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yinyuedijun · 1 day ago

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CORRUPTIVE | ratiorine x masc reader

Ratio has been running himself ragged on a project. His blood pressure has been catastrophic, and his mood even worse. Aventurine offers a convenient outlet for his stress. (Or: You new boyfriend is a corrupting influence on you.)

3.2k words. written for @ficsforgaza's kinktober — prompt was double penetration (2 holes). reader is masc + afab (no surgery, explicit terms used), addressed as "boyfriend", "good boy", "baby". soft degradation, praise, 1 instance of name calling. pre-established romantic relationships with aventurine and dr ratio. divider by @/cafekitsune!

Ratio doesn't know why or how you ended up so besotted with Aventurine.

It isn't a matter of your intellect (of which you have in spades) nor your good-hearted nature (which is vastly different from the disposition of the gambler), though both make it puzzling that you would be so interested in the Stoneheart. It is simply that Ratio has never met a man as shy as you, and to this day he can’t fathom how you ever manage to entertain the gambler’s overt degeneracy both in and out of bed. When you’d first asked Ratio whether he would be comfortable with sharing you with the man, Aventurine’s arm hanging off your shoulder and a wicked smile on his face, he had been hardly able to believe it. Ratio even wondered if his synesthesia beacon was malfunctioning, and if by ‘sharing with’ you actually meant ‘rescuing from’.

“Don't worry, Doctor,” Aventurine had purred. “If you ever get jealous, you're free to join in on the fun.”

Ratio had bristled. Jealousy, at the time, implied to Ratio that he was irrational enough to fear that Aventurine might somehow steal you away from him if he did not choose to mutually participate in the relationship. But looking at the facts and at your behavioural history, it was simply inconceivable that Aventurine would be capable of ruining your bond. Logic dictated that your relationship with Ratio was too secure for it to dissolve simply because you were separately engaging in romantic relations with another man.

“Do what you want,” Ratio had said dispassionately and without hesitation. “It doesn't change anything between us. Do try your best to survive that insufferable attitude of his, though. You are free to come to me if you ever need a break from the gambler.”

Since you’ve begun seeing Aventurine, though, Ratio has begun to suspect that Aventurine had meant something else by jealousy. Something less related to the emotional dimension of sharing you and more to do with the physicality of it. Something about seeing you in the mornings-after and noticing the marks that Aventurine likes to litter across your neck. Something about how you seem more and more shameless every time you sleep with Ratio—how you seem able to take him deeper into your throat each time, how you seem to moan louder every time Ratio slides into you, how you now openly whine and beg to be filled by Ratio even though your cheeks are always hot with the embarrassment of doing so.

Something about how Aventurine seems to be training you to become unrepentantly needy for cock.

You are, again, a shy person. Your sex life with Ratio is largely reserved, fairly vanilla, and—and as far as he can tell—so satisfying that you never ask for anything else when he suggests it. I’m not very adventurous, you’d once laughed at him, more than a little sheepish. But dating Aventurine has clearly had a corruptive influence on you, and it had only become fully clear to Ratio the other day when he had moved to gently prep you, only for you to shake your head and reach between your legs, spreading yourself open for him.

“I-it's okay,” you’d panted, barely able to talk through the haze of your lust. “Aventurine already stretched me out earlier—see?”

When Ratio saw that your hole was not only gaping, but still dripping with Aventurine’s cum—he’d nearly passed out.

And now, as Ratio sits in his office, trying desperately to focus on revising the latest RFP from the Intelligentsia Guild while he listens to the rhythmic creak of your bed in the other room, the obscene noise of Aventurine’s hips slapping against your own as he pounds into you—

Well. Ratio admits that it should not have taken him so long to understand the meaning of ‘Join in on the fun’. He supposes he should acknowledge his own idiocy when he is guilty of it.

He would rather die than acknowledge that he does want to join the two of you, though.

Ratio is, for the millionth time, revisiting the blasted black hole information paradox: his least favourite problem in the entire field of quantum mechanics. He has an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, but he does sometimes wish to have less knowledge about this specific problem. Despite the fact that humanity has now colonised countless planets, asteroid belts, and moons, the exact properties of black holes remain an unknown that Ratio intends to eventually characterise. It's only a matter of time and effort—a great deal of which he's already spent, to no avail. Irritating, as it is a roadblock for a critical and time-sensitive project at the moment.

“Veritas,” you say, bringing him a bowl of hearty goulash that Aventurine had leisurely cooked during the time that Ratio had been slaving over these blasted equations, “you should take a break. You’ve hardly gotten any sleep for the past week.”

“Sleep can wait,” Ratio replies. His back aches, his wrists hurt, and his head is throbbing. His jaw aches from how much he's been grinding his teeth. “I am on the verge of a breakthrough—I will not rest until I’ve solved this.”

“But I'm worried about you,” you argue.

“I have no need for your worry,” he dismisses—snaps—and he knows he’s gone too far when he sees your brow furrow.

Aventurine, of course, manages to somehow be there. Why he's emerged from the kitchen to spectate on the two of you is a mystery to Ratio, but the Stoneheart appears to be openly and genuinely displeased at the interaction. It is a rarity for him, as Ratio has observed a trend in which Aventurine is least likely to show distress when he's actually hurt, and most likely to feign hurt when he's in control. A negative correlation, so to speak. The man does not like to reveal his emotions. But Ratio can generally get a good read on the Stoneheart, and he can tell that Aventurine’s current frown is genuine.

The concern on his expression fades when you roll your eyes at Ratio. “Okay, you should sleep and eat. Someone’s hangry.”

Ratio clears his throat. Always quick to own his errors as soon as he recognises them, he says, “My apologies. That was beneath me.”

“It's fine.” You stand behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. As soon as you begin to knead your hands, Ratio becomes acutely aware of a knot at the base of his neck that your fingers are quickly undoing. “I know you're just stressed. You’ve run yourself ragged, Veritas—you’re going to get sick at this rate. Can I help you relax?”

Ratio closes his eyes, tries not to melt at your touch. You aren't wrong, he thinks. Prolonged stress compromises the immune system, and falling ill would hardly do anything for his overtaxed mind. He should do something to relax. He thinks about stepping away from the desk for the first time in hours, sinking into a warm bath… with you there, obviously—so he may wash your back, run his hands along your hot skin, kiss your shoulder amidst all the steam and fragra—

“I have an idea of what may fix the Doctor’s worsening health,” Aventurine says, his sly voice shattering Ratio's pleasant fantasy. The academician scowls.

“I have no need for your ideas,” Ratio snipes in revenge.

“Are you sure, Doctor? Because it seems you're running short on them.” Aventurine’s neon gaze roves over the several monitors in front of Ratio, all of which display his failed models. Ratio is startled.

“You understand the work here?”

“Not at all,” Aventurine replies breezily. “It was just a lucky guess. Or maybe an obvious one.” He slinks closer, wearing a grin that is both familiar and gratingly handsome. Ratio might have even found it charming if he didn't have such an outrageous headache. “Either way, it's clear to me that you need a break, plus a way to work off some of that stress.”

“Neither of which require your assistance.”

“Perhaps not mine,” Aventurine agrees. He's smiling when he adds, “But maybe our boyfriend’s?”

Ratio’s eyes narrow. He decides that he doesn’t like the cunning in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Aventurine’s mouth curls in a wicked, wicked way. He gives you a quick glance, as if asking you for permission, but you don't say anything to stop him—even though you can't look at either of them in the eye.

“Well,” the gambler says, “the two of us have been talking, and it turns out that your boyfriend’s been having some very interesting daydreams involving you…”

Ratio can't believe that this is happening.

In the first place, he'd hardly been able to process Aventurine’s suggestion. Ratio has long deduced that that you’re now much more open in bed, more transparent in your lust, but a fantasy like this one is still unprecedented based on his prior experiences with you. He hangs onto his disbelief right until the moment that you’re nude in front of him, face pressed into his pillows, ass up while you present yourself to both men. Aventurine has expertly teased your holes, so both of them are clenching and pulsing, needing to be filled. You're keeping yourself spread for them both obediently, so Ratio can see perfectly the way your cunt begins to drool when Aventurine eases his fingers into your other hole.

“Did you know, Doctor,” Aventurine drawled, “how much your boyfriend enjoys having both of his holes fucked at the same time?”

Ratio swallows. Can't take his eyes away from your glistening cunt, the way it twitches each time Aventurine moves his fingers inside you. “We—we have never tried.”

“Huh. Guess I can't blame you—it took a while for us to get him there.” His eyes almost gleam, the strange violet of his irises filled with cunning. “We had to go real slow with the toys, you know. I trained him pretty well, but”—Aventurine’s gaze flicks down to where Ratio is hard and throbbing—“he’s still never taken something as big as you. Not while I'm already inside him, anyway.”

You let out a whimper at the observation. “Are you excited?” Aventurine coos. You squirm, as if trying to push your hips toward them, and Aventurine laughs. “So needy. I’ve turned you into quite the cockslut, haven't I? But don't worry, baby. We’ll give you what you need soon enough—right, Doctor?”

Ratio struggles with a reply. He’s not talkative during sex beyond reassurances and encouragement, and perhaps the occasional curse. He doesn’t have a disposition for theatrics, and he certainly doesn’t have any inclination toward degrading ones. But Aventurine performs sex and decadence easily, his tongue silver and deft around his filthy words, his expressions nearly made for it. Ratio’s gut tightens when the gambler smirks at him, his cock twitching in his hand. I know what I'm doing to you, his face seems to say, and it leaves Ratio feeling at once irritated, out of his depth, and alarmingly horny.

For the sake of his blood pressure, Ratio turns his attention to you. The state that Aventurine has you in is obscene, panting and writhing as he eases a third finger into the tight ring of muscle that he’s trying to tease open. You moan a little, then whimper when Aventurine’s other hand finds your cunt. Ratio’s cock throbs at the noise that your pussy makes when Aventurine begins to tease it, dripping wet and embarrassing.

This is when you start to beg: “Please. Please, I'm ready, I promise. You don’t need to go slow, Aventurine, I promise, I can take—”

Your voice cuts out as Aventurine removes his fingers. Your holes are left empty, and Ratio can tell how badly you need them to be filled from the frustrated noise you make. Aventurine guides you into sitting, takes the opportunity to kiss you. “Since you asked so nicely,” Aventurine accedes, his lips moving against yours. He glances at Ratio after pulling away. “Well, then, Doctor—which of his holes would you prefer?”

Ratio swallows. He glances at your pleading expression, then at the space between your legs. At his hesitation, the corner of Aventurine’s mouth lifts. “Wait,” he says, “don’t tell me you’ve never tried anal?”

“Of course we have,” Ratio says curtly, almost defensive. Then he hesitates. “But we usually have… trouble.”

Ratio is large. It isn't a boast, but a factual statement, at least according to the statistics you once rattled off at him. It's challenging enough to make himself fit into your pussy; it’s an even longer process with your ass. He isn't sure from the way that you're begging that you can wait so long—and frankly, he isn't sure if he can either.

But gods, seeing Aventurine work you open for him like that…

Ratio’s concerns seem to have the opposite effect on Aventurine. He looks almost gleeful when he says, “Trouble? Oh, well, that settles it.” He cups your cheek, looks fond. “What do you think, baby? Can I use your cunt while Ratio fucks you from behind?”

You look deeply flustered, but you nod anyway. “Y-yes.” Your voice is trembling with excitement.

“Good boy,” Aventurine replies. He gives Ratio an appraising look, his eyes as hungry on him as they were on you. His gaze hardly strays from Ratio’s, even as he sits back and prompts you into straddling him. The position gives Ratio a maddening view of Aventurine’s length between your slick thighs. “Wanna give us a hand, Doctor?”

“You may run your mouth the whole night if I don't,” Ratio says dryly, and Aventurine laughs as the larger man places his hands on your hips. Aventurine pumps his length, lines himself up with your entrance. Ratio hears it when he nudges himself between your dripping folds, teasing you with the head of his cock.

“What, you don’t like my banter? Will you find other uses for my mouth later?” Aventurine teases, and Ratio is suddenly torn between thoughts of shoving his cock deep into Aventurine’s throat or making you ride Aventurine’s face. Both make for tantalizing images, and he decides he’ll revisit them later. He can already tell that the Stoneheart would find them equally appealing.

“We’ll see. For now”—Ratio begins to guide your hips down—“I’m sure there are other ways to get you quiet.”

Any witty retort dies on Aventurine’s tongue. He throws his head back as you sink onto his cock, overwhelmed, and Ratio can hardly blame him—he knows firsthand how good your cunt feels, always so tight and welcoming. You take Aventurine with more ease than you do Ratio, but not by much: it’s still an agonisingly slow and sweet process, getting your cunt to swallow the whole of him. Given complete control of your motions, Ratio guides your hips up and down, forcing you to take more of Aventurine’s length with each motion. He’s rewarded with the mesmerizing view of your pussy stretching out around the other man’s cock, leaving it glistening and creamy white with slick and pre.

When Ratio finally has you bottom out, Aventurine’s balls dripping with your arousal and pressed flush against you, the both of you let out strangled, broken groans. He lets you catch your breath before pulling you back so that Aventurine is pressed against your front walls, then pushes your belly for good measure. From the gasp you let out, Ratio can tell he's just forced the other man’s cock against your g-spot.

Aventurine’s eyes rove up and down your body, drinking in the sight of you. “Very good,” he purrs. “Are you ready to take Ratio now?”

“I—I think so,” you pant.

“I'll go slowly,” Ratio promises, and Aventurine watches carefully as he reaches for the lube.

“Don’t feel bad if you can't last,” he drawls, and Ratio tries not to scowl. How juvenile. The gambler must sense his disdain, because he shows his teeth in an almost-smile. “I'm being serious, Doctor. It feels very different from fucking someone by yourself, you know.”

“I’m certain I'll survive it,” Ratio says flatly. He pumps his cock once, twice, and Aventurine grabs your ass to spread you for him. Ratio starts pushing into you, begins stretching your tight hole around his girth. It has you shifting and squirming on Aventurine’s cock until Aventurine is forced to still you with his hands, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Be good now,” he says. “Stay still until we’re both inside you.”

“O-okay,” you say, voice watery, and Ratio almost feels bad at the whimper you let out when he pushes another inch inside you. Almost.

He can't help but mentally curse the other man as he slides into you. He hadn’t been lying. On a normal day, you're barely able to accommodate Ratio, but with Aventurine’s cock already deep in your cunt, sliding into you is even more difficult than usual. You feel almost unbearably tight and hot around him, and every time Aventurine moves inside you, Ratio can feel it—every twitch and press of the other man’s cock, barely separated by your walls. It's maddening.

It must be overwhelming for you, too. From the noises you're making, Ratio can tell you feel nearly at your limit. You’re choking by the time that Ratio is halfway inside you, your face thrown into Aventurine’s neck.

“I—I’m so full,” you gasp, and Aventurine hums soothingly as he kisses your nape.

“You can do it.” His eyes flicker to Ratio, who nods and keeps pushing. In a bid to help you relax, Ratio reaches between your legs and finds your sex. Your clit is swollen, neglected, and your hips jolt as soon as he starts rubbing it. Unwittingly grinding against Aventurine’s hips, you make the gambler groan at the motion, and the noise goes straight to Ratio's aching cock. He can hardly believe it when he finally manages to bottom out—leaking and twitching inside you, his balls heavy and tight against Aventurine’s.

“There,” Aventurine says, sounding fully in control even while breathless, “such a good boy, taking us both… we’re going to use your holes now, okay?”

Ratio knows that it's probably the praise that does it. As soon as you hear the words, you let out a familiar kind of whimper—pitched, frantic. “O-oh fuck,” you choke out, and suddenly Ratio feels your walls clenching hard around him, pulsing as your body tries to milk them both. He hisses and manages to hold back from his climax, but Aventurine is shameless about letting you drag him over the edge with you—Ratio can feel him twitching and spurting ropes of cum inside you, the pump of his cock as he begins to fuck you through your orgasm. Ratio can't tell if it's Aventurine’s cum or your squirt that's dripping onto him right now, only that the mess is making him throb inside you, and—

“Fuck,” he snarls, and he pulls out of you so that he can grab the base of his cock. He needs to cum so bad that it nearly hurts, but he doesn't allow himself to finish. Not yet.

You're incoherent with pleasure for a long while, your body a wanton mess between them, but Aventurine—never one to stay quiet for long—quickly recovers and regains control. He pulls out with ease, and Ratio is treated to the obscene sight of your empty holes, both gaping and leaking into their thighs, a mess of cum and pre and lube.

“See?” he pants, grinning at Ratio. “Hard not to cum, isn't it?”

Ratio has to breathe deeply to calm himself. “It did feel… different from usual,” he acknowledges.

“I'm sure,” Aventurine purrs. He glances at you, smiles fondly. “How do you feel?”

You make a euphoric, exhausted noise, and both of your partners understand it to mean that you’ve enjoyed yourself.

“Was that too much?” Ratio asks.

You make a noise that sounds like a No. Aventurine’s grin is sly; he glances at Ratio’s cock, still swollen and aching, and he kisses your forehead.

“Good,” he murmurs. Ratio can hardly believe it, but he can see Aventurine starting to stroke himself, already hardening again. “It looks like the good doctor is still in need of release. You won't mind helping him out for a little longer, will you?”

end

thanks for reading! <3 please do let me know if you enjoyed this, and remember to check out @ficsforgaza's fantastic writers and donate to the cause if you can!

