hold anything.” And then you admit, heat radiating off you in waves, “And I am only useful to this world for as long as I keep Their gaze on me.”

Sunday thinks you are wrong. Yet then the clock strikes midnight, and it marks the Seventh day. And on Sundays, you weep.

With your knees on the cold floor and hands pressed close to your heart, you keep praying in a tongue he cannot comprehend. The words fall from your lips hastily and desperately, as you beg for forgiveness in a language he does not know. Yet the things that Sunday does understand, all relate to the Aeon who stole your will and clipped your wings, chaining you to reality where the weak only get weaker and the strong keep getting stronger.

That is not the Path one should walk on, the loneliness of martyrdom for someone else’s sake is not a burden that should be bestowed upon someone but instead a choice one makes willingly. And you chose not your fate, yet suffer the consequences, nonetheless.

Maybe, Sunday muses kneeling next to you for a prayer. Maybe something simple like a dream is not enough. If They refuse to let you go yet condemn you for keeping them, Sunday can create something bigger than a gilded dream of illusion. Maybe a real paradise will be just enough to steal you away to a life that is worth living.

Your hand gently wipes a tear away from his cheek before it can fall and stain the floor of the chapel. It lingers on your fingers with deep red. One glove, then another. You are as warm as he imagined in the dreams he cannot keep, for he is the lamb of Ena and he is ready to be slaughtered if it means people like you – or Robin, or their dear mother – won’t ever cry anymore. The skin of your palm is smooth against his lips. It’s all Sunday can ever allow himself to have, and that is all that he will ever keep.

“You must leave tomorrow, Miss [Name].” He says, hands grasping your own.

A tear falls. This time it feels like you are weeping for him and him alone.

Maybe being a messenger of the Order is not the end for harmony of happiness, and somewhere in the realm of gods there is a spot for his own ideals as well. The Dreammaker may not understand or approve, yet when Sunday ascends to greatness of true holiness, on his first day he will free you from suffering. And on the seventh, there will be nothing but peace. For his gaze will never abandon you.

Sunday can promise on his blood on your hands.

And as it always is, crippled birds neither fly nor sing. They fall. Shooting stars and collapsing dreams, all Order has been forsaken as gravity pulls Sunday closer to his inevitable demise. His flesh and blood clings to him like the ideals he cannot ever atone for, yet in his noble pursuit of eternal happiness a sliver of selfish desire for comfort remains. So he lets Robin linger yet dares not to soil the purity of her embrace with the dullness of his touch.

A cage will always rust and corrode with time, falling apart at the seams. Gilded dreams are not meant to last forever. Nothing is truly eternal except for humanity’s striving to move forward into that useless future full of self-inflicted misery.

Robin’s breathless voice mutters something that is instantly lost in the wind and she pulls him closer. If Sunday were a better brother, a better man, a better person, he would have stopped all galaxies and frozen this moment just to let his sister descend this condensed and polluted air of his crumbling paradise like a stairway to heaven. He isn’t any of those things. So, he doesn’t even try. No miracle will happen if he does. A bird missing its wing will never catch flight right before hitting the ground.

And Sunday is nothing more than a crippled Charmony dove – a dying raven, truly – destined to roam the cage of his gilded dreams forever, for stepping outside signifies the end of Order and the beginning of Suffering. And he isn’t ready to die yet. He wasn’t ready.

To live is to suffer. To dream is to survive. With no cages and no birds in sight, Sunday accepts the inevitable.

“It is in human nature to reject usurpers, Mister Sunday.” Weightlessness of your voice envelopes all in bright light of heavenly warmth.

A feather. A ribbon. A silken touch of divinity confined in a painfully human vessel. If Sunday didn’t know any better, he would have thought he met face to face with some foreign man’s Goddess. Sunday knows better, however. So he closes his eyes and lets Istanai the Repudiation touch him. There are no rules he wouldn’t break to ensure Robin’s survival. And yet…

“I told you to leave.” Sunday is not used to repeating himself twice. His fingers tremble as he watches Robin take your hand and walk down the ladder he thought to be impossible.

“And as a human that I am, I rejected your order.” You smile. The light in your eyes is made of purest of diamonds and it keeps burning with holy fire. Sunday was foolish to think you would listen to reason and not your bleeding heart. “It seems we don’t have much time, so let me heal your wounds as I celebrate that my naïve soul has won for once.”

Robin, as all free-spirited birds are, is a creature of curiosity. She tilts her head and finds comfort on one of the floating ribbons, swaying on it like a swing. There’s a little ruffle to the feathers of her wings, yet she minds it not, opting to watch the two of you instead. Your eyes may be glowing, yet the sturdiness of your will is starting to wear off. Sunday isn’t sure whether it’s his silence that is making you doubt your decisions, Robin’s dedicated stare or your own thinning convictions. His guess is as good as any, but the most logical answer will always be him.

Your forced companionship has come to its inevitable end. Yet just like the day you two met, Sunday is at the crossroads yet again.

“Robin first.”

There are no protests, just gentle swaying of ribbons, a warm glow of pale pinks and purples, and Robin’s hushed voice humming a tune. She looks livelier, well rested, the shadows under her eyes dissolve under the shimmer of divine rejection. Your hands are hovering over hers, almost grazing the skin yet never daring touching it. As if you too, thought yourself undeserving. It made no sense, yet Sunday had no right to question the natural Order of things. Istanai the Repudiation refused to give Their children up, even if They abandoned them first in pursuit of eternal rejection.