#aventurine x reader #dr ratio x reader #ratiorine x reader #aventio x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #mdni divider by @/cafekitsune

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candycandy00 · 4 months ago

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Once Upon a Time - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 3 (Final)

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Sleeping Beauty featuring Sukuna! After your parents are killed, leaving you as the young queen, you hire the mysterious and violent Sukuna to be your Captain of the Guard to protect you from an evil fairy’s curse. You’re in love with him, but he just keeps refusing you!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Reader as Sleeping Beauty, Sukuna as her Captain of the Guard. Oral sex. Rough sex. Creampie.

Any feedback is adored! Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear.

Sitting on your throne, Sukuna standing guard at your side, you listen as your advisers try to convince you not to go looking for the old fairy.

“Surely she’ll give up now!” one of them says. “The curse didn’t work!”

Sukuna gives him a withering stare. “We don’t know that the curse is over. We don’t know what will happen if she’s pricked by a needle again.”

You nod. “If I just fall asleep again, that’s no problem, since we know how to fix it.”

Sukuna grins. “I’m ready to perform my duty at anytime.”

The other advisers look away from him awkwardly.

“The problem is,” you continue, “when the good fairy altered the curse, we don’t know if that was a one time deal, of it it applies to every time I touch a needle. I can’t risk finding out.”

The lady adviser looks at Sukuna. “And you believe the old fairy will try to kill her in more conventional ways now?”

“She will. And I’ll protect the queen, but it would be much simpler for all of us if I just go kill the old bitch.”

The lady adviser nods. “I see. The two of you have my support. We will look after the kingdom in your absence.”

The other two advisers seem to bristle at that statement. “This is a terrible idea!” one of them shouts, looking directly at you. “You have no heir! If you’re killed on this fool’s errand, the kingdom will be thrown into chaos!”

“I won’t be killed,” you say firmly. “Sukuna will be with me. I’m confident that he will keep me alive.”

The third adviser throws his hands up as if in dismay. “You don’t even know where to look! The woods are vast and sprawling! How will you find the old fairy?”

Sukuna speaks up again. “I know someone who can help with that. They’re a bit of a fairy themself.”

That piques your interest. Sukuna has never revealed anything about his life before he met you, so even hearing about an acquaintance of his is new territory. “Let’s go see this person you know,” you tell him.

No one else objects as the two of you prepare to leave. You wear a simpler dress, something easy to move in and won’t have your tailor in tears when you return with it dirty and ripped. You pack a bag with dried foods, water, and some basic supplies, and then the two of you head out.

The walk through the town is arduous. So many of the people have somehow already heard about your brief time asleep and are happy to see you up and about. You don’t know how news traveled so fast, but you’re happy you can put the people at ease.

Once you reach the edge of the woods, Sukuna steps in, seemingly with no thought or care for the dangers. All your life, you’ve been told to stay away from the woods, that great beasts live there, as well as old magic and wicked fairies and all manner of horrible things. So to see someone simply walk on in without worry surprises you.

He turns to look at you. “Getting cold feet, princess?”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I just thought you might escort me like a proper gentleman,” you say, stepping in after him.

“So you want me to hold your hand?”

“No! I’m perfectly fine walking on my own!”

He gives you an irritated look. “Are you really acting shy about holding hands after I’ve already fucked you?”

You feel your face heating up. “Must you speak so crudely?”

“You like when I speak crudely,” he says.

You stare at him, at his strange tattoos. “You are an odd man. Where do you even come from?”

He’s walking a few steps in front of you now, leading you deeper into the forest. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

For the next hour, the two of you don’t talk much, only occasional questions, until Sukuna suddenly stops and holds one hand up. “We’re in their territory. They’ll be along as soon as they sense me.”

You notice the air seems much colder here, in this part of the woods. There are even a few icicles hanging from some of the upper branches of trees!

The two of you only walk a few more minutes before a person seems to appear out of nowhere, standing a few feet ahead. From here, you can’t tell if they’re a man or a woman, but they’re clearly beautiful. They’re wearing strange robes, of material you can’t identify, and their hair is a shiny silver color that glints in the patches of sunlight breaking through the trees.

They look at you with a bored expression before turning their gaze to Sukuna. Then they immediately rush forward and drop into a bow before him.

“Lord Sukuna! I welcome you to my home. What can I do to serve you?”

You look at the newcomer in shock, then turn to Sukuna. “Lord?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “A remnant of a different life.” Then he looks down at the bowing figure. “Uraume, you know these woods well. Do you know where the one called the ‘old fairy’ lives?”

Uraume looks up before slowly standing. “I have an idea of where she resides, though I’m not certain. I can go and confirm if you like.”

Sukuna regards Uraume with a complicated expression, and lowers his voice slightly. “The magic you have here, is it enough to deal with the old fairy if she attacks you?”

Uraume blinks, seeming surprised. “I appreciate your concern, my lord. But I won’t engage with her. She uses old magic, the kind baked into the origins of this world. I will only confirm her presence and return here.”

Sukuna nods. “Be careful. Don’t leave me alone here.”

Uraume’s cold eyes slide over to you. “If I may say, my lord, it looks like you aren’t alone.”

Sukuna glances at you as well, a look of irritation on his face. “I’ve softened too much. Killing the old fairy should improve my mood.”

Uraume gives another quick bow, and then they leave. You approach Sukuna, feeling like he’s suddenly a different person. You feel like you need to talk, to start a conversation, anything to call him back to you.

“How do you know Uraume?” you ask.

“They’re a former servant of mine,” he answers, not looking you in the face. Even his tone of voice seems different.

“Servant? Are you… some kind of royalty? From another kingdom?”

He laughs. “I’ve been called a king, but I’m not royalty.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

He looks at you finally, and his gaze is so cold, it’s frightening. What happened to him? “You’re asking too many questions. My patience is growing thin.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, your voice weaker than you intended. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just thought… we were growing closer…”

His harsh gaze softens slightly. “Don’t apologize. Seeing Uraume again has reminded me of who I once was. And I slipped back into my old mannerisms.”

“You talk as if you’re a different person entirely now,” you say, stepping closer.

He gives you that familiar grin, and you feel your unease begin to fade. “I am, princess.”

Uraume returns a few minutes later, much faster than you expected. They look as if they never even left, totally calm, not a single hair out of place. It doesn’t appear that they were in any danger.

They bow before Sukuna again, and you realize this makes you uncomfortable. As a ruler yourself, you’ve never demanded anyone bow to you, at least not like this. A slight inclination of the head as you pass has always been perfectly acceptable, or nothing at all. What kind of king was Sukuna if his subjects felt the need to bow so deeply and so quickly?

“I’ve found her, my lord.”

“Good. Lead the way,” Sukuna replies, and Uraume rises smoothly to their feet.

As you and Sukuna follow them deeper into the woods, your curiosity gets the better of you again. “They don’t mind coming with us? We’ll be putting them in danger.”

Sukuna scoffs. “Uraume has never minded danger for my sake. And by some cruel joke of fate, they’re much more powerful than me right now.”

The way he says it, as if that wasn’t always the case, only makes you more curious. Uraume is clearly a fairy of the woods. Even you can sense the magic coming from them. How could a mere human man ever be more powerful than that? But you keep the question to yourself for now. The distance in Sukuna’s eyes earlier still worries you.

**************************

Sukuna walks a few steps ahead to fall in pace with Uraume. The former servant glances at him, and it’s obvious they feel a measure of discomfort not walking behind him.

“The old fairy,” Sukuna says, “How strong is she?”

Uraume pulls a low branch back, keeping it from scraping Sukuna. “I’ve heard she is physically weak, but her magical power easily dwarfs my own. She’s cunning, and has many tricks to rely on.”

Sukuna feels a rush of excitement. He hasn’t fought a powerful opponent in so very long. He’s smiling as he says, “So she could easily kill me.”

Uraume apparently realizes what he’s thinking. “She should be quite stimulating, my lord.”

Suddenly Sukuna remembers the woman walking a few steps behind, fragile and delicate, the old fairy’s main target. He should feel concern, perhaps even fear for her safety. But the thrill of the coming battle has overrided all other feelings.

“Uraume, I need you to vow something for me.”

They look at him curiously. “Of course, Lord Sukuna. Whatever you wish.”

He glances back at the queen. “Protect her. From everything. No matter who or what you have to fight, let no harm come to her.”

Uraume looks over their shoulder at the woman. “I vow it, my lord. It seems she has become important to you.”

Sukuna shrugs. “She makes the time pass faster.”

Uraume says nothing more, and soon they pass into a section of the woods much darker than the rest. It’s definitely still daytime, the sun is certainly still up, but here in these woods it’s dark as night. The trees grow taller, closer together, like silent guards. Their branches are gnarled, their foliage mostly absent except for patches of brown. No flowers bloom here, and the air crackles with ancient magic.

Sukuna sticks close to the queen, who is doing her best to show no fear, while Uraume leads them on, seeming cool and calm as always. Up ahead, he spots a castle. Unlike the queen’s well-kept (if relatively modest) castle, this one is dilapidated. Dark, twisting vines cover the place like a veil, and a strange creeping fog floats around their legs. It’s a place designed to strike fear into the hearts of men. But Sukuna only feels anticipation.

The vines part as they reach the castle, as if they’re sentient. The heavy wooden door opens, and a figure clad in black robes emerges from the shadows. From back here, it’s hard to make out the details of her face, but Sukuna can feel it: this is the old fairy.

All the fairies were given simple titles. The good fairy, the ice fairy (the name given to Uraume), the wood fairy, etc. And Sukuna assumed the old fairy was simply, well, old. He did not expect her to be positively ancient, probably older than this world itself. She looks like any elderly lady, but he can feel the old and powerful magic radiating from her.

She looks at him, her eyes focusing on him instead of the queen.

“Why are you here, interloper?” she asks, her voice a crackle of dark energy.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow at that. “You know who I am?”

She laughs humorlessly. “Anyone with true power knows who you are, Fallen One. Tell me, what has it been like, cursed to live a thousand lives as a weak and powerless human?”

Sukuna grins at her. “It’s not been so bad. Power comes in many forms. I’ve made due with what I can grasp.”

The old fairy finally looks at the queen behind him. “You were foolish enough to bring her to me? Or are you hoping for some sort of trade?”

“I came to take your fucking head, you decrepit old bitch!”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the flicker of fear that passes over the old fairy’s face. It’s amusing that he can inspire such fear even in this weakened state.

He lunges forward, drawing his sword. The vines move to ensnare him, slithering about like snakes, trying to wrap around his limbs. His combat instincts resurface like muscle memory, his body dodging before his slow human brain can even process the attacks.

As he cuts through the vines and closes in on the fairy, a great burst of green light erupts from the ground, aimed straight for him. He avoids the light, not sure what sort of attack it is but knowing better than to let it hit him.

He glances back, sees that Uraume is beside the queen and has formed a shield of ice around the two of them, then refocuses on the fairy.

Dodging those bursts of light, he rushes forward at incredible speed, aiming his sword forward. He realizes he’s smiling, enjoying the thrill of battle as the vines and green light blasts try to impede him. The old fairy makes a motion with her hands, trying to conjure something to defend herself with, but she’s too slow for Sukuna’s incredible speed.

The blade pierces her body, running straight through her chest like a hot knife through butter. She looks up at him, and the lack of terror on her face tells him this is not over. It was way too easy.

A giant burst of the green light bursts from her body, and he jumps back in time to avoid it, pulling his sword out of her in the process. He watches as the old fairy’s shape contorts, shifting, growing. It’s bathed in the green light, creating a shield he can’t touch.

Within minutes, the human-shaped old fairy has transformed into a massive black dragon, its wings sprawled out behind it as it roars at the sky. The green light glows from its open mouth, and it begins walking toward Sukuna.

Any man would be struck by terror, would flee for his life before such darkness and raw power. But Sukuna is not just any man. His heart is pounding, his adrenaline flaring within this weak human body, his soul remembering battles from many lifetimes ago. Ah yes, the person he used to be would have crushed this pitiful dragon within seconds.

The dragon rises up, its long neck extending skyward, as its mouth opens wider and a beam of green light shoots out. Sukuna moves to dodge, wondering if he could tank a direct hit, when a wall of ice appears before him. The ice shatters, but absorbs the bulk of the attack. Sukuna looks back at Uraume. In another life, he would have scolded them for interfering, but he’s different now. He’s a human fighting a supernaturally powerful ancient being. He wonders idly if the people who fought him so long ago felt the way he does now.

If so, they owe him some gratitude. Because he hasn’t felt this kind of exhilaration since-

His thoughts are interrupted by another beam of green light, this one obvious enough for him to dodge before the dragon even opens its mouth. He’s beginning to read its moves, to predict what it will do. For all the old fairy’s power, she clearly hasn’t seen much actual combat. She probably scares off most threats before having to launch a single attack. Compared to Sukuna’s battle sense, she’s practically a newborn babe when it comes to fighting.

And that is her undoing. She can’t follow or anticipate Sukuna’s movements, and so he gets above and behind her by dodging, weaving, and jumping off the wall of the castle beside her. He swings his sword down, chopping off the dragon’s head with one brutal swipe.

Green light explodes from the dragon’s neck, and engulfs Sukuna as he stands nearby. It doesn’t hurt, but instead seems to be entering his body. It’s the old fairy’s power! It’s transferring to him!

He stands completely still, letting the power flow into his body, filling him. It feels so good! So… familiar!

He laughs loudly as his body glows. Uraume and the queen step closer.

“Look, Uraume!” he calls, his voice sounding thunderous. “Real power! After all these lifetimes of weakness, to feel power like this flowing through me again… I’ve become myself!”

Uraume bows low. “I am pleased to see it, my lord!”

Sukuna’s gaze slides over to the other person in the woods with them - the queen of a tiny, insignificant kingdom. He’d almost forgotten she’s here. She’s not bowing, which irritates him. And she’s staring at him as his newfound power swirls around, warm and energized air whipping her hair and dress around her. In her eyes is not fear, but sadness. Ridiculous. She should fear him like all the other pitiful humans in this world. After all, their new king has arrived.

“Insolent woman,” he says, directing a thin beam of the green light in her direction. He’d intended to shoot it very close to her as a warning, but a sudden wall of ice appears, blocking it.

Sukuna looks sharply at Uraume. “You would get in my way?”

Uraume looks troubled, a rare expression on their usually cold face. “I am fulfilling my vow, Lord Sukuna. You made me swear no harm would come to her.”

Sukuna scoffs. “That was when I was weak. Human. I’m back to my old self now. I release you from your vow.”

Uraume is still bowing low to the ground. “My lord… you know you will always have my loyalty above all else, but you seemed quite desperate for her to be protected.”

Sukuna looks back at the woman, realizing she’s moved closer. She’s pressing against the force of his power to approach him. What could possess her to be so foolish? He decides to make it easy for her, by moving to her himself. His motion is so fast, it must seem to her like he teleported directly in front of her.

Her eyes are wet with tears. “What’s happened to you?” she asks, her voice fragile. She reaches up one hand as if to touch his face. The nerve of this weak creature!

He knocks her hand away from him and gives her the sort of glare that had monsters and men alike begging for their lives. “I’ve returned to my former self, to who I was meant to be. Your lack of fear and respect annoys me.”

She shakes her head, and the tears around her eyes glitter like stars. “I don’t fear you. I fear losing you.”

He narrows his red eyes. “I am not yours to lose.”

She looks so hurt as she reaches up again. “Sukuna, please, I need you!”

He grabs her wrist, such a frail little thing. He could snap it with a touch, reduce her to a wailing lump of flesh at his feet. But he suddenly remembers the night before, the way he held her in his arms, the taste of her skin, the way she felt beneath him, the way she clenched his cock.

Such things should mean nothing to him. He’s had thousands of women across his many lifetimes. But he releases her wrist and says, “Bow, and I might keep you as a concubine.”

Her eyes widen. Is that heartbreak within their depths? He almost grins. He can play with her as much as he likes later, after he establishes who the true ruler is.

The hand he just released moves up again, but this time, her open palm strikes his face. The slap was so weak and unexpected, he didn’t sense its approach. For him, it was nothing. But the audacity! The insult! He looks at her, ready to rip her limb from limb, but he freezes when he sees her face.

She’s wearing that haughty, defiant look that he enjoyed so much, crossing her arms as she says, “No, you bow!”

The whole thing is so shocking, he doesn’t know whether to laugh or slaughter her instantly.

“You called me your queen!” she says. “You said you would protect me! You said I’m yours! If that’s true, then you’re mine as well. I won’t give you up so easily, even to your former self!”

He stares at her, at the fierce determination in her eyes, and he’s caught between the desire to break her for good or to pull her into his arms. His past self warring with the man he’s become over these long lifetimes.

“Foolish woman. You have no idea who I am. Even the most powerful creatures trembled before me!”

“I don’t care,” she says. “That person you were, that king or ‘fallen one’ or whatever you called yourself… he can fuck off!”

Sukuna looks at her, at this weak little human who has somehow, against all odds, managed to bend him to her will. He remembers what he told the old fairy. “Power comes in many forms.” He hadn’t realized in that moment that the most powerful thing in all the worlds is something he’d long ago dismissed as worthless.

He clenches his fist, feeling the power course through him for a final time, committing the sensation to memory. Then, he releases it. It flows out of his body like a waterfall, pouring into the world around him. And just like that, he’s human again. Weak. Normal.

His queen watches the power dissipate, then wraps her arms around his neck.

“I hope you know what I gave up for you,” he says.

She leans in closer, kissing him as she says, “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

************************

You untie the laces of your nightdress, letting the silky sheer fabric fall from your shoulders and pool on the floor, revealing that you wore nothing underneath it. Sukuna’s eyes rake over your form from his place on the bed, sitting on the edge of it, already undressed, thighs open invitingly.