A song stops. A couple of grateful words fall from Robin’s rosy lips. You nod politely, a smile returning to your face with a bit more brightness. You offer him a place to sit, a fleeting glance cast over your shoulder. Sunday has half a mind to follow in your footsteps and refuse, yet he does not. He is tired, wasted efforts and unyielding dreams quivering under the weight of reality, all he truly wishes for is to collapse for good. With his missing wing and shuttered principles. How long has it been since he took a proper breath?

Sunday takes a seat. Like a holy dove that you are, you hover near him from your own heavenly branch. Never touching and always lingering, yet the heat of your skin burns him just like divine flame would scorch a sinner. The light under your fingertips rejects his wounds and exiles his exhaustion, it bends his will and breaks his bones. And if letting go or Order meant keeping you by his side for the rest of his life – however long it may be – then Sunday wouldn’t mind a life of sin of a different kind. And if you were to cross this distance and touch him, he would ask you to stay. Yet you don’t.

To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Your mind is somewhere far away, and the ache of his bones makes Sunday feel like he is being reborn. From a dying raven to a Charmony dove with all his wings intact, capable of flying on his own.

“So it is true that your kind cannot be manipulated.”

You shiver. Sunday’s back is throbbing. There’s not a person here but a cat. Cursing you with a heavy gaze of his eyes.

“It’s not nice to sneak up on people like that, Mister Elio.” You chastise him gently, pulling away from Sunday and taking all your holiness away. It is only the sheer power of self-control that allows him to not reach out to tug you back into him so your sunlight can burn him alive. Such earthly desires matter not if you two are soon to separate and never meet again.

The cat – Elio – huffs, unamused by your demeanor. You pay it no mind, your ribbons dissolve into thin air until only two remain. Neither do you answer Elio’s question. Simply gather your holy blood with your own two hands and let it all spill yet again through the stigmata on your palms.

“May heavens be kind enough to let our paths to cross again, Mister Sunday.”

His bones keep aching. The restless feathers of his wings flutter even if he wills them to stop. He can surrender his halo to you and despite it being all that is truly his to own in this life, it would never be enough. Deities require giving up all mortal possessions before devoted worship could be possible and what else can he offer to you if not himself?

Sunday has no time to ponder that question. He doesn’t even have the time to say goodbye to you properly. As gilded dreams are not meant to last forever, and this one too is taken away from him by something he cannot control.

“[Name]!” Himeko seems inhumanly comforted to see you safe, pulling you in a tight hug. And considering she wholeheartedly supported the young Foxian woman threatening to pluck his wings naked for taking you hostage, it is only logical for her to do so.

A brooding man – Dan Heng, if Sunday’s memory doesn’t fail him – stands awkwardly a little behind the two of you, while the aforementioned Foxian lady and her eccentric pink haired friend share a collective sigh of relief. You hesitantly pull away and take a hurried step forward, ushering them away before they can notice anything – anyone – else. You are far too kind for your own good and someone ought to exploit it eventually. At least it won’t be someone like him. It is far out of reach of Sunday’s capabilities to shackle a bird born of paradise.

The cat laughs. Sunday hates cats. You cannot cage them, yet they can snap your wings even if you are perfectly fit to fly on your own.

And so, the cat does.

Sunday’s bones are still aching even when he shakes hands with Kafka. Such is the nature of growing pains. A lot of misery is in Order.

#sunday x reader #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #honkai star rail x reader #sunday imagines #honkai star rail imagines

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newlynova · 10 months ago

Text

MDNI. you were sent to copenhagen to learn from the best pastry chef. little did you know that he was willing to teach you lessons beyond the realm of baking. 1.1k. cw female masturbation, power imbalance

the sweet aroma of vanilla bean and molasses enveloped you as you tugged the blanket higher upon your body, the warmth and comfort of the soft bed soothing the knots and aches of your muscles.

you had been working nonstop since you're arrival to copenhagen— your working days had consisted of fourteen hours on your feet in the kitchen of your mentor while the rest of your hours were spent nonstop reading and researching various recipes. you had been sent to copenhagen by your boss to learn from his former co-worker and close friend.

you had been overjoyed, ecstatic even, to learn and work hands-on with such an amazing chef. yet upon your arrival, your excitement had been quickly replaced with dread— not for baking, no. but for the chef himself.

he was closer to you in age than you had expected— a handsome fellow with wavy blonde hair and various tattoos decorating his arms. he was quiet and dedicated yet very assertive in the kitchen. his tone had been dominant and blunt since he began his lessons with you, unable to hold his tongue while providing clear yet merciless feedback on your baking. he never yelled at you, though, refraining from doing so out of respect for your person, an action you rarely saw in your profession.

life after work had not been much better since you had been forced to stay with him— the rate of hotels and local bed n' breakfasts having been far too high for you to able to afford both a flight ticket and hotel arrangement for your trip. luckily, he had offered you his bedroom, allowing some divide between your personal life and his own.

and, as you lay there in your temporary boss's bed that night, your mind began to wander against better judgment. it had been far too long since you had any relief, far too long since you had felt an ounce of euphoria. hours upon hours of working had taken a toll on you, you thought as your hands drifted beneath the fabric of your large pajama shirt, you deserved this.

without another thought, your hands began to tweak your pebbled nipples, tugging and pinching at the sensitive buds as heat pooled at the base of your cunt. you rolled your head to the side, cheek pressed flat into your chef luca's pillow in a poor attempt to muffle your moans. one hand began to drift down, trailing lightly over the length of your stomach before slipping under the covers of your pajama shorts. your mind drifted to the sleeping chef on the other side of the wall.

you thought of his strong and tattooed arms. the sight of his tattoo sleeves had been an object of your desire, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as the idea of tracing the outline of the illustrations with your tongue flashed through your mind. your mind then fixated on his large hands— those long and girthy fingers making your cunt flutter around emptiness. you pondered on how they would feel buried deep into your cunt, if they were as skilled with toying with a woman's pussy as they were crafting orgasm-inducing baked goods.

the light of the bedroom flickered on as your fingers slipped into your wet slit, your walls clenching around your far-too-small index and middle fingers as the bright warm light blinded you. your cheeks grew hot as you made eye contact with chef luca, your mouth dry and muscles stiff.

at that moment you realized how inappropriate your actions were— here you were stuffing your cunt full at the idea of sleeping with your boss while lying in his bed. you were almost positive that he was going to kick you out at this point. you wouldn't blame him either— you much rather have a pervert sleep on the streets than sleep just a few mere feet away from you.

"i— luca— i can explain." you rushed out, retracting your hand from the depths of your walls not quickly enough. you couldn't help the rush of heat to your cheeks nor the clench of your cunt at the sight of his relaxed posture. wait, relaxed? why was he so relaxed?

"you look like you've seen a ghost, love," luca smirked, the thickness of his british accent ever present. he crossed his arms over his chest, biceps flexing through the thin grey shirt he had donned. with his legs crossed at the ankles and his body leaning against the door frame, he continued to taunt you with a knowing look in his eyes.

"don't stop on my account, pretty girl," he readjusted the grip on his arms, your eyes shamelessly drifting down to the tent growing in his plaid pajama pants. "i thought i had heard a noise and figured i'd check on you— glad i did now," he stated.

"have i been working you too hard, darling? body too sore and in need of relief that you felt the need to touch yourself," he raised a questioning eyebrow. "in my bed?"

you were too stunned to speak, your mind going blank as you processed the situation. you couldn't help but get wetter at the prospect of your boss finding amusement in your situation.

"pull the blankets down." luca ordered sternly, your hands moving quickly to follow his instructions. your body was performing on autopilot, all sense of self-esteem having gone out the window. "remove your shirt." he then instructed.

the cold air nipped at your chest, your nipples hardening even further under the weight of his gaze and the frosty atmosphere. "what were you thinking about while you touched yourself, hm?" luca questioned as he pushed his body off the door frame. his steps were slow and calculated, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he crawled into the bed space in front of you. "were you imagining this? imagining me walking in— catching you?" he taunted, fingertips brushing over the bare skin of your ankle.

within the span of a second, luca's fingertips had wrapped around the width of your ankle, tugging your body close to him and pinning you beneath his weight. he had situated his body between your legs, eyes fixed on you like a predator. any words had been lost to you, not that you would be able to find the right words to say anyway. like always, luca had left you speechless.

"tell me, pretty girl," luca's body hovered above you, hands pinned to the bed by either side of your head while he trapped you between his legs. his eyes grazed over your bare chest, drinking in the delectable sight of your breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath.

"do you want me to teach you another lesson?" he asked, one of his hands shifting to cup the underside of your breast. he squeezed at the plump flesh, expertly kneading at the fat of your breast like it was made of dough.

"yes, chef."

#˚ ༘♡ 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 #꒰ luca ꒱#the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear x reader #the bear x you #the bear x fem reader #the bear fanfiction #luca x reader #will poulter x reader #luca the bear #will poulter smut #luca smut #luca x you #luca the bear x you #will poulter x you #the bear one shot #will poulter fic #luca one shot

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elliesflwrgirl · 1 year ago

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cw, oral (ellie receiving), fingering (r receiving), lots of dirty talk, petnames (sweet girl, baby, etc), cheating, alcohol use, and lots of banter.

summary: ur gf hates ur bsf ellie, for no apparent reason at all…it’s not like she thinks about fucking u all the time or smth…but ellie sees u at the party, all by yourself, no girlfriend in sight…wonder what’ll happen when your unresolved tension is let loose…hm

i was kinda on a abby kick yesterday so here have a long ellie angst/smut!!

if u enjoy pls reblog and like!! i love u.

.·:*¨¨* ・❥・ ≈☆≈ ・❥・*¨¨*:·.

you and ellie had been friends for years, and there were fallouts but you always ended up friends again. and no matter how much your girlfriend, amber, hated ellie, it changed nothing. ellie was an extension of you, you and ellie we’re a package, everybody knew that, everybody accepted that…except your girlfriend.

you never saw the issue, doesn’t everyone have that really close friend that they tell everything to? at some point you found it was easier to avoid ellie when with your girlfriend, and ellie understood. she liked being your little secret, though she’d never tell you that.

you’d sneak out to sleepover at her place, go dancing with her when amber was away, and even go to parties with her. but recently you pulled away from ellie, things were getting serious with amber. you even had sex with her for the first time a couple weeks ago, and you loved her. at least you thought you did.

when dina told you about a party, you thought it’d be a great time to invite amber, but she said she knew ellie would be there and she didn’t want to start anything. you told her you understood but a part of you just wished she’d grow the fuck up.

ellie was part of you, and amber knew that from the second she met you. you didn’t understand what shifted, what made amber suddenly hate ellie?