As you step over to him, you look over his tattoos. “So they just appear on your body? In every new life?”

He follows your gaze to the black lines across his body. “They usually appear when I hit puberty. That’s when my memories of past lives come back as well. They’re probably supposed to be part of the curse, but I like them.”

“I like them too,” you say, tracing over one of them with your fingertip.

“You always do,” he says with a strange smile.

What does that mean? You decide to leave the question for now. There are others you want to ask.

“So,” you say as he pulls you into his lap, “you were evil in your original lifetime?”

He grins as one of his hands slides around your body to squeeze your breast. “I’ve been evil in every lifetime, princess.”

You don’t mind him still calling you that, especially in intimate moments like this. You smile, planting quick kisses along his jaw and neck. “Really? What kinds of things did you do?”

“I killed a lot of people. More people than you can imagine.”

“Did they deserve it?”

His grin fades slightly. “Some did. Most didn’t.”

“Why did you kill them then?”

“Because I could,” he says simply, looking you in the eyes. “Does that bother you?”

You think for a moment. “No, because you’re not that person anymore. And if he ever tries to take over again, I’ll chase him away.”

He watches you slip out of his lap and down to your knees in front of him. You maintain eye contact while reaching one hand up to grasp the huge cock standing at attention between his legs. You slide your hand up and down, just getting a feel for the sheer size of it. You lean forward and kiss the tip, sweetly, like it’s a cuddly pet, then lick the clear fluid that smeared over your lips.

Looking up at him, you’re not surprised that he’s impossible to fluster in moments like this. Having memories of all his past lives means he probably remembers having his dick sucked thousands of times. But there is another way to get a reaction out of him.

“I do hope you’ll dress appropriately for the royal wedding,” you say, just before taking almost his entire cock into your mouth, letting it slide down your throat.

“Wedding?! Ah… fuck!” he groans, tossing his head back as you gag and sputter around his length. You’ve never done this before and you didn’t realize how hard it is to keep breathing while practically swallowing a massive cock.

You pull away, stroking the shaft that’s now coated in your spit with one hand. “You’ll be king consort,” you say, then you extend your tongue and run it along the underside of his dick, from base to tip, one hand still stroking him while the other gently squeezes his balls.

He looks down at you, his usual smug expression cracking just a little. “I don’t remember agreeing to marry you, princess.”

Your tongue is swirling around his tip. “Oh? I’m sure my advisers would prefer I marry a royal from a neighboring kingdom.”

Suddenly his hand is in your hair, pressing your head forward, effectively shoving his cock back into your mouth. You look up at him as he pushes into your throat again, choking you. “There,” he says in that achingly smooth voice of his, “you’re much cuter with that bratty mouth of yours full of my cock.”

You make a whimpering sound as you struggle to suck air in through your nose, and after a few seconds he releases you. While you pull back and catch your breath, he gives you an almost pouty look. “As if I’d let another man touch what’s mine.”

Grinning up at him as your hand goes back to work, you lick your messy lips and say, “Royal wedding it is, then.”

He sighs in defeat as you wrap your lips around him again. “I suppose I’ll do you the favor of marrying you,” he says as you move your head back and forth, letting his cock pump in and out of your warm mouth. “Be grateful. I’ve never married anyone in any of my previous lifetimes.”

This surprises you, and makes you feel heated to know you’ll be his first wife. His hand is in your hair again, gentle this time, just enough force to let you know he’s in control. And when he’s ready, he pulls you back so that only his tip remains in your mouth, and then shoots his load into it, coating the entire inside.

The amount of it takes you by surprise, and you have to start swallowing quickly to avoid spilling any. Pity, you would have liked to savor it.

He doesn’t offer his hand to help you to your feet. You’ll have to work on teaching him to be a gentleman. Instead he’s moving aside to give you room on the bed. When you climb on, he pushes you onto your back and positions himself between your sprawled legs. He reaches down with one hand and rubs over your slit with his thumb, checking your wetness, then drags your lower half into his lap.

“Ready for me to turn this proud queen into a blubbering mess again?” he asks, his cock rubbing against your folds.

You frown. “I did not blubber! I was practically uncon-“

His cock slides in, this time going all the way to the hilt on the first thrust, making you gasp as your eyes roll back and your body jerks.

He nestles himself against your cervix, then pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you cry out pathetically. “What were you saying, princess?”

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Only stilted moans and garbled cries. He’s so big, and he’s going so deep, your mind is going blank just like before.

“I like you best like this,” he says with a laugh, pounding into you ruthlessly. “So fucked out you can’t even think straight.”

His hands are on your hips, gripping tightly, moving your body as he pleases. “You like it right… here…!” he grunts, hitting a spot that makes your eyes go wide and your fists grip the sheets beneath you. Your mouth falls open, a strangled yell escaping you. Oh god, this is even better than last time!

One of his hands moves over, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles into it, making your whole body tremble and tears fill your eyes. Is this going to be a regular thing now? Him making you completely fall apart on his cock?

“There she is,” he says, watching you quiver and cry. “There’s my pretty princess. Not so haughty now, are you?”

The pleasure is so strong, so intense, you genuinely worry that you’ll lose your mind to it. But you look up at Sukuna, and you realize he’ll always bring you back. So you let go, let the pleasure take you, and cry out loudly as your climax wracks your body.

“Good girl,” he says, pulling your upper half up from the bed and into his arms, holding you tightly as he fills your womb.

As you come down from your high, locked in Sukuna’s strong arms, his cock still buried inside you, you realize that both of you had defeated your curses today. And maybe, you’ve both placed new curses on each other, that you’ll never be complete without each other, never experience such blinding pleasure, such love, if you’re ever torn apart.

You wrap your exhausted arms around him, knowing you’ll never let him go, and he’ll never give you up.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #x reader

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flowerandblood · 8 months ago

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (20)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, swearing, remorse ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He had no idea how this insolent whore had come up with this insane plan, what had come into her empty little head to accuse him of taking her maidenhood in front of everyone. Her words spoken with such certainty and coolness shocked him, his mouth gaped wide in disbelief, for a moment his body froze.

What?

"Lie." He growled angrily, unable to get anything else out, outraged and infuriated by the loud chatter of the entire court around him.

If she really thought she'd succeeded, that he'd take her as his wife just because she'd come up with such a filthy lie, she was sorely mistaken.

Even if it had happened, even if he had been forced to take a second wife, he would have strangled her with his own hands during their wedding night without considering what would happen afterwards.

It seemed that he had perfectly guessed her awful character at their first meeting and had indeed chosen the most unpleasant of sisters, for at his words her lips curved in a grimace full of mockery. The King asked her a question, from which she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"I ran after the Prince once he wanted to leave. He took me in one of the corridors of our fortress against my will."

Fucking whore.

I'll kill her, he thought.

I'll approach her and strangle her with my own hands.

"Disgusting lies. I followed my nephew out the stronghold and returned to the Red Keep to fulfil my duty to my father that same night. It was not your maidenhood I took then, shameless woman." He sneered with mockery in his voice, from which Lord Baratheon's daughter's face curved in disbelief and humiliation.

He thought with satisfaction that she was now surely imagining how he had taken the woman who stood by his side just after he had promised her he would marry her.

He swallowed loudly, thinking with a hard pounding heart that his wife didn't believe this absurdity, didn't doubt for a moment that what this wicked woman was saying was a lie.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, horrified, and noticed that she was pale, her chin lifted proudly, her gaze fixed on Maris.

He shuddered as his brother's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"As I see it, opinions are divided on what happened. Lord Baratheon is a party. Is there anyone else who could confirm your version of events, my Lady?" He asked lightly, as if the whole situation amused him, Maris pressed her lips together, lowering her gaze.

Her whole family knew that what she was saying was a great, disgusting lie.

His brother turned to him after a moment.

"And you, brother, can anyone confirm your words?"

He swallowed hard, furious that he had to remind himself of the person he despised so much, however, he had no other choice if he wanted to protect his and his wife's honour.

"My nephew."

Fortunately, his would-be wife quickly realised her mistake made in an act of desperation to drag him down with her and gave in, eventually signing the terms of the agreement between their family and the crown together with her father.

He wanted to demand that, in front of everyone gathered, she retract her lies and clear his good name, but hesitated when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that his wife had simply left.

She didn't believe him, he thought with disbelief and pain.

She didn't believe him, even though he had always been faithful to her.

He swallowed loudly, wanting to follow her, but stopped in his half-step noticing something glistening on the stone floor in the colour of scarlet.

Blood.

He cursed quietly under his breath, wiping the mark off with his boot, looking around, wanting to make sure the guards hadn't spotted it.

The last thing they needed now was rumours that she wasn't carrying his heir.

He moved behind her with a squeeze in his throat, seeing that she had left red droplets behind her, which disappeared, however, upon his steps towards her chamber. He stepped inside unannounced and she shuddered, looking at him apprehensively, apparently trying to untie her gown herself, wrestling with her sleeves.

"I wish to be alone." She muttered in a trembling voice, her cheeks red from the tears that had surely been running down her face just a moment ago, but which she was now holding back with the remnants of her strong will.

He answered her only when the door closed behind him with the quiet clatter of old wood.

"I have wiped the traces you left behind. No one but me knows."

He saw something akin to pain and despair flash across her face, her eyebrows arched in grief, her eyes glazed over again from tears, her swollen, lower lip trembling, her mouth tightened into a thin line. She finally clamped her eyelids shut and wept quietly, bending her head, her hands clenched on her lower abdomen.

He approached her, grabbing her hair with a soft gesture and snuggled her face into his chest – she burst out into a loud sob as his arms closed her in a tight embrace, as his nose sank into the top of her head, inhaling her addictive scent.

Vanilla.

"I knew it was going to happen. I could feel it in my bones, but I still had hope." She mumbled in a breaking, trembling voice, from which he felt a sting in his heart. He sighed quietly, brushing her hair with the slow, tender strokes of his hand as if she were a small child.

"I know."

They were both sad and disappointed, however he knew he shouldn't burden her with these thoughts when she felt so guilty herself.

He blinked, snapped out of his reverie, looking down at her when he heard her hiss and flinch, her hand tightening on her womb again, her eyelids clenched as if trying to wait out what she was feeling.

"Are you in pain?" He asked, taking the unruly curls of her hair from her face – she was only able to nod, swallowing hard.

"The first day is the greatest suffering."

As a man, he had never delved into motherhood or what was involved in female fertility, knowing the basics of course; he was aware of what he had to do for a woman to carry his heir and that if she bled, it was necessary to try again.

He knew his mother and sister went through the first days of this unpleasant process in their chambers, not attending supper at the time.

He thought then that this was due to the fact that it was an embarrassing matter for them and they preferred to remain in peace and solitude at the time, something he had always regarded with respect.

However, now that he was a husband and had watched his wife's suffering after he had helped her change into a new, clean nightgown, he involuntarily wanted to better understand what she was going through.

To know how he should behave and what she needed.

He watched without a word as she tucked the linen cloth under her buttocks and between her thighs, which she then covered with the material of her white chemise, evidently wanting it to absorb the blood that flowed from her and not stain the bedding.

He also noticed that she still held her hand pressed to her womb, her eyelids clenched in discomfort, a murmur of displeasure leaving her lips once in a while. He sat down beside her on the bed, watching her closely, resting his hand on hers in a place that was clearly causing her discomfort.

"Tell your husband what is causing your suffering." He hummed softly, stroking the soft skin of her palm with his thumb. He heard her sigh quietly, looking up at him finally, apparently wondering how she should explain this to a man.

"I feel a painful stinging in my lower abdomen. Imagine someone gently jabbing a needle or the tip of a dagger into your stomach and not pulling it out. That's what I feel." She mumbled at last, and he furrowed his brow as he looked at her lower abdomen, imagining how unpleasant it must have felt.

"Is it like this every time?"

"Yes. Although sometimes it's a bit worse or a bit better. This time it's unbearable." She muttered, looking away, staring at the canopy over her bed. He hummed at her words, unconsoled by her undeserved suffering.

"Would anything bring you relief?" He asked at last, hearing her let the air out of her lungs.

"The Maester in Dragonstone always brought me a leather sack filled with hot water. He would put a cloth on my lower abdomen so that I wouldn't get burned, put a knotted pouch over it and put it on my womb, covering me with furs afterwards. Then for some reason I always felt relieved and the pain became bearable." She said finally; he got up and walked to the door, opening it wide, ordering their servants to do exactly as she said.

Following his command, one of the servants finally stepped into her chamber with a sack filled with hot water, asking if his lady-wife had fainted and needed anything.

He took the pouch from her and dismissed her, then approached her, sitting down beside her on the bed and, in accordance with her words, after placing the cloth on her womb, he placed the sack on top of it, covering it with furs, a loud sigh of relief escaping her lips. She closed her eyes and grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

"− good gods − thank you −" She mumbled.

"− doesn't that burn you? −" He asked uncertainly, but she just shook her head.

"− no − no, that's how it should be −"

Silence fell between them, and he watched her face as she lay with her eyes closed, clearly trying to relax.

"− what she said − it was a lie, wasn't it? −" She asked quietly, and he sighed heavily, leaning down, burying his face in his hand, tired and discouraged.

So she had doubts about his faithfulness after all.

"− obviously − I chose her because she seemed to me the most unpleasant and repulsive of them all − I didn't want to waste the life of any decent woman knowing what would await her −" He replied finally, hearing his niece twist next to him in her place.

"− and what would await her? −" She asked uncertainly; he let the air quietly out of his lungs, massaging his temple.

"− I don't know what you would call living in the shadow of another woman −" He replied after a moment's thought, hearing his wife swallow hard.

"− for your marriage to be valid, you would have to lie in bed with her −" She muttered quietly in a trembling voice. He felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, at the idea of what it would have to look like, what he would have to do.

How dirty he would feel afterwards.

"− yes −"

He heard her draw in a loud breath – clearly the mere image of him in another woman's arms caused her pain, and while her jealousy brought him some kind of satisfaction, it was also the cause of the discomfort that filled his lower abdomen.

The thought that he might derive pleasure from it, desire another woman while she awaited him in another chamber.

"− would you do it? − would you take her? −" She mumbled, he heard her voice break in fear of his response.

"− and you? − would you lie with your cousin if your mother told you to? − surely she would have led to these nuptials if you had returned to Dragonstone with her then, would she not? −" He growled, frustrated that she was asking him such questions, not knowing what answer she wanted to hear.

He saw a single, solitary tear run down the side of her face onto the pillow beneath her head; he sighed heavily seeing this, wiping the moisture from her skin with the top of his hand.

"− there, there − enough of these tears − didn't my words give you satisfaction? − my public expression that I married you out of lust? −" He asked calmly, not wanting to add either her or himself to their suffering and sorrow. He hummed as her face lit up with a light, warm smile.

"− it was not your maidenhood I took then, shameless woman −" She repeated his words with amusement, trying to mimic his deep, low tone of voice. He snorted, shaking his head, involuntarily grinning with mockery at the mere memory.

"− gods, it was pure madness −"

Although he usually spent this part of the day training, during which he mistreated and lashed out at Criston, he decided to spend the afternoon with her, knowing that she needed him. He lay beside her as she finally fell asleep, looking at her face wondering what the future held for them.

What would happen if her mother did not agree to their terms.

He knew someone would die then, that no matter how much he loved her, he would not agree to Jace being heir to the throne.

He feared that she would hate him again.

This time forever.

He shuddered when a guard walked into their chamber – he wanted to express his displeasure that he had allowed himself to enter without permission, but the man spoke up before him.

"Word has arrived from Dragonstone, Your Grace."

He looked at her peaceful, sleeping face and swallowed hard, standing up quietly and nodding to the man, wanting him to lead him to the King.

When he was led into the chamber of the Small Council his brother sat at the head of the table with a rolled up parchment in his hand, looking at him with raised eyebrows, to his left and right sat their mother and their grandfather.

"What is their answer?" He asked in a low, deep voice feeling his voice quiver involuntarily in terror.

Aegon sighed quietly.

"Rheanyra will not make any decision until she speaks with her daughter. She demands that they meet in the Eyrie, on more neutral ground, with or without our presence. Daemon will accompany her."

He swallowed hard and let the air out of his lungs, feeling both tense and relieved, knowing that nothing was won or lost at the same time.

"What do you command, My King?" He asked finally, his brother hummed under his breath.

"I am no fool and I will not allow you to spend the night under the roof of a family that can cut your throat in your sleep. No, when all shall be confirmed, you will fly together to Harrenhal, where you will be hosted by Lord Strong. From there you will travel on my behalf to negotiate with my sister. I will not leave King's Landing knowing that they may take advantage of this and conquer the Red Keep in my absence."

"Aegon, it's a trap. The Eyrie is her mother's ancestral stronghold, her allies. They will make them their prisoners by force. After what happened today in the throne room, Lord Baratheon will gladly support her. You have weakened us." Their mother protested, clenching her hands into fists, looking at her son-king with pleading eyes. Aegon sighed heavily at her words, spreading himself comfortably in his chair.

"This is my final decision. Convince your wife to soften her mother. Daemon will pull for the war, but it is not his opinion that matters. She may already be carrying your heir in her womb, order the maesters to examine her." He said encouragingly, and his lips tightened at his words.

"No. That will not be necessary."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, caused by the tone of his voice and the impassive expression on his face.

His mother hid her face in her hands, shaking her head, knowing what his words meant, his older brother closed his eyes and swallowed loudly, looking at him again after a moment.