you decided it was best not to drive yourself mad thinking about it. you decided to go with dina as your plus one, seeing as her and jesse aren’t together at the moment.

you wanted to look hot, you wore that dress dina said made your ass look good, and then you wondered if you were dressing to catch someone’s eye. you pushed that thought away, ellie and you had only ever been friends. despite being each others first kisses, it was totally, and utterly, platonic.

as you walked into the bar dina kissed your cheek and told you she was off to find some friends, you didn’t mind. you were searching for someone anyways.

you spot her auburn hair at the bar, sipping whiskey. a smile graces your face as you walk over to the bar, “hey stranger,” you hum as you lean an arm on the bar. she tilts her head as a greeting, taking another sip of her drink. “so i’m taking it as you’re not ignoring me in public anymore?” she turns her head to you, her green eyes connecting with yours.

you roll your eyes playfully, “oh it’s temporary, i’ll go right back to ignoring you tomorrow.” you joke and she nods her head, a soft smirk on her lips. “ignoring me never lasts long though, does it? always at my place after she goes to sleep.” she murmurs and you widen your eyes. the tone of her words were suggestive, though the words themselves weren’t.

“ellie..” you speak softly so only she could hear you and she grins at you, “people might here you and think something else,” you explain and she nods her head. “let them think it.” she takes another sip and you roll your eyes once again. you knew if amber heard what ellie said she’d blow a damn fuse. she was already jealous of ellie, and the way ellie was acting tonight…it would send her into a blind rage.

“amber would be pissed if she knew i was with you right now.” you hum and lean your back against the back, crossing your arms. ellie smiles, “oh i know.”

“did she ever tell you why she hates me so bad?” she asks and you shrug. knowing exactly why she hates ellie. she was jealous of ellie. you were closer to ellie than with anyone else. ellie knew you inside and out. and amber always raged about how ellie looked at you, like she was just waiting for her turn.

you opted out of asking ellie about it all, maybe something deep inside of you knew the answer but you weren’t ready to hear it. “she’s jealous of you.” you spit out, ordering a beer as ellie laughs dryly. “that’s fucking adorable,” she hums, turning to face you.

“do i scare her? is she scared i’m gonna steal you for myself or something?” she taunts and you scoff under your breath, grabbing the beer and taking a swig. “she thinks you’re like in love with me or something,” you sigh and ellie grins, “is it bad that i like that she’s intimidated by me?”

“god you’re such an ass,” you laugh dryly and ellie smiles. she loved to make you laugh, but she wasn’t kidding at all. “i mean i don’t see why she’d be jealous of me…i’m not the one fucking you.” she laughs again and you shrug your shoulders. your silence making ellie question you, “you guys have fucked, right?” she checks and you roll your eyes. “yes. once.”

ellie’s eyebrows raise, “how was it?” the question makes your skin crawl. if that night had to be described in only one word, awkward. “um…it was okay.” you hum before taking a sip of beer.

ellie gapes at you, “sex is not supposed to be just okay, how bad was it?” you shrug your shoulders. “it was just…awkward.” you sigh before taking another sip and she nods her head. “did she make you cum?” her question catches you off guard causing you to nearly choke on your drink.

“ellie.” you glare at her and she smirks, “what? cmon just tell me.” she pushes and you roll your eyes. “no.” you mumble and ellie leans in closer. “was that a no?” she soaks up the moment.

“oh fuck you.” you scoff and she grins, “oh you wish, with me you’d cum.” she taunts and you shove her shoulder, feeling her muscles under your fingers.

“shut up.” your cheeks feel red and hot and you forget just how much alcohol changes things for you. alcohol made you all touchy, and needy. you weren’t even close to drunk, but just one drop of alcohol had you eyeing ellie’s hands on the glass. “i’m gonna go find dina.” you huff before walking away.

after a few more beers and some small talk with dina you find yourself a tipsy mess in front of ellie. it gave you the courage to do things you wouldn’t do before.

you grab her drink from her hand, setting it on the bar and pulling her onto the dance floor. “cmon, dance with me.” you hum and she rolls her eyes. she placed her hands on your hips, her hands felt like they were burning into you.

you grabbed her wrists, going to replace them onto your waist but you felt the scar on her forearm, gently stroking your finger over it. you glance down to see the tattoo that you always loved. “i love this tattoo.” you hum and she nods, “i know you do.”

she pulls you closer, pulling you flush against her. you hum against her neck, pressing a kiss to it. “i really missed you,” you hum and her cheeks flush. the way you were kissing on her neck, and the sound of your voice had her wanting to clench her thighs together.

you were tipsy, but you knew what you were doing. you had it planned out, blame it on the alcohol and say you don’t remember anything. but all you knew right was that she felt good. her hands felt good, your lips on her neck felt good.

she’s drunk, she reminds herself. but you kiss up to that sweet spot below her jaw, making a soft sigh leave her lips. “okay let’s get you home..” she sighs before you whisper against her neck again, “i don’t want to go home, amber will be there, can i stay with you?” you hum and ellie knew it was a terrible terrible idea. but that didn’t stop her from nodding her head.

once you both were in the car it was a long, silent car ride. well, it was only seven minutes but it feel like eternity. your thighs clenched together every time her hands moved over the steering wheel, you felt like a fucking pervert. everything she did was so sexual. the way she bit her lip as she change lanes, the way she gripped the steering wheel. everything.

once you finally got to her house, you were practically running inside the house. you flopped down onto her couch, kicking your heels off and leaning up on your elbows to watch as she kicks off her shoes and takes off her jacket. “cmere.” you wave her over and she lays down on the opposite side of the couch, causing you to roll your eyes. “i don’t bite.” you huff before laying your body weight into her.

she smiles softly at you and tries not to pay attention to the way this is all making her feel. pushing some loose hairs from your face as you look up at her, you slowly slip your hands under the bottom of her shirt. feeling her soft abs flex against your fingers, you run your finger up and down the center of her abs.

looking up at her as you do, her eyes burning into you. there was a tension in the room, a dark fog of want. you both knew you shouldn’t, but you were both selfish.

you slip your hand to the buttons on her jeans, looking up at her for approval. “what’re you doing?” she sighs, as if she was holding her breath. “nothing?” you say innocently, undoing her pants. she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“we shouldn’t.” she murmurs and you nod your head, “i know,” you hum as you tug the jeans off of her, leaving her in her black boxers.

you buries yourself between her legs, kissing up her thighs. she let out soft whimpers each time you placed a kiss on her thighs. “ellie,” you hummed and she looked down at you, “i wanna taste you” you spoke softly and she blushed deeply.

“please,” you press another kiss to her thigh and she nods her head softly. you pull her boxers off of her, humming at the sight of her. running your finger up and down her slit slowly, hearing a soft whimper leave her lips. “you’re so wet,” you hum and she scoffs, “because you’ve been driving me fucking insane all night.” she tilts her head back.

you grin to yourself, circling your finger over her clit slowly. “yeah? you ever think about this? me between your legs.” you taunt and she whines softly, giving you your answer.

you pull her closer, running your tongue over her cunt. gently flicking your tongue against her clit, her hands flying into your hair as you do. she tugs at the roots of your hair as you push two fingers into her. her wetness collecting at the base of your fingers. you moan softly against her cunt, taking in this moment. taking in how sweet she tastes.

she moans softly as you curl your fingers, the sounds she’s making make you buck your hips against the couch. feeling that friction. she sees your hips grind down and a strangle laugh bubbles from her throat.

“you getting off on this, sweet girl? tasting me is making— fuck, you such a needy slut, hm?” she hums, gently grinding herself against your tongue. you grind your hips harder onto the couch, a weak moan leaving your lips.

you thrust your fingers into her faster, gently sucking on her clit. a soft moan leaves her lips, “mhm, just like that, fucking me so good baby.”

“i’m so close, you’re doing so good for me” she whines, tossing her head back, gently closing her thighs around you.

you massage your fingers on that perfect spot deep inside of her. her hands grip at the roots of your hair, tugging softly as she moans your name.

as her orgasm washes over her, she whimpers softly, pulls you close, kissing you roughly. her teeth nipping at your bottom lip. she pulls you into her lap, your back against her chest. she runs her hands up and down your thighs, and you whine every time she gets close to the spot you need her most.

she pecks your lips, humming against them. “i’m gonna make you feel good, sweet girl. better than she ever could.” she taunts with a grin before running her fingers up your cunt, feeling how wet you are. she grins softly, “so fucking wet just from licking my pussy, hm? such a dirty girl.” she moves her fingers over your clit in slow torturous circles.

a soft whine leaves your lips, “ellie please,” you beg and she kisses your head, “poor baby, you’ve just been aching for my touch hm? probably touch yourself thinking about it.” she teases and a soft whimper leaves your lips.

you had thought about this, the way ellie’s fingers would feel deep inside of you. you hated how she could see right through you. she plants lazy kisses on your shoulders as she teases your entrance with her fingers.

“do you cum thinking about my hands all over you? thinking about how good i can make you feel?” she hums into your ear, making your body erupt into chills. you clench around nothing and she grins, pushing her fingers into you slowly.

a loud whine leaving your lips, “fuck—“ you toss her head back against her shoulder. “yeah? you like that?” she watches as you buck your hips against her fingers.

she places sloppy kisses on your neck, whispering praise into your neck. “taking my fingers so good,” she praised. you felt yourself about to cum, whining softly. “‘m gonna cum, els”

“make a mess, baby. you deserve it. been such a good girl for me,” she edged you on. and as you came she was the only thing you could think about. not your girlfriend, not that you just fucked your best friend, and definitely not that you just cheated.

.·:*¨¨* ・❥・ ≈☆≈ ・❥・*¨¨*:·.

#tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #tlou fanfiction #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fic

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bg-brainrot · 9 months ago

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Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 18: At Withers' Party

Bonus Hug - Chapter 18: At Withers' Party

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, post-game, epilogue, cw: alcohol, jealousy

WC: 2.1k words, 18/18 chapters

Summary: An epilogue hug! Astarion sees Rogue!Tav giving out hugs and wants one of his own.

Author's Note: This was not part of the original fic, added on after the epilogue was released, however I chose to put my own spin on the epilogue hug.

Finally, Whether you read this fic AO3, on Tumblr, or a combo of both, thanks so much for joining the hugfest! I love this vampire man, and may he have many, many more hugs <3

Ao3 | [Hug17] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

It’s been six months since your victory at Baldur’s Gate.

Six months of traveling through the Underdark with Astarion, establishing a base for the vampire spawn, and figuring out your next steps together. It was perilous and difficult work, but you wouldn’t change a single thing.

You have missed your former companions dearly though, so when you received the invitation from Withers for a celebration, the smile that broke across your face could blind a celestial. I wouldn’t miss this for anything – not even a fresh new apocalypse, you wrote back.