"Good gods, lie to them. Say that she is expecting your child. That the gods support our cause. After all, women do miscarry, don't they, mother?" He asked her lightly. The Queen looked at him in pain and disbelief, lowering her gaze in grief and shame, surely seeing the face of her childhood friend in her mind.

"You are leading us to our ruin out of sheer malice and stupidity." Hummed their grandfather in a hoarse voice, looking at the gold coin he was playing with between his fingers. "You will repeat my words one day."

286 notes · View notes

healmydesires · 1 year ago

Text

it’s warming up ꕤ (a.s)

pairing: anakin skywalker x sub!f!reader

summary: anakin edging you. that’s it.

genre: smut + fluff , tbh pure filth sorry! (mdni! 18+ only)

word count: 1,5k

warnings/tags: pxrn no plot sorry <3, established relationship, sub!reader and soft dom!anakin because … that’s just my thing, use of vibrator, edging, vaginal fingering, oral!f receiving, dirty talk, begging, praise kink,, after care is heavily implied. lots of pet names.

a/n: this came up to me this morning and all I could think about all day was anakin edging you 😭 this was supposed to be a short blurb but I can never restrain myself with writing smut so here you go. 💘 enjoy!

dividers by @saradika <3 thank uuuu for making these 🫂

ao3 • masterlist

Anakin is cruel.

He’s been keeping the toy on the lowest setting and every single time you are about to spill over the edge he would abruptly withdraw the vibrator from your pussy and stop your oncoming orgasm.

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s been edging you this evening.

“Please, Ani,” There’s a sharp gasp lodged in your throat, fighting to be released as you grapple for oxygen. The buzzing and steady vibration overwhelms you as he continues to hold the vibrator close to your cunt. Anakin’s body is still hovering over yours, his eyes transfixed on the way your face contorts with every movement he controls.

“You like that angel?” Anakin smirks as you can’t seem to form a coherent answer as pleasure consumes you. “Poor little thing, she can’t even talk.”

Every now and then he changes angles, moving the massaging head of the device to your already fluttering hole, leaving you a whimpering mess. Your pussy is aching and throbbing for release. Then he presses the device right into your clit as he leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, swallowing all your little noises.

“Anakin, please… it hurts.” you whimper desperately while pulling away from his lips, as he presses the toy ruthlessly against your clit.

The man chuckles lightly in amusement as he shakes his head. He then pulls away completely as he notices you getting close again. A broken mewl escapes you as he edges you for what feels like the eighth time tonight.

You’re hot all over, feeling extremely dizzy. You whine in frustration as you grab the sheets beside you. “Please, Ani, I’m sorry.”

“What exactly are you sorry for?” He lifts his gaze as he looks directly at you, his eyes full with lust while he furrows his brows at you. Anakin then turns the vibrator to the highest setting as he presses it lightly against your clit. Slowly, his lips curl into a wicked smirk as your body jolts at the action and cry out.

“Are you sorry for acting like a brat the whole day?” He sighs dramatically before looking at you pointedly. “Or, are you only apologising because you want to come?”

“No!” You try to squirm out of Anakin’s grip but you should know better than that. He’s a lot stronger than you after all.

“No?” He raises one of his eyebrows.

“I—”

“Oh sweetheart,” Anakin tuts with a dangerous smile. “I know exactly what you mean.”

You know better than to believe him when he says he understands. Despite his devious expression, you give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Y-you do?” You whisper as you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Oh yeah, I do.” He smiles down at you. As the man above you holds eye contact with you he presses the vibrator against you while it’s still on the highest setting.

“Ani, fuck!” You scream as you throw your head back. You squeeze your eyes shut as the pleasure overwhelms you once again. Tears well in your eyes as the tension in the lower pit in your stomach starts building all over again. Quickly.

You try to grasp for breath as he every now and then presses the vibrator harder against your sensitive clit.

He chuckles as you rock your pussy against the toy, as you try to find release. Your hips bucking up to meet the movements of it, your eyes squeezing shut as your climax feels so close again. “So desperate. So needy.”

“Only for you.” You gasp as you writhe underneath him.

Your poor pussy is soaking, your hole begging to be filled and your clit pulses heavily as the love of your life continues to press it against the sensitive spot.

“Ani,” you whine, hoping he will let you cum this time, “please can I cum? I can’t do it anymore. Jus’ wanna cum, Anakin, pleasepleaseplease.”

You’ll never be afraid to beg for what you want. Especially when it comes to Anakin. But if he’ll actually take mercy on you, that’s something else entirely.

“I don’t know, baby,” he coos, “do you think you deserve it?”

“Y-yes! I d-do.” You whimper as frustrated tears slide down your cheeks.

He shakes his head with a sigh, “I don’t think you do.”

“B-but I’ve been nothing but a good girl now.”

“I guess you’ve been doing good,” Anakin hums before he leans down to lick a stripe up your neck, making more whines to spill out of you. “But, I’m not sure you’ve been good enough though.”

“Please, I can’t—”. A broken gasp leaves your lips as you feel one of his fingers at your entrance. Your hole clenches around nothing as it begs for his touch.

He chuckles as he continues to tease your wet hole, almost penetrating it with one of his fingers every now and then. Your hips move against him, as you try to chase his gentle touch, to feel more of him. A devious smile stays on his face as he takes you in. You’re so desperate. He finds your pleading truly amusing as you attempt to convince him.

He then turns off the toy and pulls his touch away from you entirely once again.

“No!” You cry out. Tears continue to slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut. “Pleasepleaseplease pleaaaaase. Ani—”

Moments later a surprised moan falls off your lips as he licks a stripe up through your folds and teasingly dips his tongue into your entrance before he travels up to your clit, spreading your lips with his wet tongue and sucking your overly sensitive button into his mouth.

You practically scream at his actions, arching your back slightly off the bed. Your body trembles as you try to grind your pussy slowly against Anakin’s lips.

��I know baby, I know.” He whispers against your pussy as he looks up at you intensely from between your legs.

Strong arms then move, locking around your thighs, securing your hips with his biceps, holding you still despite your attempts to grind your pussy against his mouth again.

As Anakin buries his face in your cunt, he continues his ministrations on your clit as he gets lost in the feeling of your scent, taste, and your moans and whines fueling him on.

A finger of his then travels down to your slit, slowly sliding inside. Pumping the single digit into your wet hole, his mouth remaining on your clit, circling around the bud with the tip of his tongue.

“Please,” you whimper.

You’re a mess of his name, you chant his name over and over again. Eyes are squeezing shut as tears continue to well in your eyes, his arms press into your hip bones to pin you in place as you buck into him again and again, trying to get closer to that feeling of his tongue lapping on your clit and pleading him to let you cum.

You are so close. Suddenly you feel his fingers and mouth retreat from your core and you whine at the loss. This makes Anakin chuckle.

“Hold it.”

You were so close. Tears slide down your cheeks as he pulls another broken moan out of you. “Ani, please. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What did I say?” He whispers harshly before he leans down again. He licks up a single stripe up your slit. “I said hold it.”

Then, he slides his tongue into your entrance, curling the muscle upwards to brush your walls.

You feel so dizzy. Moaning and whining, you writhe underneath him. “Fuck, Aniiiii.” You whimper when he begins thrusting his tongue in and out of you just as his fingers had been doing moments before, hips bucking uncontrollably into his mouth as you repeatedly whine his name.

You try, you really try so hard not to come as his tongue continues to pleasure you. But it seems impossible.

Everything feels so fuzzy as you whine, rambling, pleading with him once again.

Anakin slips his tongue out of you, his gaze softening as he takes you in.

“Alright baby, you can let go. You’ve earned it.” he whispers before his lips wrap around your clit.

With one last harsh suck on your nub you come with a loud cry, your back arching. Your vision turns white and your ears ring as your whole body racks with such intense pleasure, you almost think you might pass out.

Gasping out his name, hips stuttering until the final waves of aftershock pass. Your body tenses before it relaxes back into the soft mattress. Gently, he laps at your release until it’s getting too much.

“So good.” Anakin whispers as he presses a final kiss on your hip bone, then slowly crawls back up to you, his lips leaving kisses in his wake.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, trying to keep your eyes open as he finally hovers over you.

“My good girl,” he whispers before both of your lips meet, the kiss soft and gentle, making you feel all fuzzy inside.

652 notes · View notes

nanaosaki3940 · 7 months ago

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Korean Manhwa/Webtoon Recommendation List (Romance-Fantasy Genre)

I recently got into the romance-fantasy (rofan) genre of Korean manhwa/webtoons and wanted to make a recommendation list about it. This is a recommendation list but I want to briefly talk about some newly released rofan manhwa that I really liked.

(My recommendation list will be divided into different categories so you'll be able to understand what kind of stories they are...)

So recently, I got into these newly released rofan manhwas:

The Wicked Ladies in Waiting

The Promise Isn't Mine

Turning the Mad Dog into a Genteel Lord

Fallen to Paradise

I Swear We're Just Friends

Please Don’t Reply!

High Society

The Wicked Ladies in Waiting

Yulia, who was born an orphan, was killed in exchange for falling in love with the Young Master of the Marjoram Family and was left on a snowy mountain. But when she opened her eyes, at the same location as any other day, she was rescued by the Commander of the Imperial Army, Carus. She was hit by a curse of being unable to die, and this is now her 8th life. After realizing that she would be stuck in the loop forever if she didn't take down the Marquis, she became a servant (2nd prince's lady-in-waiting) within the Palace to utilize the Royal Family’s power to demolish the Marjoram Family in her 8th life. I really love both the FL and the ML here. At first, the ML was suspicious of her when she revealed the truth to him in her 8th life that she had regressed back to the past 8 times, and each and every time she died in various ways, she encountered the ML and he somehow always tried to save her each and every life (even though he doesn't have the memories of his previous 7 lives like the FL). To make him believe her, she offered him help by predicting some future events that were going to occur later on because she had already seen or known about those events from her previous 7 lives. In this way, the FL saved the ML and his comrades' lives in this 8th life, and because of that the ML believed her regression story and offered to help her lifetime. Their relationship progressed well from suspicious strangers to trustful allies. Although we haven't seen much of them yet, I'm still waiting for some romance and fluff to happen in their relationship. The 2nd prince whom she works for and the 1st lady-in-waiting who is her colleague are also interesting characters and have immediately become the FL's good friends and strong allies just like the ML. The FL is strong, smart, and lovable, and the whole revenge plot is really interesting. You would love to see her succeed in her missions. Highly recommend this manhwa/webtoon.

The Promise Isn't Mine

When her twin sister Leyla, the Holy Maiden, suddenly disappears one day, the ordinary Elena finds herself having to marry Crown Prince Kyle, a man infamous for his ruthlessness, in her stead. After a dreadful marriage ceremony, Kyle demands that a certain promise be fulfilled, to Elena’s confusion. Elena and Kyle are actually childhood sweethearts btw. They've both been in love with each other since their younger days. The ML immediately realized who she was, but she didn't recognize him; although she does vaguely remember him from her past, but doesn't know that the man she married is the same boy from her teenage days. I can't wait for her to realize who he actually is; that he's her childhood sweetheart. Also, it's kinda funny how the ML and FL look like Iske and Ruby from "How To Win Over My Husband". However, this ML is a whole lot different from Iske since the ML is genuinely nice, kind, and caring towards the FL from day one. And not to mention that he's still in love with her and immediately recognizes her after meeting her so many years later again. Highly recommend this series.

Turning the Mad Dog into a Genteel Lord

Diarin, a priestess without any noteworthy family background or connections, always gets the toughest assignments. So when her boss tells her to help Ceres, a war hero, reintegrate into society, she decides to stop being a pushover and get as much as she can out of it, including a juicy promotion. But upon reaching Ceres’ manor, she’s greeted by a growling hound instead of a human. Tasked with the impossible job of turning the mad dog into a proper gentleman, she dedicates herself to caring for him. But his unexpected obsession with her was never part of her plan. This one is my No. 1 personal favorite at the current moment!! You can tell by the pictures how funny and hilarious this series is. I won't tell you guys anything more. Just go and read this one as quick as possible!! STRONGLY recommend this series!!!

Fallen to Paradise

Ange, the daughter of Duke Glaster, believes her life is all planned out as she is set to marry Philip Cardiner, the rightful heir to the throne. However, her plans are disrupted when Philip's brother, William Cardiner, schemes against him and removes him from the line of succession. In order to secure his power, William forces Ange to marry Aiden Fitzroy, an illegitimate child born between the emperor and a commoner. Will Ange learn to love the humble stranger she was forced to marry? Another hilarious yet very cute manhwa!! At first, the FL didn't like the fact that she was getting married off to the illegitimate son of the emperor and that the ML lived in the countryside and was also a farmer. The ML also found her a nuisance in the beginning because of her whining and throwing tantrums, but as time went on and they started to understand each other, they began to fight less and tried to get along. Romance also started to blossom between the two as they went on with their lives in the countryside on the farm by planting crops and vegetables and raising cows and pigs. I love how the FL, who was the Duke's daughter and was once the next crown princess, is now just a military officer/farmer's wife, and yeah sure, in the beginning, she used to complain about everything and anything, but she quickly went through a major character development, and now instead of whining and throwing tantrums, she tries to understand her husband and even willingly participates in the farming works. The ML was cold at first and found her annoying, but eventually he also later tried to understand her and her situation and started warming up to her. Very cute manhwa!! Highly recommend this!!

I Swear We're Just Friends

When Rienne transfers to the elite Alena Academy, she never expects Karcion, the most popular mage in school, to recruit her into his club and she definitely doesn't think he'll fall for her! But the grumpy Karcion soon makes it clear how much he adores her, and she starts finding him too cute to ignore. Still, he's a future duke and she's a commoner, so Rienne knows his feelings won't last. Can Karcion magic his way out of the friendzone? Or will Rienne prove they're just friends after all? A typical high school setting kinda story with enemies to lovers troupe; the only twist is that it's a historical fantasy story, not your typical modern high school romance. The FL is a cool smart girl and I loved her from the start. Meanwhile, at first, the ML is also shown to be this cool smart dude and is very popular in school but later it is revealed that he's actually a big tsundere crybaby and is very expressive when showing emotions which makes the FL want to tease him more and more whenever they interact. Since it's a high school romance in a historical fantasy setting, it has a different spin to it and has made the read very much enjoyable which was unexpected. Definitely check this one out! Highly recommend this series.

Please Don't Reply!

What’s worse than someone who leaves you on read? How about someone who doesn’t know when to end the conversation? Mira Hexen is cursed to always be the last one to reply for a whole year or she will be turned to stone. But that’s a bit difficult when you’re the chief of a company that produces a massively successful messaging device. Mira’s latest VIP client is Euryx Deyra, an extremely friendly duke who feels the need to respond to every little thing she says. If only she could just tell him to shut up already...! By reading the synopsis you can already tell where this story is going. Read only 4 chapters and found it really cute, funny, and wholesome. Definitely worth checking out. Highly recommend this as well!!

High Society

While scheming to get out of an arranged marriage, Cesare runs into Adele, a shoeshine girl from the slums. The two make a 3-month deal to help Cesare elude marriage. However, Adele is so different from the women he's met before that he can't help but be drawn to her. Okay, so this series might not be everyone's cup of tea since the ML is a super red flag, and the FL is kinda like a doormat. Sure she fights back from time to time, but since she's under a contract with the ML and he's the Duke of a powerful ducal family, she always can't say anything she wants to him. At first, the ML didn't care that much about her and didn't see her as a woman with whom he could have a potential romantic relationship but as time went on, he fell more for her beauty and personality, but there was a problem - the ML had already introduced the FL to the high society that she was his blood-related little sister. Now how could he have a romantic relationship with his so-called "blood-related little sister"? The thing is, the ML was trying to get out of this arranged marriage alliance that was set with this crazy woman from another powerful ducal family. But this marriage alliance was very important for political reasons and also to maintain a good relationship between those two families in the empire. But the ML didn't want to marry that crazy woman, so he found the FL (who was willing to help him out btw) on the streets one day, took her in, and used her as a shield to stay away from that marriage. How so? By offering the FL as the bride of that crazy woman's little brother. The FL would get married off to that crazy woman's brother while the ML won't have to marry that crazy woman anymore, and therefore with that, the alliance would still be made between the families without him getting married, of course. But what is he gonna do about this situation now that he's falling for the FL? Is he gonna let the FL go and let her get married to that crazy woman's little brother? Or is he gonna seduce her and make her his and only his?? The ML is super toxic and a huge red flag, but he's so fucking beautiful that I just can't, y'all!!! Like, look at his dimples OMG!!! Although the ML is super toxic and a major scumbag at times, the story is still super engaging not gonna lie. Highly recommend this to check it out!!

Also, here's the link to the photo gallery of Cesare Bonaparte, a toxic yet sexy and beautiful male lead - Link

Now the entire recommendation list I mentioned earlier:

Regression Genre (the FL goes back to the past):

The Fantasie of a Stepmother

The Redemption of Earl Nottingham

Marriage of Convenience

Baroness Goes on Strike

Please Marry Me Again!

June Peach

Saving My Sweetheart

My Sweet Enemy, Thy Name is Husband

I'm the Queen in This Life

I Am the Real One

The Contracted Grand Duchess

The Villainess Lives Again

The Taming of the Tyrant

Leveling Up My Husband to the Max

Why Are You Obsessed With Your Fake Wife?

Adeline's Darkest Night

I Tamed My Ex-husband’s Mad Dog

The Empress of Ashes

The Tyrant Wants to Be Good

The Duke's Bored Daughter is My Master

Rewriting My Husband's Tragic Ending

You Mustn't, Your Majesty!