So that’s how you and Astarion have found yourselves above ground once again, the familiar wilderness of the Sword Coast a welcome sight, the distinguished company an even more welcome one.

Everyone seems to be doing quite well, despite how you all left each other. Lae’zel is only able to visit through a projection, and the reprieve is rather temporary for a few of your companions– namely Wyll and Karlach– However, it’s a rare opportunity and you’re incredibly grateful to have it.

The elation must be obvious on your face, as Astarion takes one look at you and laughs. His sing-song little giggle never fails to bring a smile to your face, and right now your face is liable to crack open. “Go on, dear,” he says, sensing the eager tension in your body. “Mingle! If you need me, I shall be near the wine.”

“You can mingle too, you know,” you say, though you’ve already begun to walk away.

“Invite me again after a few bottles,” he responds. You know he loves them all in his own way, but he also finds them to be a bit too much at times. Ever the stray cat, he’ll find his way to them when he’s ready, at least you hope. So you nod to him in agreement and wander off to chat with your dearest friends.

You’re so excited to see them all again that you’re practically jogging to meet them.

Shadowheart is the first. When you get a good look at her, you see a peace in her face that you haven’t seen in any of the months you’ve known her. Something about it brings you relief. You knew they would each find their happiness without you, but seeing it firsthand is something else. Perhaps it’s because she’s looking so much more herself than ever, but before long you find yourself asking, “Could I have a hug?” The hug is caring and welcoming and everything you knew Shadowheart has always been.

Next you make your way to Karlach. She’s alive and well, which is ten times better than the last time you saw her, and you just might cry from the sight. She tells you about Avernus and about the possibility to fix her heart and you just might cry from that as well. Again, you can’t resist, especially knowing she’s been fighting for her life for six months. “Could I have a hug?” The hug is warm and strong, just like the woman in your arms.

After that, you make your way to Wyll. He’s doing rather well in Avernus with Karlach, and, when he mentions that he’s planning to ensure Karlach finds a solution to her heart, a few tears well in your eyes. Wyll is among the best of mortal and immortal men, and you’re glad he went with Karlach when you couldn’t. The grateful feeling is more than you can put into words, so you ask, “Could I have a hug?” The hug is strong and bracing and an absolute testament to Wyll’s enduring friendship.

You find your way to Lae’zel. After learning of her diligent efforts to save her people from Vlaakith, you can’t help but be awestruck by how much she’s changed. You’re inspired by her ability to learn to fight with words and stunned by how much she truly misses you. Even though she’s not there, you can’t help yourself, “Could I have a hug?” She simply clicks her tongue at you and calls you an idiot, somehow melting your heart all the same.

Eventually, you find Gale, tucked away with the tressym Tara. He’s a teacher and no longer at risk of exploding – you can’t help laughing at that, remembering the various times he almost blew you all up without the help of an all-powerful orb. Something about the way he speaks of his new role and invites you to visit, either to teach or just to spend time, makes you realize that this is what a happy wizard looks like. You love it and ask, “Could I have a hug?” The hug is all-encompassing and lengthy, much like one of Gale’s lessons in magic.

Finally, you find Halsin, dancing the night away. When you learn more about his endeavors, you find that he’s reestablishing the settlement at Reithwin, reconnecting the land to its people. He mentions that Thaniel and Oliver are no longer lonely and that the children of the settlement bring him a fulfillment he never thought possible. After regaling him of an exaggerated tale of your and Astarion’s adventures, you assure him that the two of you will visit soon to tell more. “Could I have a hug?” The hug is surprisingly gentle and comforting, and you walk away feeling quite content.

You determine that you’ll need to ask the rest, even Withers, for hugs if they’ll all be this enjoyable. But before you do that, you decide to take a moment to yourself, to process everything.

That’s how you find your way to a quiet corner, head spinning with warm, fuzzy feelings and maybe a smidge too much wine. Just being here, surrounded by some of the best people you’ve ever had the privilege to encounter, fills you with a companionship you weren’t aware you’d been missing. Astarion fills you with so much love and happiness, but this– this is different.

As if summoned with your thoughts, the vampire walks toward you, wine glass in hand. "Are you done mingling?" Sensing your mind is elsewhere, he leans closer, inspecting your glassy, faraway gaze. His hand lands on the small of your back, jolting your attention back to the present and you turn to look at him. His eyes sparkle at you with radiant joy and a hint of something else. Could that be annoyance?

You decide to focus on the joy. "Yes, I think I've managed to get good conversations out of everyone. Did you know Gale wants me to go teach at Waterdeep?" Your voice sounds incredulous, after all, you warned him: once a rogue, always a rogue. Unless he wants his students to learn how to stab more efficiently, he would do best to seek someone else.

Astarion clearly agrees, making an exaggerated, aghast expression. "You? A teacher?" He shudders in fake-fear. "My love, I pity the poor students who would be subjected to your methods."

“Hey,” you say, shooting him a glare. “I thought you were supposed to be the supportive one!”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I can only support so much, my dear.” Then he takes a long look at you, noticing how unfocused your eyes are, the flush to your face. “And from the looks of it, I may need to support your entire body before the night is over.”

You only grin at him and say, “What did I do to deserve such a caring man?”

“Yes, yes,” he says, rubbing gentle circles along your back. “Likely whatever you did to deserve the affections of every adventurer this side of the Chionthar.” His tone is joking, but the dark look on his face says otherwise.