I Shall Master This Family

My In-Laws Are Obsessed With Me

The Villain’s Daughter Plans To Run Away

The Grand Duke is Mine

Seducing the Lady's Lover

The Villainess Needs Her Tyrant

Crazy Like a Fox

So I Married the Abandoned Prince

While I'm Back in Time, I'll Get My Revenge

Are We Still in Love?

I Accidentally Tamed the Duke

I’m Done Being Your Best Friend

I Tamed the Male Lead Who Tried to Kill Me

The Villainess's Road to Revenge

The Villainess Behind the Mask

The Crimson Lady

Please Obsess Over Me

Let Me Die in Peace!

Libera Me

What the Duke Picked Up in the Forest

Peony: Dreaming of the Dangerous Grand Duke

Reincarnation/Transmigration Genre (the FL is reincarnated/transmigrated into a novel/webtoon/otome game)

I Am the Villain (Sejji)

My Little Tyrant

Secret Lady

Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story

The Villainess is a Marionette

Author of My Own Destiny

Father, I Don't Want this Marriage

The Monster Male Lead Living Under My Bed

Behold the True Villainess

Beware the Villainess!

Villains are Destined to Die

I Fell Into a Reverse Harem Game!

I Met The Male Lead in Prison

An Extra Stole the Male Leads

I Will Become the Villain's Poison Taster

Elissa's Whirlwind Marriage

Fortune-Telling Lady

How to Win My Husband Over

The Villainess's Maker

Viola Tames the Duke

The Beloved Bashful Villainess

My Ray of Hope

Who Made Me a Princess?

The Heiress's Double Life

The Villainess's Blind Date Is Too Perfect

Why Raeliana Ended up at the Duke's Mansion

Writing My Male Lead's Happily Ever After

Villain Duke's Precious One

My Sister Picked Up the Male Lead

I Bought Land, Not a Man!

Just the Male Lead's Friend

The Villainess Flips the Script!

I Met the Male Lead in Prison

The Viridescent Tiara

Philomel the Fake

I Married the Male Lead's Dad

The Villainess's Stationery Shop

The Rules of Rose Ivy Manor

The Tyrant's Only Perfumer

Your Ultimate Love Rival

I Hold the Tyrant's Heart

I’ll Become the Heroine in This Life

I Became the Tyrant's Dishonest Adviser

Divorcing My Tyrant Husband

Contractual Marriage to a Surly Duke

It Was Love at First Sight, Mr. Villain!

Lia's Bad Ending

The Villainess Just Wants To Live In Peace!

How to Tame the Merciless Villain

Grand Duke of the North

The Monster Duke Mistook Me for His Wife

The Fake Saintess Awaits Her Exit

The Terminally Ill Villainess Refuses Adoption

Wicked No More

I Became the Young Villain’s Sister-In-Law

I Became the Villain's Mother

I Became the Mother of the Evil Male Lead

The Sea Captain's Bride

Living as the Villain’s Stepmother

The Rewards of Marriage

Flirting with The Villain's Dad

Childcare Diary With the Villain

I Became The Stepmother Of An Irrevocable Dark Family

Beloved by the Male Lead's Nephew

I Ended Up Raising the Children of the Female Lead and Male Lead

I've Become a True Villainess

I Didn't Mean to Seduce the Male Lead!

Becoming the Obsessive Male Lead's Ex-Wife

My Personal Favorite Transmigration Stories:

Kill The Villainess

Charming the Duke of the North

The Strong Empress:

Remarried Empress

I Abdicate My Title of Empress

FL as Knights:

The Age Of Arrogance

The Night Without Shadows

Runaway mothers:

How to Hide the Emperor's Child

The Vanished Duchess

Smutty or Spicy Goods:

Please Kill My Husband

Winter Wolf

Beast’s Flower

Tempting My Salvation

The Bondservant

Toxic MLs:

My Husband Who Hates Me Has Lost His Memories

Bitten By The Dog I Abandoned

The Mistress Runs Away

The Problematic Prince

Others:

I Belong to House Castielo

Obsidian Bride

It Was All a Mistake

My Secretly Hot Husband

Taming the Marquess

Royal Marriage

Lady Evony

A Royal Princess with Black Hair

When You're in Love

Raising My Fiancé with Money

Catherine's Key to a Happy Life

Lips Upon a Sword's Edge

Little Rabbit and the Big Bad Leopard

I Stan the Prince

Becoming the Lady of the Cursed Ducal House

Betrayal of Dignity

My Beloved Oppressor

Your Eternal Lies

What It Means To Be You

Lies Become You

The Psycho Duke and I

From BFF to Obsessive Hubby

I Listened to My Husband and Brought In a Lover

My Husband Changes Every Night

The Elegant Sea of Savagery

My Unexpected Marriage

Seducing the Monster Duke

The Duke's Cursed Charm

Here Comes the Silver Spoon!

I Don’t Want to Be a Lady

Married to a Duke Called Beast

I Don't Love You Anymore

Disobey The Duke If You Dare

When Fate Finds Us

Like A Wind On A Dry Branch

The Price of a Broken Engagement

My Three Tyrant Brothers

Searching for My Father

A Tipsy Marriage Proposal for the Emperor

The Villainess Empress's Attendant

Trash Will Always Be Trash

The Last Straw

Carnephelia's Curse is Never Ending

To My Husband's Mistress

Go Away, Romeo

Ones that came out this 2024, but I haven't check them out yet (but I will do it very soon...):

A Beast Swallowed by a Flower

Traces of the Moon

I Was Tricked Into a Fraudulent Marriage by the Obsessive Villain

An Unexpected Proposal

No, I Only Seduced the Princess?

Until The Real One Shows Up

I’m Unmarried With a Time-Limited Lover

The Youngest is Trying to Prevent the End of the World

Reasons for Avoiding the Perfect Guy

Confined Together with the Horror Game’s Male Lead

I Became The Tutor of The Royal Twins

Till Divorce Do Us Apart

I Thought You Were A Time-Limited Husband

Now Come and Regret

The Villainess Captured the Grand Duke

Corrupting the Heroine’s First Love

283 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 10 days ago

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Thirst for Life (As It Is) - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, next-to-zero plot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 3,7k

Summary: You loved him for it; you hated it. You were still coming to terms with it, still learning to accept and believe that he damn-well meant it when he said he would always fight tooth and nail to come back to you.

You’d count your blessings; you celebrated his efforts by being the very home he was to you to him and if you could sooth his pain in any way you knew, as a physical therapist, as his lover, as a human being, you would.

A slice of life kind of fic, a moment of love life of Steve Rogers and his beloved.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, fingering, oral (F rec), allusions to penetrative sex, brief mention of canon typical injuries, briefest allusions to angst, FLUFF, dorks in love

A/N: Super belated entry for Stevie BB 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge hosted by @steviebbboi. Thank you for hosting and congrats again💕 I got inspired by the prompt Aw, does it feel good right here?🤭

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @saradika-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Lips pressing to heated skin; to entice, to sooth the burning.

Fingertips dancing over strained muscles. Body arching into the touch.

A silent blissful keen escaping.

A sinful whisper.

“Aww, is that the spot, love? Does it feel good right there?"

A blatant, wicked tease, rewarded by a breathless curse spilling from parted lips, a soundless complaint.

Unable to help yourself, you giggled, kissing the spot again, earning a grunt – a sound of protest and approval alike.

“Just you wait…” Steve muttered, annoyed and somewhat fond at once, groaning when you pressed with your fingers this time, feeling the tight knot right under his right shoulder blade as if growing thicker to rebel against your care. “And this isn’t funny.”

You licked your lips, biting back to fight another laugh and losing anyway.

“Come on, Steve… it’s a little funny.”

It was a little funny.

Steve Rogers, a mighty supersoldier, all muscle and broadness, filling the space of the large bed. A paragon of strength and justice, shoulders wide enough to carry the weight of the world, his heart a shield for those who needed protection, his shield the heart of the Avengers. A seemingly fearless leader, a strategic mastermind, an excellent fighter; the embodiment of masculinity and power and righteousness and love.

All that and more – brought to its knees by a pulled muscle.

Of course, if it were up to Steve only, he would not even let this slow him down, not in the slightest, let alone bring him down his knees. Oh no.

It was your gentle offer; a soft touch of a hand, a sweet promise, a confession and a plea on your lips.

“Let me help, love.”

A gaze of mutual affection exchanged; a kiss to his lips to seal the deal with tenderness you knew your might have to abandon if you wanted to help set his body right.

It was a little funny.

The huge hunk of supersoldier muscle, turned into a puddle of a man under your touch. You treated him with as much skill as you would any other client or a patient of yours, if perhaps with a little softer care and with considerably less professionalism.

Obviously, Steve was not your usual client or patient; Steve Rogers was infinitely much more to you. The love radiating from the depth of your heart turned tangible in his proximity; undeniably present in your touch, be it your hands or your lips trying to sooth the pain, be it you straddling his hips which seemed almost absurdly narrow in comparison of the enormity of his shoulders, be it your words of affection or gentle teasing.

Obviously, Steve was not your usual client or patient; most of those who came in specifically with a pulled muscle were there because they had been helping a friend moving furniture, overestimated themselves in a gym, or snapped their head to the side too fast.

Your boyfriend of almost one year, on the other hand, had pulled a muscle when lifting a goddamn car off of someone to whose rescue he had rushed to.

Pressing against the knot, gently but firmly enough to make Steve groan – a sound of complaint bleeding into one of gratitude as you gradually released the pressure – you allowed the piece of information about him having practically lifted a car wash over you again, the astonishment at absurdity and curiosity of life fresh as if it was something entirely new to you.

But it wasn’t. It most definitely wasn’t the first time you had been confronted with this part of who Steve was. It wasn’t the first time you were confronted with how much the serum had enhanced his strength and possibly stubbornness, with what he did for living and how, or with the insistent calling in his very soul to help and serve and be nothing but a profoundly good man. It was hardly the first time and yet you guessed it would never cease to amaze you.

His good heart and his kind soul. His brilliant mind and his incredible body. A man all strong and resilient, but not invincible, not unbreakable.

And perhaps that was where the laugh was coming from – the reason why you couldn’t quite help yourself but tease him, why you couldn’t quite stop giggling.

The relief.

Because Steve Rogers – one of the greatest heroes of your time and the past alike – coming back home with only a pulled muscle was nothing short of a miracle, and this was how your strained body and mind expressed the utter, overwhelming relief coursing your veins.

Because Steve came home. Home to you.

Another day, another save.

Another day he could have caught a knife to his gut or to his neck. Another day he could have caught a bullet an inch from his heart or straight through. Another day he could have been taken and tortured for information or for the twisted fun of hurting Captain America.

None of that had happened.

Instead, it was another day Steve came home to you in one piece. Even if tired and with a pulled muscle.

You’d count your blessings, over and over, more so since you knew how and why he had pulled that muscle; gold of heart and dumb of ass, he couldn’t have waited for someone to come help him, not when the man who had been pinned under a damn car was so clearly and understandably in pain.

Steve’s mind was a brilliant thing, coming up with impenetrable strategies, with a plan B for the plan B and with a plan C and D just in case, carefully predicting outcomes and calculating risks; sometimes he just got bad at math when calculating risks for himself when he couldn’t bear seeing others suffer.

You loved him for it; you hated it. You were still coming to terms with it, still learning to accept and believe that he damn-well meant it when he said he would always fight tooth and nail to come back to you.

And he’d let you, even if the first time you had met had certainly not been the case. Not with him having been dragged in, after having his knee busted in a fight, arguing that he did not need anyone’s help, because he was enhanced by the supersoldier serum and his body had always healed on its own. You wouldn’t have it; you had met all the unwilling patients and sceptics. So you took one glance at the man who had literally dragged him in – his best friend, Bucky Barnes, seemingly more exhausted by his attitude than by the fact he had been carrying a significant weight of the huge pile of muscle Steve Rogers was – and then took another look at the man behind the shield himself, before you listed all the muscles, tendons and bones that would have begged him to differ in reaction to such claim.

To this day, you were not quite sure whether it had been your knowledge or your ability to simply not have his attitude that had impressed him more, but later you would find out his attitude was more about him feeling like others needed your help more than him and less about him questioning your field or expertise. That had mattered to you; what mattered also was that Bucky was never going to let you or Steve live your so-called meet-cute down, claiming he knew right away Steve had fallen in love the very second.

So you’d count your blessing and you’d let yourself feel whatever came, and you’d let yourself be consumed by the love with gratitude and thirst for life as it was.

You let yourself laugh again even as Steve grumbled under you, muttering something about maybe deserving it. You appreciated the self-awareness. You appreciated him.

You smiled as you let your hands roam with purpose, warm touch mapping out his pains and still taking moments to caress and indulge in exploring his body, cherishing the beautiful view of the expanse of his back and the feel of his strength yielding to your care with endless trust.

“I feel a little less treated and little more objectified at this point,” he muttered, a smile evident in his voice even before your gaze flickered to his face, now turned to side as he rested his cheek on the back of his hand.

One corner of your lips rose higher, barely a flicker of shame in your chest. You’d never violate a patient or a client like that; but you’d also never miss a chance to feel closer to Steve, miss a chance to touch him, to cherish the contact and to make him feel loved.

“Is there a complaint you’d like to submit, sir?” you questioned, a wide smile setting on your lips as he hummed in disapproval.

Still, you finished the treatment with a last few strokes that were indeed more of a gentle closing than anything else, climbed off of him and pulled the blanket over his naked back to keep the muscles warm.

He blinked his eyes open as you sat by his side on the bed, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

The second he reached out his hand to hold you, you clicked your tongue disapprovingly, making him huff but obediently stop his progress.

“You know the rules, Steve. Stay still for a bit, let the body process. I’ll bring you some fluids.”

He sighed, squinting at you with adorable defiance. “I do know… I don’t have like it. Maybe just a minor complaint then.”

You grinned, leaning closer to him on the pillow, feeling your heart tremble in thorough warmth as he observed you with sleepy intent and a look closest to adoration you had ever seen.

“What’s that, Captain Rogers?” you whispered conspiratorially.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

You relaxed into the mattress, shoulders slumping, heart a second from melting as the lightest and most delightful feeling spread through your veins, a rush so powerful it almost chased tears into your eyes.

To care and be cared for; to love and be loved, so utterly you had never believed it possible until you met Steve Rogers, most certainly the love of your life.

Reaching out, your fingertips lightly caressed his cheek, his eyelids slipping shut; you brushed over the arches of his brows, over the slope of his nose, over his lips – instantly pursing for a light kiss to your fingers – and caressed his scalp, only to meet his gaze again, so tender you felt something inside your soul shift and shudder in pure happiness.

“I know you will when I need it,” you assured him, bringing a ghost of a smile to his face. “And I’m pretty sure that’s the idea. That we’re supposed to be taking care of each other, love.”

A sparkle lit up his tired eyes, his smile turning positively goofy.

“I like that,” he whispered.

“Good,” you said, pressing another kiss to his forehead and climbing to your feet. “Now be a good patient and stay still for a bit, just like everyone else… no matter how special you are to me.”

“Mmm, if you say so… I love you.”

You fought the urge to lie next to him, reminding yourself that if you got him fluids now, you could lie with him and bask in his warmth later and with no interruptions.

“I love you too, Steve.”

By the time you got back, hands clean of the essential oil and full with a mug of tea and a tall glass of water, you found him fast asleep, still on his front, arms hugging his pillow.

Not bothering to fight off your smile this time, you set the mug on the nightstand, tucked the blanket higher to his chin and climbed up to the bed to sit and prop up on the headboard.

You reached for the engagement ring you had taken off for the massage first and put it back where it belonged, and only then for your half-read book, gaze once more flickering to man who had stolen your heart and would never give it back.

Attention divided, you read; but mainly you kept your future husband company, watching over his peaceful and more than deserved sleep.

Because that was what you were supposed to do; watch over each other, look out for one another, and take care of each other.

And in a few months, you’d promise to continue doing that with love for the rest of your lives, swearing so in front of your friends and families.

Lips pressing to heated skin; to entice, to sooth the burning.

Fingertips dancing over strained muscles. Body arching into the touch.

A silent blissful keen escaping.

A sinful whisper.

“Aww, is that the spot, love?” he teased, every syllable dripping off his lips rich and heady like honey, and even with your eyes fluttered shut, you could see his beautifully wicked smile, the spark in his eyes that shone dark, lit alive in a way that was reserved for you; and only for you. “Does it feel good right there?"

You recognized the echo of your own words, Steve’s voice coloured with sweet vindication. He knew exactly what he was doing and he revelled in it; you would protest and complained again if your lips remembered how to speak beyond Steve’s name and breathless pleas. You would protest if you truly wanted to and he would stop in an instant. You would protest if your hands were not literally tied.

Again, unlike your other patients, all Steve had needed was your skilled touch and a good rest. A few hours of sleep, Erskine’s serum working its magic and he had been good to go; perhaps not for another mission, not for a training session, but for repaying your service with love and adoration and desire.

Hugging your middle after waking up, resting his head over your thigh, he had sent a single glance up at you and you had very well forgotten what you had been reading.

He had kissed your palms in thank you, one and then the other, lingering with his gaze and his lips, and you had already been forgetting your own name.

He had pressed a kiss to your wrists, wrapping them in satin like a precious gift, smiling as he had to ruck up the sleeves of his very shirt you had chosen to wear to bed to do so.

He had ghosted his lips over your fingertips as he tied your wrists to the headboard, making sure you rested your hands, the most important asset for your work; conveniently putting your engagement ring on display for him to see at all times while doing so.

He had met your lips in a kiss so sultry you barely caught your breath, before they strayed over every inch of newly revealed skin as he unbuttoned the shirt, lingering in all his and your favourite places, hands roaming, caressing, holding, owning.

You arched against his mouth when he reached his prize, forearm draping over your middle, keeping you grounded as he lifted you towards the stars once, almost for the second time, until his fingers joined to show off his own talented touch and to bring you to the brink of madness.

“Did not quite catch that, sweetheart,” he muttered to the burning skin of your inner thigh, rendering you speechless with his tongue before you could catch your wits and answer. “I suppose I should try again…”

“Steve-“

“Right here, love… give me one more. Let me take care of you… you said you knew I would take care of you when you’d need it, didn’t you? Do you need it now, love?”

Steven Grant Rogers, you little shit- was the thought that flew through your head so fast you couldn’t hope to catch it let alone verbalize it. Not with how your head was beginning to spin when his lips, his hands, his wicked tongue and seemingly innocent filthy talk carried by his deep voice overwhelmed your senses and chased you higher and closer to your peak with every passing torturous second.

“Yes-“ was what actually spilled from your lips breathily, followed by a keen of please.

“Then be good and stay still.”

Steve’s dark mischievous gaze met yours, the erotic sight of him between your legs, wide shoulders barely fitting, with his palm sprawled to your belly and seemingly enjoying himself thoroughly was your undoing, along with things he did and you could not hope to put into words; not when your vision whited out with a cry of his name and wave of numbing bliss washing over you and pulling you under.

You were trying to catch your breath as he let you ride out your high, firm, wet languid kisses pressed to your thighs, your stomach, your breasts with just a graze of teeth to both increase your pleasure and to satisfy the man who loved to get lost in exploring your body and consuming you whole.

When his lips finally met yours again, you did not care you still hadn’t quite earned enough oxygen, whimpering against the demanding kiss as Steve’s fingers curled just to press at the spot again, while he casually rested his weight on his elbow, left hand interlacing his fingers with yours to feel the ring he had slipped on your finger just a few weeks ago.

“Love you so much, sweetheart. Love seeing you like this, so beautiful, so blissed out and so, so mine…” he whispered, voice hoarse as if he had been the one to crying out in ecstasy.

“I love you too, Steve.”

Instinctively moving to touch him, to keep him closer, you tugged at the soft fabric around your wrists, huffing in frustration when all you could do was squeeze Steve’s hand tighter.

“Hands, love?” you pleaded, arching your body against his, hovering too high for your taste even when your bare chest brushed his, your body drinking hungrily the heat which his own was radiating. “Want to touch you.”

“Anything for you, love.”

As thoroughly distracting as his lips were, pressing back to yours as he blindly loosened the knots, your hands sprang the moment you were free, sighing as the utter delight at holding onto your lover flooded every cell of your body, fingers raking through his hair, digging into his back to pull his closer to your embrace.

His lips eased the pressure, nose bumping yours, fingertips brushing your cheek tenderly, his smile as sweet as sinful, and when you blinked your eyes open, you couldn’t but bask in the blinding light of adoration shining in Steve’s blown pupils.

“You alright, sweetheart? Can you take more?”

The question nor the concern were new; yet they tasted as lovely as Steve’s smile when he leaned in to kiss you again.

You ran your hand down the lovely expanse of his back, pressing to meet his hardness, a wordless agreement.

“Yes, just… be careful.”

Steve’s lips parted from yours with a wet pop, genuine worry instantly overtaking his features, his weight easing from your body – almost making you regret what you were about to say when he’d inevitably ask-

“Are you hurting? Did I do anything-“

“I’m fine, Stevie…” you assured him, brushing a lose strand away from his forehead, smoothening the crease that formed there, your wildly pounding heart shivering from his tender care for you, his consideration, his willingness to walk away from chasing his own pleasure and just hold you should you wish so for whatever reason.

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, his frown only deepening with disapproval as he probably thought you were about to downplay whatever it was that bothered you, what he had done to hurt you or was causing you pain – like Mr. Hypocrite, your softest, biggest love.

“No need to worry, Steve. I just want you to be careful, you know… you might pull a muscle and need medical and fluids after.”

A beat of silence, bated breaths.

And then you were bursting out with laughter at Steve’s scandalized expression, the sound blending into a yelp as he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you to the air. He stood up in a whirlwind of a movement, spinning you until your back hit the wall, blow softened by his palm while his other moved under your bottom, fingers digging to your flesh, pinning you to the hard surface by his hips, his chest, and mainly by his lips crashing against yours, stealing the laughter from you very lungs, drinking your love from the very bottom of your heart.

He nipped at your bottom lip, hips bucking against yours, his voice a sultry promise you couldn’t wait for him to make good on; for all the teasing, you knew that indeed, your Steve would have caring for you at the forefront of his mind. You could feel his love undeniably present in his touch, be it his hands or his lips, be it his words of affection or the gentle, exhilarating threats:

“Oh just you wait, love… we’ll see who’ll need what after I’m done with you… I was so well-taken care of by my future wife, I think I want to start training for our wedding night. And sweetheart,” he whispered, warm breath brushing your ear, “I think it’s time we try to push our record to double digits.”

As a shudder ran down your spine like a livewire, your heart jumping to your throat with how your blissed-out mind scrambled to try to imagine that, you let your body sink into his, counted your blessing, and let yourself feel whatever was about to come.

You let yourself be consumed by love with gratitude and thirst for life as it was.

Complete masterlist

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May November be kind to you💕

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gravehags · 7 months ago

Text

unholy, unholy, unholy

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: the ministry being the catholic church's evil twin, manipulation, masturbation, confession, copia lowkey being a desperate little sex freak my beloved

Words: 5,153

Summary: You really walked right into this, you tell yourself. You can't even be mad at Copia for suggesting it.

a/n: can't believe the last thing i wrote for these losers was at christmas...damn. anyway you know how i like my non-chronological shit so this takes place somewhere in between take me apart and satan baby. i'm not done making these two dance around their feelings just yet.

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

“Jesus fucking Christ Almighty.”

You slam your office door shut with your hip and Cardinal Copia turns to look at you from his seat.

“Need help?”

With a grunt and a shake of your head you walk past him and set the bag of food down on your desk, heaving a deep sigh.

“Had to go on a fucking scavenger hunt because the goddamn DoorDash driver left the bag with a maintenance worker, who gave it to one of Terzo’s ghouls, who left it in a stairwell for some reason…don’t ask me how I managed to find it because fuck if I know.”

Dramatically you flop into your desk chair and give your lunch companion a look as he begins to sort out your meals with a smile.

“You know you eh…take the Lord’s name in vain quite a bit for someone who wasn’t raised in religion.”

When he passes your container of Pad see ew to you, you grin.

“Ehhh you know, the perils of being raised in a predominantly Christian society. It’s funny, the first time I said ‘Jesus Christ’ I was maybe…I don’t know nine? Ten? And my mom tersely told me ‘don’t say that’ to which I replied ‘why not?’ I don’t think she knew how to answer that question in a way that would make me care, you know? I had gone all my little life not giving a shit about Jesus, why would I now?”

Copia chuckles and cracks open his own takeaway box.

“Ah cara, you continue to stray further and further from God’s light every day. Thank Sathanas for that, hmm?”

With a smile, you clink your soda can against his and dig into your meal.

“You ever think about how fascinating your religion is, Copia?”

You prop your feet up on your desk as Copia delicately picks noodles out of his box with chopsticks.

“Eh, how do you mean?”

“Like…you’re a Satanic cardinal. You’ve sworn your life to uphold the tenets of Satanism. You…we live at a massive complex dedicated to Satan. One of many complexes throughout the world, apparently. And yet, barely anyone knows of the Ministry’s existence. It’s wild, really.”

He makes a thoughtful noise as he chews on a particularly crunchy piece of bok choy.

“Ah, well,” he begins, setting his chopsticks down and reaching for the soda resting on the desk, “we’re trying to change that. In…subtle ways.”

“Mmm, the Ghost project.”

“Sì, the idea is we use Papa to spread our message through music - something that is accessible to many people.”

“With the hopes that you and your evil brethren can dominate the globe?” you say, scrunching your nose playfully and giving him a big wink.

“Something like that,” he smiles wryly.

“Well I’ve listened to some of the project’s music and I gotta say…big fan. I think your sinister subliminal messaging is working on me.”

“Oh?” he asks, setting down his food in order to cross his legs and give you a curious stare. “Tell me more, cara. Do I have a future sister of sin on my hands?”

You close your eyes and laugh, missing the hungry way the Cardinal watches the line of your throat as your head tilts back.

“Maybe…let’s just say I’m intrigued. How could I not be when I’m surrounded by it all the time?”

He nods, resting a gloved hand on his knee and straightening his cassock.

“Perhaps…”

You fix him with a look you know will make him lose his train of thought for a moment. Positively wicked.

“Perhaps…?”

“Perhaps,” he clears his throat, eyes darting away from yours, “you would like to attend one of our services?”

You nod gamely.

“Is a super cool and hip youth pastor going to tell me about the ways the Devil cares about me unconditionally?”

He rolls his eyes and fixes you with an unamused stare.

“Very funny, dolcezza. Would you prefer that I have you sit with Papa Nihil while he explains the history of the Emeritus bloodline?”

You balk. The wizened Papa had a distinct dislike of you for some odd reason. You often wonder how he manages to give you such dirty looks through his cloudy eyes. You didn’t particularly care, however, as you saw the way he constantly brushed off and mistreated Copia during staff meetings. Nihil irked you to no end, no matter how much Sister Imperator liked him.

“Alright, fine, sorry. I only jest to get a rise out of you, I know how important your religion is to you. And hey, anything that has the drama and aesthetics of the Catholic Church without all the guilt and trauma has my full attention. Please don’t be mad.”

He grunts but you see the way his mustache twitches as he fights back a smile. You flutter your eyelashes a little and in a moment of boldness, take your lower lip between your teeth. The way his mismatched eyes dart to your mouth and his jaw hangs open makes you giddy.

“I’m–,” his voice comes out as a hoarse rasp, “I forgive you, cara.”

“Thank you for absolving me of my sins, Your Eminence.”

He has to know you’re doing this on purpose at this point. You’re not sure what has gotten into you today but something about the way he stares at you now makes you want to grab him by his pellegrina and haul him over your desk for a sloppy kiss. There’s a heavy tension between the two of you, not for the first time, as if all one of you needs to do is take a step forward and all hell would break loose.

“So, you want me to go to a service? What like black mass? Unholy baptism? Virgin sacrifice?”

The spell is broken and briefly your swagger flickers, wondering if you’ve crossed a line.

“Eh, maybe someday but your statement about sin made me think…perhaps confession would be more suited to you?”

Now your jaw falls open and you can feel your cheeks light up as he watches you with a smirk toying at the corners of his mouth. The tables have turned and now you’re the one left speechless.

“O-oh?” you ask, voice a little higher than normal, “so if Catholic confession is about getting your sins forgiven, then Satanic confession is…having your sins…celebrated?”

“Corretto,” he says with a generous nod, “we’ll go through each one in ah…intimate detail.”

“We?” you squeak out, stomach dropping severely, “I hadn’t realized that you would be presiding.”

“Oh sì,” he says, the smirk on his face positively devilish, “although if you’d prefer someone else…”

“No,” you say just a little too quickly, your heart pounding, “I…I don’t know how much sinning I really get up to. I’ll probably bore you to tears.”

“You might be surprised, dolcezza,” Christ the nickname sounds devious on his lips right now, “What is it they say? ‘Still waters run deep’?”

Your laugh comes out just a little too loud and unnatural and you kick yourself.

“Ha…right. We…we should probably get back to this cataloging or Sister Imperator is going to publicly execute me.”

The rest of the afternoon proceeds normally, with the two of you diligently organizing the abbey’s collection of illuminated manuscripts. When you finally part, he gives you the date, time, and directions to the chapel where the confession booth is located.

“Cara,” he murmurs as you begin to walk away, “you don’t have to do this.”

You give him a half-smile and shake your head.

“I think it will be good for me,” you say, hands behind your back as you rock onto your heels, “and besides, how could I say no to spending an evening with you?”

You make sure not to turn away until you see the full breadth of his dazed expression and by the time your back is to him and you’re walking away, there’s a loopy grin on your face. It’s not til you turn the corner and reach the staircase to your quarters the full realization of what you’ve agreed to dawns upon you.

Oh fuck.

You don’t see Copia the next two days between his duties and your own and for that you’re extremely thankful. The date of your confession has arrived and you’re equal parts nauseated and exhilarated. Having never gone to confession of any sort before, you’re not entirely sure what to expect. You’re not ignorant - you’ve seen confession scenes in the media and have heard from friends raised in Catholicism - but what little you do know doesn’t assuage your anxiety. This was Satanic confession. A whole different beast. Your mind conjures images of blood rituals and sacrifices and being on your knees before Copia…his gloved hand tilting your chin upwards to look at him…

Christ Almighty, get your shit together.

You desperately try to, as you sternly told yourself, get your shit together but your mind is clouded the rest of your workday with positively sinful scenes of the two of you. You’re particularly fond of the one where he’s got you in his office, your skirt hiked up over your hips as you bend over his desk and he pushes himself inside you from behind. The thought of his voice in your head, calling you his sweet little nicknames as he fucks into you, makes you practically drip. The final two hours in your office are torture before you’re able to skitter back to your rooms. You’re not meeting with Copia for another few hours and you need to do something about the ache between your thighs. Impatiently, you fumble for the buttons on your blouse with one hand while pushing your skirt off with another. You must look a sight, ripping your bra off and flinging it somewhere on the floor, but all you can think about now is getting to your bed. You almost trip twice in the journey to your room, blindly stumbling over and flinging yourself on the mattress. What has gotten into you? You’ve been horny before, about Copia sure, but this? The way you’re practically whining when your hands meet your bare breasts? You feel positively feral.

“Copia,” you breathe, fingers pinching at your nipples. You imagine his hands on you, the way the leather would warm as he strokes your soft skin.

Dolcezza.

Fuck, you can hear it perfectly and it makes you sigh, one of your hands slowly sliding down your body to cup the heat of you. You’re sopping and time feels like it slows as you spread yourself open and slide two fingers against your engorged clit. All of your frantic rushing from earlier ceases as you twitch under your own touch, his name on your lips. You’re so sensitive right now it barely takes anything to bring you over the edge, but, you think as your orgasm wanes, it’s not quite enough. Taking a slow exhale in you slip your fingers lower and tease at your entrance. The digits glide in easily enough with the abundance of slick coming from you and languorously you begin to pump them in and out. Your eyes slide shut and you imagine it’s his dexterous fingers instead, curling inside you so you can feel every stitch and groove of his glove.

Cara mia, he’d murmur into your ear, so wet for me. So sweet for your Cardinal, eh? You honor me.

The whimpers crawling out of your mouth are getting more frequent and higher in pitch - you know you’re close. You bring your palm flat against yourself to push on your clit as your hips continue to make little circles, driving your fingers deeper in. Your hand is aching but it doesn’t stop you from pulling another orgasm out of yourself, chanting his name. Tears pool in your eyes and slide down your temples as you sob aloud and all of a sudden it’s too much. Your body spasms on the duvet, breath coming in harsh pants as you attempt to slow the thundering of your heart. It’s not the first time you’ve touched yourself to the thought of him, by any means, but something feels…different. More charged. You’re exhausted, bone tired as you try to organize your feelings. Reaching a hand up to rub your face you turn over and look at the clock.

5:32 PM

Your eyelids are heavy but you manage to lean over the side of your bed and locate your phone to set an alarm. Some sleep would do you good. Clear your head.

You don’t dream.

—------

Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo.

Copia paces back and forth in the small, dimly lit (romantically lit, some would say) chapel. The last sibling of the evening just left and now all that remains is…you. He barely heard what the siblings were telling him this evening, so anxious was he and caught up in the thought of you soon being in their position. More than once his vision went blurry as he imagined you a breath away, separated only by the decorative wooden screen.

He was so eager for you to walk through that door, now he’s not sure. With a heavy sigh through his nose he looks down at his watch.

6:58 PM

You’re always punctual and he counts on tonight being no different. Resigned to his fate, he shuffles over to the confession booth and opens the door, slotting himself inside. Shit, his ass hurts from the hard bench, why in fuck’s name had they not added a cushion to this side like there was on the other? He’s grumbling to himself in Italian when he hears the chapel door squeak open and firmly shut. Your soft footsteps approach - you must be wearing your sneakers and not your boots for the distinct clacking sound he usually hears from you has vanished. He sucks in a breath when he hears you open your side of the booth and quietly shut it. There’s a silence between the two of you so profound that when you finally speak he jumps.

“Hey. You’re in there right?”

He makes a loud, vague noise and sees your shoulders drop through the screen. He can’t get a read on your expression but the anxiety in the air has softened with your posture.

“Good evening,” he begins, a little stiffly. “Eh, welcome.”

You breathe out heavy through your nose.

“Copia, is this a good idea?”

He pauses and looks down to pull at a loose thread on his cuff.

“Are…are you nervous, cara?”

You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

“Yeah, I’m fucking nervous! I’ve never even been to a regular confession let alone…this.”

“Well, we begin with the ceremonial bloodletting and–”

“Oh fuck off,” you grouse, flicking the screen that separates you. You fall silent after a moment.

“Cara, are you truly that anxious? Because we don’t have to do any–”

“I’m fine, Copia. Really. I don’t know why I'm so worked up. Fear of the unknown, I suppose,” you clear your throat and hears you crack your neck.

“Bene. Shall I go over the process with you? And remember this is a celebration. No shaming. No guilt. No wrong answers.”