Pushing aside your own amusement, you pull his hand from your back and lean into him. “Okay, what's the matter, love?”

“Oh nothing. I just thought my jealous days were behind me.” He sounds sullen, and you note a sad tilt to his eyebrows.

Jealous days? You groan, recalling his concern over the fiery barbarian. “Love, really truly, if I were leaving you for Karlach, I would have gone to Avernus months ago.”

He waves his wine glass at you dismissively. “I know that, and I don’t mean Karlach, contrary to all evidence thus far.” Suddenly avoiding your gaze, he takes a sip of wine and changes the subject. “No matter, let’s go ask Withers where he found this vintage.”

“No, no, no,” you say, tugging him back to you before he can walk off. After another six months together, getting used to each other’s idiosyncrasies outside of mortal peril (mostly out of mortal peril), you knew the escape was only a ruse. He wants to talk, but he seems too embarrassed to begin. “You’re allowed to be jealous, Astarion. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me why.”

Astarion stops in his tracks, looking back at you with a pair of vulnerable red eyes. “Do you promise not to laugh?”

You take a beat to debate this, but ultimately honesty wins over and you shake your head. “I wish I could, but I do promise to try my best?”

A sigh escapes him, and you’re graced with a soft, reluctant smile. “Typical. You were truthful though, so I shall be too. I was rather jealous of…” He wipes a hand over his face dramatically. “I was jealous that you’ve gone and hugged everyone else. Gods, I sound like a child.”

It’s a good thing you only promised to try your best because an involuntary huff leaves your lips, which you'd firmly pressed together in preparation. "That is…" you gasp out.

"Idiotic? Pathetic?" Astarion supplies.

"Rather adorable actually," you say, finally allowing a snort out. “How do you always manage to be both adorable and sexy?”

You swear you can see the tips of his ears color pink, but that may just be the firelight or your own tipsy vision. He only says, “I’m quite talented.”

“Would a hug help you feel better?”

Astarion looks at you, eyes darting between yours. You can see a bit of hesitation in them, and you’re wondering why when he says, “Only if it’s not a pity hug.”

“Never,” you say, solemnly. “You know I only give hugs I mean.”

He clicks his tongue, annoyed again. He places his wine glass down on the ground with a flourish, as if preparing himself. “Yes, exactly. Which is why I’ve gone and become jealous. This is all your fault and I expect you to remedy it.”

You nod, accepting this burden with ease. “In that case… Could I hug you?” Astarion waves his hand at you as if to say, get on with it already, and you dive right in.

The hug is loving, it’s understanding and supportive. It warms you, it cools you, and it makes you want to tackle this man to the ground in an aggressive affection– a feeling you only barely temper after a few glasses of wine. After experiencing so many hugs tonight, you find that the hug is so very perfectly him.

No, not just him. It’s the type of hug that the both of you make together. And it’s the hug you want to experience again and again for the rest of your life.

When you finally pull away from him, Astarion is smiling once more, jealousy evidently placated. “Well now, I have you every night, don’t I? Go on then, continue to bless them with your presence. I’ll be here when you’re ready. I’ll always be here, my love.”

You shake your head at him. “A lovely sentiment, of course, but you’re done hiding. Come on.”

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing as he tilts away from you.

“I said, you’re done hiding. No more shadows, they all keep asking about you and I’d rather you answer them yourself,” you say, all but dragging him back to the party now. “They miss you too, you know.”

“Darling, please. What if they ask me for a hug?” Astarion looks truly appalled at the thought.

You laugh, imagining him reacting like a cat forced into a bathtub. “You can say no, of course. But I promise not to get too jealous if you do.”

“What will it take for you to forget I ever said that?” he says, laughing and allowing himself to be dragged.

You quickly swipe his wine glass back up off the ground as you pull him along, and take a long drink before returning it to him. You only say, “At least two more bottles, though I suppose that depends on how wild Withers likes his parties.”

Hand-in-hand, you both walk off to enjoy the rest of the celebration. The night is young, the wine is flowing, and there are still many more hugs to be shared.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion masterlist #hugs for a vampire #hfav #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion

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angeart · 6 months ago

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hhau rescue rambles - part I

>> hhau masterpost here << [cw besides the usual mess and violence: animal death mention]

It’s been months since the latest hermit got saved, and over a year since Hermitcraft imploded. There’s only two people to go: Scar and Grian. And they can’t seem to locate them at all. But they can’t stop looking. They can’t, they won’t.

The rescue party is comprised of X (voidwalker), Doc (creeper), Ren (wolf), Impulse (partially demon), Cub (vex), Gem (deer), and Pearl (moth). Thanks to X knowing how to navigate and survive the void, they are able to get a void vessel (a sort of ship) to base in as they go around scanning different worlds and scouring for information.

Until they come across a world that reads as permadeath, and somewhere in the world files, X flags Grian’s and Scar’s name. Not as players; there’s no list available here. What comes up is the wanted poster. It doesn’t have a date stamp. It could be months old, and they know Scar's track record with dying.

Still, they have to try.

They search for a place that seems to have good resources and Cub, Gem, and Pearl get dropped down. They’re equipped with bracelets that they can activate to send X a signal to teleport them back, and two extra for Grian and Scar, if they do find them, but they have to gather any other kind of equipment, including armour and weapons, on their own.

They quickly realise comms don’t work on this world, and as the player list is also non-existent or corrupted, they are going in blind.