You take a deep breath in and he sees you nod.

“I will start with the blessing and then we will go through the seven cardinal sins one by one. You may describe yours as briefly or lengthy as you like and we will venerate them. Once we have finished, I will close with a blessing. Then we will part. Nothing to be nervous about, eh? Are you ready?”

“Yes, please.”

“Very good,” he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. “In nomine Padre, et Filio, et lo Spiritus Malum…we welcome this most sacred sinner into your embrace that she may revel in her transgressions against God.”

When he addresses you by name, he sees you jump.

“Let us begin with the Original Sin - pride.”

“Okay. Yeah. Pride.” There’s a few seconds of silence before he hears you softly curse. “Sorry, I should have made a list or something.”

“Take your time,” he says with a smile, simply content to be in your presence, “I have nowhere to be, cara. I am right here, ready when you are.”

He can see your eyelashes flutter as you look down and your cheeks bunch in a soft smile. Although mostly obscured, the sight still makes his heart soar. After a minute or so of silence you speak.

“Oh! Okay, uh pride. Well I was going to tell you about this anyway but…you know that little write-up I did of Satanic art in the time of the Counter-Reformation?”

“Naturalmente, it was superb.”

“Thank you. Well I thought it was too so I submitted it to a journal for publishing…and they accepted it.”

He can practically hear your grin and it makes him beam in return.

“Cara mia! Congratulazioni! You deserve nothing less! Although I hope you do not consider it a sin to rightfully celebrate an occasion such as this?”

You sigh.

“Ah, I don’t know. I may have bragged a bit too much to other people in the field. Felt a little too self-satisfied about it. So I think that would count, right?”

He scoffs.

“To Papa Frankie, maybe. To us it is a well-deserved acknowledgement of your hard work and something you have every right to be proud of. Dolcezza, even if you hesitate to celebrate yourself, know that I always will do so for you. Published in a journal, well done cara.”

He may not be able to see it in the low light of the confessional but he can picture your flushed cheeks perfectly in his mind.

“Anything else you would like to say on the matter?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Are you ready for the next?”

“Yes,” you say, with greater confidence, “let’s continue.”

“Onto the next. Envy.”

“Ah,” you seem to deflate a little and his brows knit together, “well about that. This…wow this is embarrassing.”

“No such thing as embarrassing at this moment. It’s a safe space, remember?”

“Right,” you huff, “okay well here it goes then. I see the sisters of sin every day walking around the corridors, working in the library, in the dining hall and…I envy them. I envy their bold confidence in their appearance and their sexuality.”

He’s silent for a moment, weighing whether or not he should say what he’s thinking. But you deserve to hear this.

“Confidence is not only represented by eh, wearing short skirts and high heels. I see you exude it every day when you’re bossing me around, no?”

You bark out a laugh and it lightens his heart.

“Truth be told,” he sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m not the best person to be taking advice on confidence from. But I know how to recognize it and I see it in you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur so softly he thinks he might have made it up, “can we move on?”

“Si,” he says before clearing his throat, “next one is wrath.”

He hears you suck in a breath through your teeth.

“Oh, I’ve got a good one for this. Well…not good. It wasn’t my best moment. But it definitely fits the bill.”

He makes a noise prompting you to continue.

“You know that new painting that Sister Imperator got at auction? The one of Lilith and Faust? It arrived last week and she asked me to oversee its unboxing. I told all the siblings working with me that once the box was open the painting was to be handled with archival gloves. I had to step out of the room for a second to talk to the head librarian and when I came back…not a glove to be found and the painting was halfway out of its crate. Copia I…I lost my shit. You know me I-I don’t get mad. But the fact that they had disregarded my instruction and got their bare fingers on that canvas, then acted ignorant about the whole thing…Christ, Copia I saw red. I don’t even remember half of what I yelled at them. I had to walk out before I did something I would regret. God, I already regretted raising my voice. I didn’t report them to Sister Imperator but she found out somehow…maybe the librarian? I don’t know what their punishment was but I haven’t seen them since. Copia, it was awful. I was awful.”

“With good reason,” he replies promptly, “they should have respected your authority as a professional in the field and by not doing so not only did they potentially damage Ministry property, but they also embarrassed themselves. Idioti. Though I would have liked to have seen you all riled up.” A confession of his own - Sathanas would he have loved to see you flying at them like a demon, your claws sharp and your words sharper. The thought sends a shiver of arousal down his spine and he takes a moment to gather himself before speaking again.

“Is that all you wish to say?”

“Yes. Can we please move on?”

“Very well. Next is sloth.”

You’re silent for a moment and his heart sinks, hoping you’re not dwelling too much on your last confession. He opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“Sloth, yeah. I, uh,” you let out a giggle and he’s relieved to hear it, “none of these can get me in trouble with Sister Imperator, right?”

“No,” he says slowly, a grin curling his lips, “this is just between us.”

“Okay good. Do you remember a couple weeks back when I texted you that I wasn’t coming in because I was having a migraine?”

“Sì…”

“I was lying,” the words blurt out of you in a rush but you sound almost gleeful about it, “I was so fucking tired and so cozy in bed and it was raining outside…I just couldn’t do it. Stayed under the covers all day watching Ghost Adventures.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he playfully chides, and he can see your shoulders shake with laughter, “Signorina I am stunned. Horrified, even–”

“Oh it’s not that bad.”

“Horrified…that you didn’t tell me so I could join you. I love those ghost hunting shows.”

Your laugh makes him smile in return, “Next time we’ll play hooky together, I promise.”

He sighs deeply. “Please. I could use it.”

“I know,” you murmur, “no one in this abbey works as hard as you do.”

“Grazie, tesoro. I appreciate your kindness.”

You make a warm noise of affirmation before speaking, “What’s next?”

“Gluttony.”

“Oh Christ,” you cringe, head falling forward, “Maybe…about a month ago? Primo came by my rooms and handed me a Tupperware container of brownies. Told me to eat one per sitting with a sweet old man smile on his face. I’m not an idiot, I heard what he grows in the abbey gardens but my God the stink that came off of these things. I knew I was about to get my shit rocked. So I ate my designated brownie and just puttered around, cleaning up the kitchen. All of a sudden, I’m flat on the floor in front of my fan having an out of body experience. I don’t know how long I was lying there for but by the time I hauled myself up I was so hungry I thought I was losing it. Went through a box of cereal, a sleeve of Ritz crackers, and the next thing I knew I was in the papas’ kitchen making a bag of popcorn. Don’t remember getting there and don’t remember coming back up to my rooms but the next morning I was tucked in bed. So weird.”

He chuckles nervously as if he wasn’t the one to find you wandering the kitchens stoned out of your gourd and put you there.

“Ha yes…weird. That’s…that’s all you remember?”

“Mmhmm. Talk about the devil’s lettuce. Was pissed I didn’t have any cereal the next morning, though.”

“Let’s move onto the next, hmm?” He’s a little louder than necessary but you don’t question his suspicious behavior.

“Yeah sure. Hit me.”

“Eh, greed.”

“Hmm,” you ponder and he hears the back of your head thunk against the wood of the booth. “Damn, this is a hard one.”

“It usually is, funnily enough. You can always skip it, if you like.”

“No, no, no,” you say, leaning forward, “I’m trying to get the full set, let me cook.”

That actually makes him laugh out loud. How he adores you so.

“Greed, greed, greed,” you mutter to yourself, “Ah…greed would include covetousness, yeah?”

“Mmm, is there something or perhaps…someone you have been coveting?”

It’s a leading question and he knows this as he hears your breath quicken. It’s at this point in his fantasies where you confess your adoration for him, where he flees the confines of his side of the booth to fall to his knees before you and worship you as Sathanas intended. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he tastes the bitter tang of his paints which distracts him for a moment when he hears you say–

“Yes. There is someone.”

The silence is deafening between the two of you and his heart thuds against his ribcage, desperate for you reach over and tear it from his chest. He flexes his hands, the leather squeaking as the both of you sit with the words.

“O-oh?” he finally manages to stutter. He can see your eyes are shut and hears you loudly swallow.

“I, um,” you begin, “yeah. There is someone I’ve wanted for…a long time. I…I think he–I mean they–might reciprocate but…”

Tell her, you fool.

“Can we do the next one, actually?” your voice is so painfully soft and his stomach drops. She is doing you a kindness, his brain cruelly provides, by not telling you of who she truly wants. A sibling, perhaps. Or perhaps…one of your fratelli. The thought pains him so he nearly doubles over on himself as if being punched in the gut. Pride, envy, wrath, sloth, gluttony, greed.

Lust.

He’s startled by the sound of his own voice and you are too judging from the way you twitch. From his obscured view you look positively horrified, as if you had forgotten about this one.

“I haven’t been with anyone,” you blurt out, sounding both panicked and deeply embarrassed. He hardly recognizes his own voice as he responds with uncharacteristic calmness.

“Lustful acts…do not always have to involve another person.”

Now why the fuck would he say that? He can see your eyes widen and even in the dim light of the confessional he registers the violent blush on your cheeks.

“Oh I…oh.”

You raise a hand up to rub aggressively at your face, breathing deep.

“In that case, yes,” you finally say and his gut clenches, “I have indulged in the sin of lust.”

“A-about the person you covet?” He’s pushing it but he can’t help himself, can’t help the hope that simmers in his belly and makes his pants tighten.

“Mmm…mhmm,” you respond and you open your mouth to speak but hesitate. When you finally do, there’s a new tone to your voice - something low. Sensual.

“It’s…good. Fuck it’s good. When I think about them I-I go a little insane. I want them so fucking badly and it’s so easy to think about them and what they could do to me. What I would let them do to me.”

His fist flies to his mouth to stifle the whine that threatens to escape from him and his cock throbs underneath his cassock. He can feel your eyes on him, see your lips parted and it makes him lightheaded. Focus. Focus. Go over there and fuck her against this goddamned confessional. Focus.

“Sathanas bless you, tesoro,” he finally ekes out, his voice hoarse, “in celebrating your body a-and your desire you have made Him proud. Well done.”

A beat passes until you clear your throat. He thinks if he doesn’t tend to his dick soon he’s going to pass out.

“That’s all of them then, right? Got the full set?”

“Mmhmm. You can go if you like.”

“Didn’t you say there’s another blessing at the end?”

Satan damn your ability to vex him when he needs relief…and you…the most.

“Eh, yes. In nomine Padre, et Filio, e-et lo Spiritus Malum,” Cazzo what was the rest of it? “Ah…Sathanas bless this most sacred sinner for reveling in her transgressions against God. Nema.”

“Cool, well uh. Goodnight Copia. This has been…enlightening.”

“It certainly has,” he mutters under his breath, fingers itching to adjust his bulge. He’s not sure if you heard him or not because in an instant you’ve opened the booth and skittered down the nave to the door. He doesn’t breathe again until he hears you firmly shut it behind you and within seconds he’s fumbling for the hem of his cassock. He knows the likelihood that you were talking about him is slim but simply entertaining the thought that it could be has him unzipping his pants with vicious determination. When his cock finally, blessedly meets leather he could cry with relief. He knows he’s dribbling pre on himself but he doesn’t care - all that matters is the way you sounded confessing your lustful actions to him and how it drives his fist back and forth. Oh, how sweet you were. Tempting even when you weren’t trying to be. How he would revel in ruining you. The thought makes him double over, his unoccupied hand pressed against the wall of the booth in an attempt to stabilize himself. When he thinks of you eagerly spreading yourself open for him a broken moan escapes his lips, hips rutting upwards into his grip. What sweet little noises you would make - right there, Copia, please, that’s it - your body eager to yield to his touch.

“Dolcezza,” he grits out, “ragazza perfetta mia. S-so good–ah–for y-your Cardinal.”

His hand is a blur as it rockets along his shaft and he grunts into the silent chapel. He thinks of you looking up at him with that heart-shatteringly kind look on your face, your lips in a soft smile and he cries out, his seed painting his grucifix in desperate spurts. His mind is fuzzy but his hand doesn’t slow, determined to wrench every last drop out of himself until his head falls back and hits the wood of the booth. Groggily, he puts himself away and lowers his cassock before stumbling out of the confessional. His spend drips onto the stone floor but it matters little - surely it’s not the first that floor has seen. All of a sudden he’s exhausted - feeling every second of his five decades - as he blows out candle after candle. When his task is complete he trudges to the door and rests his forehead on the wood for a moment.

He thinks of your smile once more.

#cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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cas-backwards-tie · 28 days ago

Text

The Graveyard

TF141 x Reader

Summary: A discussion of the Base’s upcoming Halloween celebration leads to the suggestion that Ghost actually participates this year. The question is… will he?

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: None(?)

A/N: for @vikki-tikki-tavii 💕 thanks for the request! This definitely felt appropriate for this time of year. I also meant to keep it on the shorter side but ahhh!!! I got so caught up in their back and forth, and the whole vibe of it all! 🙈 I hope you like it! Divider by @kodaswrld ❤️

“Any hints as to what you’re goin’ as?” Kyle asks Johnny from across the room.

“I’m not tellin’! No doubt you’d try an’ copy me,” Johnny responds.

“Maybe he just doesn’t wanna show up wearing the same costume,” you joke. Watching the way Kyle’s eyebrow quirks in that telltale way you just know he’s getting annoyed, meanwhile Johnny’s got a wicked smirk on his lips that can only mean he’s up to no good.

“Yeah, right,” Kyle scoffs. He turns back to his paperwork, the three of you in the Command Station respectively doing your menial work. It seems whatever conversation Kyle had tried to stir up about Halloween was fruitless, the room quieting as everyone refocuses.

The familiar sound of heavy footfall matched with the faint squeak of sneakers signals who’s approaching. “LT!” Kyle perks up. The work-related focus didn’t last long, you think. God only knows when the paperwork will finally get done. “You celebrating this year?”

“What? Halloween?” Ghost questions, turning to offer the Captain, who’d only just entered with him, a look. The Lieutenant shakes his head.

“I take it you’re looking forward to this year’s party?” John asks, placing down his water bottle on the counter by the doorway. His brow is still covered in sweat, the two senior officers having been scheduled for their quarterly assessment earlier this afternoon.

“What’s not to like? Handing out candy to the kids, seeing their little costumes-” Kyle leans back in his chair starting to list off all the reasons he loves this holiday.

“Still can’t believe I’m the only one who got Chase from Paw Patrol,” Johnny interrupts, muttering under his breath as he crosses his arms and turns to face the doorway, officially joining the conversation.

“Not all of us have nieces,” you quip, sending him a sarcastic look over your shoulder.

“-The costume contest, and the games? I’ve actually been practicing my apple bobbing the past few days. I’m going to win this year, guarantee it!” Kyle continues.

“Scaring the wee ones takes the cake though,” Johnny chimes in. “Surprised you haven’t signed up to volunteer in the graveyard, LT. Figure you’d like dressing up, all considering,” he jokes.

Every year the Base puts on a Halloween celebration for the community, and while there are different stations where volunteers hand out candy, there’s games, contests, and of course, the makeshift graveyard. It’s akin to that of a haunted house, only, it’s outside, and decorated in mostly lame attempted cardboard headstones, plastic ghosts, and bats. The fog machine certainly adds an eerie element, but what makes it are the volunteers who sign up. While it’s technically only another station to hand out candy, some of the soldiers like to add to the ambiance and scare the people walking through. Johnny definitely seems the type.

Unconsciously, a shocked look crosses your features. Johnny might not be wrong to think so, but to say it?! To Ghost’s face? Oh, hell no. While you look back at Johnny over to Ghost, you find you aren’t the only one shocked. John’s eyes are a little wider than usual, but no one comments.

“Yeah, and what should I go as?” The response from the LT elicits a quiet sigh of relief. You’re glad another physical blowout hadn’t ensued.

A visage of curiosity displays itself across the group’s faces, but it ultimately only takes a moment for people to pitch in.

“Ghostface?” Johnny proposes before shaking his head. “No… too on the nose?” A chuckle follows.

“Thor?” You offer something different.

“Shrek!” Kyle comments.

“I’d rather keep the mask on, if possible,” Ghost mentions.

“Devil?” The Captain questions.

“Death?” Johnny adds, to which you all look at him before looking back at the Lieutenant.

“The Grim Reaper!”

“Grim Reaper,” both you and Kyle voice at the same time. A jovial look is shared before you turn back to the Lieutenant waiting for a response.

“That’s actually quite good,” John approves, arms crossing as he leans against the counter.

“We’ll see,” the Lieutenant responds, not offering up any morsel of rejoice as he takes off his tac-vest and heads over to his locker.

It’s only a week or so later when Halloween finally arrives. And while it’s not the most commonplace celebrated holiday in Europe, it’s one that many have chosen to adopt in favor of its fun and creative festivities. You’d decided to dress up as a cat because it was easy. Draw on some whiskers and a nose, find a headband to go with it, and you’re still abiding by dress code even during the festivities.

Stationed on candy duty with Markowski from the Foreign Intelligence Committee, you both sit by the garage which had been opened up, cleaned, and civilian-proofed for the event. While you’d been chatting with your buddy in hopes of catching up, you spot movement from your peripheral. “Let me guess,” Markowski says, turning on his stool to eye the incoming pair of children. “Rapunzel, and…”

“Pasquel!” The other child shouts excitedly. A smile envelopes your lips as the family approaches and you hand out the candy. “You’re a kitty,” the little girl says to you.

“I am,” you reply. “Have you been having fun?” You ask her in response, yet still attempt to engage the whole family as well.

“Yeah!” Both little girls respond, thankfully. You don’t know what you’d do if they weren’t.