Well… almost.

They use Cub’s vex bond with Scar to pick a direction to head in.

Grian and Scar, in the meanwhile, are not having a Good Time.

Some awful things have happened prior to this, namely the ending of the Summer house arc. To quickly sum it up, Grian and Scar went up north, for as long as they could. Away, away, away from everyone. Until it felt like maybe they’re far away enough, and they tentatively set up a house. Which turned into a nest. Which turned into a semblance of permanence.

A lot of things went on here. Days turned into peaceful weeks and, tentatively, they started thinking that maybe they can start planning some kind of future here. They planted crops. Scar re-learned to glide with his torn wings. Grian unfurled his wings and re-learned the feeling of flying through the sky. And they found a bird friend! (A real, living bird in this world!)

The reality caught up to them eventually.

Nobody’s really seen Scar or Grian for a while, but the avians in this world have dull wing patters, for survival reasons, and so Grian is really special. And the hunters don’t want to give that up. The reward on the wanted poster gets upped, and now the fever pitch to get this avian rises. The hunters go further. In bigger groups. Greedy and determined.

They find the nest house, empty at the time, and they burn it down.

Scar and Grian come back to find it in flames, and to find themselves unsafe and hunted once again. All of a sudden, they have nothing again. The fire licks high, turning everything to ash, to a distant cheering and hollering of a party of hunters. There’s no sign of their bird friend.

(Grian finds him later. Dead, with wings cut off. The only creature that resembled him; the bird he befriended, the proof that a winged creature could exist here and survive. Ripped to pieces. Echoing the only fate that is bound to await Grian as well.) (It was a sun conure parrot, bright and beautiful.)

The hunters are on their tail once they realise that Scar and Grian are here; that it wasn’t just some temporary base that’s now abandoned. With no remorse and still too much cheer, bloodthirsty and unstoppable, they go after them.

Scar’s blood is absolutely boiling and he expects Grian to ground him. To talk him down. But Grian’s mind buzzes, looking at that bird, and— He’s as down to fight as Scar is. Because anger is easier than grief right now.

He’s so tired of grief.

So instead, Grian goes angry and feral. (The other option is to fall apart, and he can’t.)

They tear this particular hunting group apart, and it’s meant to make them feel better, but it doesn’t. It feels like a necessity; like just one more step towards survival. They loot what they can, and they continue moving, realising that stopping anywhere to do more than just survive is a moot point. They’re not going to outrun this. They'll never be allowed to stop. They’ll be hunted forever.

(Grian will be hunted forever—)

The word gets out, and more and more hunters arrive, wanting the trophy of violet wings and the wanted reward for themselves. It’s a sport to them. A way to get rich. Like a gold fever, they continue tracking Grian and Scar, relentlessly hounding them down.

There are times when things go worse in these encounters. Grian gets his wings grabbed and attacked, and it sends him spiraling back to never allowing anyone—including himself—to touch his feathers. (He was doing better and now it’s all gone.)

They internalise many horrible thoughts, during their run. It’s been a year-worth of culmination of awful events, a year worth of pain and fear and loss.

For Scar, as a vex, he’s been expected to be a monster from the start. And all he wanted here was some peace. To be with Grian. He wasn’t allowed it, but now he finally got a glimpse at it—at what could’ve been; at who he wanted to be from the beginning (who he’s always been)—and it’s violently taken from him. So yeah, fuck it. If they want a monster, he’ll be a monster.

(This leads him to thinking that he shouldn’t be trusted with soft things anymore, Grian’s feathers included, especially as Grian gets ground-bound again and starts pulling his wings tightly against his back and flinching at the mere implication of touch.) (It hurts to witness, after what Scar’s seen: Grian, freely gliding through the sky, violet feathers catching sunlight.) (He was allowed to preen them, tentatively, slowly, gradually, a couple of times.) (Not anymore. Not anymore.)

Grian keeps thinking about the bird, and how they’re the same. He’s seen the brutal display, the way the wings were taken. He can’t quite stop thinking about it.

But it’s more than that. He’s also thinking about [redacted]. About anything winged being doomed. About what happened with the vexes. It all spins and spins and spins until he can’t see himself as anything but harbinger of death.

The hunters wouldn’t care to go this far for one vex. They only go because of his goddamn feathers.

Naturally, this topples into him thinking that Scar will be safer and better off without him. They’ve been running on sleepless nights and exhaustion, trying to get away to no avail. They’re tired, and things are looking dire, and— Grian wants it to stop. He needs Scar to be taken out of this equation, separated from this fate. He needs him to be safe. (He can’t bring death to Scar.)

Grian can lead the hunters the other way. They only really care about him. ([redacted] already proved that point, after all.)

So one night, Grian sneaks away.

He presses a soft kiss to Scar before he goes. (It’s a farewell kiss.) Scar is asleep, only kind of waking up to it—just that groggy, sleepy “mm?” Grian kisses his forehead again, oh so gently, and murmurs the quietest “Love you. Stay safe for me.” To Scar, it just feels like a dream, and he dozes off again, none the wiser.

The next morning, Scar wakes up to Grian gone.

For a while, he doesn’t even remember that hazy interaction from the night, but then he does remember, all of a sudden. An absolute vertigo slams into him, panic flooding his veins as he stares down the empty, quiet forest.

And this is when the Hermit Rescue Party finds him.

They only find Scar.

They only find Scar, and they instantly try to take him off world.

-- part II here

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