“It’s definitely a lot spookier than last year,” the dad chuckles, “Becca here almost cried because of that Skeleton in the Graveyard,” he teases.

“I thought that was the Grim Reaper,” the mother states, and you laugh despite not knowing exactly. You hadn’t seen all the decorations that the Base had put out this year, but while they never spent the most on extracurricular things like holidays, you know they do tend to upgrade things when the original gets damaged and needs a replacement.

Nevertheless, the family thanks you for your service and heads off to the next group of soldiers stationed at a candy point. It’s only once the night’s getting later that the people start to die down in numbers that you’re able to tag off with Markowski and have a break. Wandering through the grounds you spot people lining up for the costume contest, the cookie decorating station, and the apple-bobbing table.

You decide to go there since you know Kyle happened to get stationed there. Even if he’d been preparing for a few days in advance, you wouldn’t put it past him to keep trying when the line died down. To your surprise, the Captain is there too. “What’re you doing here?” You question, smiling up at the old man. Sure, he didn’t necessarily enjoy these events, but you wondered why he was here instead of watching the game on the telly at home. It’s only so often you all get time off, anyhow.

“I thought I’d pop by after I was done to see what my team’s been up to,” John answers, smiling behind the cup of—no doubt *spiked*—cider in his hands. Part of you wants to chastise him for working on a holiday, while the other part is simply glad to see him. Choosing the latter, a smile graces your features. It’s momentary to, however, as his words dawn on you.

“Wait, Riley’s here?” You ask. It was rare that the Lieutenant would show up to an event, at least that’s what they’d told you. Once you’d joined the team he seemed to make more of an effort, according to the guys. And it was sort of true from what you’d seen. Any time an event would come up, especially a formal one, you’d all have to beg Ghost to join you all. With the promise of free food, drinks, and an early getaway was the only way you’d be able to get him to go.

“You didn’t hear?” Kyle asks excitedly, with a shake of his head. He’d clearly just been dunking his head in the pails considering water flicks off his hair in droplets, hitting your forearm. His eyelashes are wet, and there are still a few beads of water dripping down the side of his face. “He took our advice and volunteered for once!”

“Apparently he’s quite the hit,” John muses, subtly shaking his head at the Sergeant’s silliness. “Did you even manage to get one?” He eyes the pails tacitly.

“Actually, yeah. Won the contest, just like I said I would,” Kyle confesses, holding up the little plastic trophy he’d gotten.

“Guess those kids need to practice more,” you joke, eliciting a laugh from the men. As the quiet settles between the three of you, the sun finally dipping under the horizon leaving you all in the relative dark, your thoughts wander back. “I thought we were meeting at your house to catch the end of the game though?” Even if it isn’t your favorite thing to watch, you enjoy the guys’ company.

“We are, the boys said they’d meet us back here once they cleaned up,” John informs you. With the sun having set, the festivities were definitely coming to an end. It shouldn’t be too much longer.

“I’ve already got it all cleaned up here! Just need to put these back in the garage, if you two wanna go ahead and find them?” Kyle encourages. Considering your station really only had a candy bowl, you’re more than sure Markowski can handle it. Kyle’s partner joins you all, and with the quick emptying of the three pails and a collection of the apples into one, it’d only take the breaking down of a foldable table for them to clean up.

A quick glance at the Captain tells you he’s waiting on you, his brow quirked in that questioning way. He has his answer when you peel off, heading toward where you know, at least, Johnny is. The fog machine is still clearly on as you have to wave your hand in front of your face, the weird somewhat chemical smelling fumes emanating from it turning your stomach. The small plastic fencing is still in place, and while there are maybe one or two fake headstones still sitting around, it doesn’t take long to find Johnny.

“Nice costume,” you compliment, unable to help the teasing smirk from settling on your lips. Eyeing him up and down, he really did put a lot of effort into his costume! He’d clearly cut off the bottom of a pair of jeans, the frayed edges giving it away. Besides the homemade shorts which he’d stuck a tail out the back, he’d left his plaid flannel halfway undone exposing his unruly chest hair, adorned a headband of ears, and a snout tied around his face with a string.

“Why, thank you, Lass,” he responds, sitting the decorations he’d picked up on his hips. “Weren’t we supposed to meet you at Kyle’s though?”

“Yeah, but we got done early, so the Cap’ and I came to get you,” you relay him in on the information. “How was it? Scare a lot of kids this year?”

Johnny chuckles before his eyes light up at the mention of the evening. “Yeah! We actually-”

“Ready?” The Captain’s voice cuts off Johnny’s story as he’d finally caught up. You’d supposed he’d been admiring the details in the decorations.

With a split-second glance over your shoulder you respond. “Yeah! Just gotta find the LT first and then we’re good to go.” Refocused on Johnny and wanting to hear the stories from tonight, his eyes aren’t on you, but over your shoulder on the Captain.

“Found him,” Johnny announces nonchalantly.

“Where?” You ask rhetorically, turning. It’s then that the closeness of a body looming over you sends you reeling back, stumbling, almost falling on your butt. While Johnny tried to catch you, and an embarrassing yelp had left your mouth, you can’t help but purse your lips out of embarrassment as the three men before you cackle.

“Behind you,” the Captain finally answers, coughing in between big breaths of laughter.

Johnny had dropped the cheap decorations, bent over with his hands on his knees as he wheezes in laughter.

However, it’s the loud boisterous laughs coming from the hunched over Grim Reaper before you that does it. The Lieutenant really had taken your advice and dressed up. He’s got a hooded cape on, a plastic scythe, and dawned his usual mask. It’s amusing, really, the way you’d never seen him laugh this hard before, and you can’t help but join in.

“Sorry, I just had to,” the Lieutenant finally apologizes, to which you accept immediately.

“It’s okay, Riley. I’ll just have to get you back,” you taunt. There’s a pat on your back, and you look over your shoulder.

“Good luck with that,” Johnny says down to you before taking the lead on continuing to pick up the last of the decorations.

It’s only as you’ve just helped them get their decorations ready to haul back to the garage when Kyle shows up. Despite it still being a bit foggy, it was easy enough to spot the lot of you. “Did I miss something?” He asks, turning to watch the Captain carry some of the headstones past him.

“Nope,” the Grim Reaper says just behind Kyle’s ear. This elicits the same response it did from you, and you can’t help the laughter that tumbles free.

“He did it to me too, don’t worry,” you finally manage to get out. It’d almost caused you to drop the fog machine you’re carrying in one hand. “Johnny! You’ll never guess what just happened!” You shout after the men a few feet ahead of you, trailing after them. The sooner you’re all done, the sooner you can head to the Captain’s and the usual festivities will ensue. All in all, though, it was a pretty good Halloween, you’d say. It’s not everyday Ghost dresses up, let alone scares half the team.

~~~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo , @ohdamnadam , @penelopepine

#Happy Halloween! 🎃 👻#vikki-tikki-tavii #requests #tf 141 x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #grim reaper!ghost #werewolf!johnny mactavish #Gaz is a smug one 😉#Halloween fics #general fics #not queued #kyle gaz garrick x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #my writing

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 10 months ago

Text

ALWAYS

Summary: When Y/N storms out in anger, Dean is afraid he's lost her.

Pairing/Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: None. All flangst. Kissing. Implied smut.

Word Count: 661

A/N: I saw this post and the pic made this little drabble bubble up in my mind, and I had to just go along with it. Hope you enjoy! ❤️

The dividers were created by @saradika-graphics

"Enough!" Dean barked at you. "I know what's gonna keep you safe and that's it, end of discussion. I'm not having this goddamn argument with you anymore!"

Your eyes filled with tears of frustration and you angrily spun on your heel and slammed your way out of the house.

You were gone for a few hours, trying to get your feelings under control and by the time you returned, your anger and frustration had mostly abated, though your annoyance with Dean's unceasing stubbornness still lingered.

As you walked through the door you heard Dean shout from the top of the stairs.

"Y/N!"

He bounded down the stairs so recklessly you worried he was going to break his neck. Though you should have known he was more coordinated than that. When he got to the bottom, he reached you in two strides and yanked you into his arms, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

"Dean. Air." You croaked out.

He pulled back and his face was full of sadness and worry.

"You came back." He said as he cupped your cheeks.

You frowned, perplexed at his reaction. "Uh...yeah, I live here, remember?"

You saw his jaw clench and unclench before he licked his lips and dragged in a deep breath.

"I thought...well, I thought maybe after we fought, you'd be rethinking that decision."

Your frown deepened. "Why would I do that? Because I was pissed at you? Because your stubbornness is one of the most frustrating things I've ever had to deal with? Why ever would that make me run away?"

When Dean's expression became even sadder and more worried, you laid your hand over his on your cheek.

"Dean, I'm teasing. Yes, I was incredibly frustrated and I'm still a little pissed at you. You don't get to call all the shots all the time. I know you want to keep me safe. But you can't wrap me in bubble wrap, lock me up in a tower, and throw away the key."

Dean sighed and dropped his hands from your cheeks. "Might be worth a try." He mumbled.

You shook your head, but couldn't hide a small smile. "Trust me, if you value your nuts, and want to keep them attached to your body - it's really not."

A smirk tipped up the corner of his mouth but fear and sadness still lingered in his eyes. You stepped close to him.

"Baby, did you really think I wouldn't come home just because I was mad at you?"

He shrugged dismissively. "I dunno. You were gone a long time, and you were pretty mad. And..." He looked down at his feet. "N, I made you cry."

You felt tears threatening again as you lifted his chin.

"Dean, I need you to understand this, okay? I mean, really, really understand and believe me. I don't care how angry you make me, or how frustrated I am with you sometimes. I am always coming back to you. Always."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but you pulled him down to you for a kiss instead. You kissed him slowly, infusing it with all the love you had for him, and maybe just a little of your frustration too.

"Always." You promised again as you pulled away, breathless, but aching for more.

Dean's smile was boyish and shy. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You smiled back lovingly before giving him a mock frown as you shook a finger at him. "But that doesn't mean you can go around pissing me off with impunity."

Dean shook his head solemnly before reaching his hand down to squeeze your ass and push you tight against him, making a soft moan fall from your lips.

"No, ma'am." He answered with a wicked grin. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

You giggled, the fight and frustration dissolving completely beneath want and desire. You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bedroom.

"I have some ideas."

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

#dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester fan fic

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month ago

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The Girl Next Door - VIII

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics Wick pics midjourney art from pinterest, OP unknown

8. confess your sins

Before Wick can react John hits him with some kind of spell that knocks him off his feet, shatters two windows, and breaks the mental hold that had mind-fucked you so completely.

You freeze with shock–John has to grab your arm, wrenching you towards the door. “Wait! What are you doing?!”

“Saving you, obviously!” he snarls back, taking the stairs two at a time.

The unholy growl that emanates from the upstairs apartment sets your hair on end.

“But he didn’t come here to hurt us!”

“Then what was all that blood on the floor? It tripped the alarm in my wards–God, I thought he was killing you!”

You are shouting all this at each other as you are running down, down, down. Constantine does not go for the exit, but seems to have another destination in mind.

“Where are you going?”

“Beeman’s reloading my shells!” You don’t know what that means–does it have to do with that weird steampunk shotgun? “I hope he finished the dhampir loads,” John mutters, pulling you along through the machinery under the bowling alley that looms like mechanical spiders. It’s eerie down in the basement, dark and quiet.

“Beeman!” John shouts. “I’ve got a situation!”

There’s no answer.

“Beeman!”

The quiet of the subterranean level is broken by the sound of soft footfalls. Wick, stalking you both in the dark.

All manners of weird and wonderful things hang from the ceiling. Jars and baskets filled with raw ingredients from all around the world. You round a corner to find John standing by a long and cluttered workbench. Beeman is nowhere to be found.

With a clenched jaw John searches the work table, hefting the gun from the night before and loading it with sharp, precise movements, shoving home golden canisters inscribed with ancient runes and occult symbols.

“Constantine!”

You turn with horror to find the looming silhouette of Wick standing at the end of the dark aisle with his feet spread, the naked blade of his sword glinting silver in the low light. Those eyes glow such an unearthly blue, dancing like lightning. He is magnificent, terrible to behold, and you are as captivated as you are terrified.

“You always bring a knife to a gunfight?” taunts John from behind you, the shotgun shouldered.

“I want the pleasure of cutting you into pieces,” answers Wick in a tone that sends a chill down your spine. You believe him, and this is not good.

“Please,” you say, putting up your hands and daring to step between them. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

Both men snort in answer to that.

“Step aside, y/n,” says Wick, like he expects to be obeyed.

“No.”

“Let the man answer for himself. I’ll make it quick for you. A mercy killing.”

“No,” you refuse again, standing your ground. You take a step towards him. “He just thought you were hurting me.”

“I was hurting you? In that rat’s nest up there that reeks of your tears?”

“That doesn’t…matter.”

“It matters to me,” Wick states, and as unhinged as that is…it kindles some small, completely unhelpful warmth in you.

Perhaps foolishly, you take another step. “If you hurt him I’ll never forgive you,” you tell the dhampir, and you mean it from the bottom of your heart.

“Never is a long time, malyshka. Someday you’ll thank me for setting you free.”

“No.”

“Move,” he growls again, and you rack your brains for something to offer this maniac that might get through to him.

“I’ll come visit you in New York,” you say, your tongue dry in your mouth, fear trilling down your spine. “But only if you calm down.”

As it turns out, this was probably the only thing you could have said to get through to him in this state. He tilts his head, considering it, and the neon brightness of his eyes dampers to glowing cerulean blue.

“Is that a promise?”

“If you promise not to hurt him. Ever.”

“What?” protests Constantine from behind you. “No! Y/n, he’s crazy!”

Wick turns the blade in his hand, considering your offer over the apparent delight it would be to quarter John Constantine. You guess these two must have a history you have no idea about–this much bad feeling can’t be coming over you.

“Breaking a deal with me is a bad idea, vampling,” the dhampir warns.

“Likewise…dude,” you retort, as though you could offer even half the consequences this man could wreak. But your bravado inspires a slight curl of lips from him. You can just see it, in the dampered glow of his eyes.

“Very well.” He sheathes the katana down his back. “When my business here is finished, you will come with me.” He steps towards you, and now John puts himself in front of you, the gun still raised.

“I’m not agreeing to this deal. She has no idea what she’s getting into with you.”

You see Wick bristle, ready to go to war again, and you reach for John’s arm. He tries to resist you, but he forgets that you are actually stronger than him, and you force him to lower the gun.

“You didn’t want me anyway, John. What do you care?” You don’t mean to sound so petulant about it, but it’s been a rough month, and it all comes out in those last four words.

The demon hunter looks down at you like you’ve grown a third head with those soulful dark eyes held wide, his teeth grinding, utterly furious. It’s the most emotion you’ve seen from him, maybe ever. And maybe you’re the one with the preternatural strength and speed, but you never see it coming, when he grabs you by the neck, and his mouth crashes over yours.

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sempersirens · 10 months ago

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the fig tree | rotten

pairing: therapist!joel x f!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. discussion of heavy and potentially triggering topics such as sa, self-harm, infertility, various mental illnesses, self-hatred and drug use. these topics are only mentioned and do not occur in real-time.

chapter summary: a twenty-something, seemingly lost cause, meets her match in the form of psychotherapist: dr. joel miller.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

updates: @sempersirenswrites

series masterlist

Maybe it was time to accept you were never as good as you'd always thought you'd been.

For four long years, you had spent most of your waking hours dissecting epic poetry and papyrology.

Still, the most your degree had done for you was rouse a satisfying disappointment from your mother’s side of the family when they realised you weren’t actually going to be that kind of doctor.

Not to say such in a self-deprecation; you hardly suffered from any semblance of an imposter syndrome. Your mother used to frequently remind you that you were far too vain to not believe in yourself.

It was more of a philosophical framework. Platonic realism. Knowing your muted beauty could earn you a free drink from below-average men who felt their trousers tighten when you addressed them through your eyelashes.

But it wasn't an obvious enough beauty for the attention of the men you imagined exchanging bodily fluids with between stops on the underground.

Besides, you had been a student of Classical Studies; a degree that doesn’t require the intellectual strain of learning Latin or Ancient Greek. The inclusive way for people like you, having attended a run-down state-funded school, to get a glimpse into the Bullingdon boys' and grammar schoolgirls’ fallback plans.

It wasn't even that you disliked Classics; you'd borderline gotten off on reading plays written by men about wicked women; but that was because the brilliant women were always the wicked ones.

You particularly enjoyed the assumptions men made about the female condition – how women were too wet, too porous; couldn’t keep their wombs from wandering. And assumptions they were. No Greek physician ever sliced a woman from chin to cunt to confirm their hypotheses. Although, ancient men hadn't been all too familiar with the insides of a woman anyway.

Sometimes, you thought you would quite simply die if you were reduced to only understanding people through your assumptions of them.

It was just that you could never stop thinking about what people thought. It was all you could ever think about. You wanted to peel people's skulls apart and scream at their horribly grey frontal lobe:

Are you ok? Have I done something to upset you? Do you still love me? Do I look like someone that has been raped? Do you think that girl we just walked past has a firmer ass than me? Do you like my new bangs?

For a short period of time, you'd been desperate to know how your therapist felt and thought of you. There is a sick irony in baring your bones to a stranger in the reclined chair opposite you who never even takes off their cardigan.

You needed to know if your traumas made him sad, or if he saw things that made him think of you outside of your sessions. You supposed he both pitied and admired you in a twisted, surrogate-daughter kind of way.

Then again, he probably wouldn’t have been a very good therapist did he not pity his clients.

At one point you thought you might be in love with him.

You'd met weekly in his high-ceiling office on a busy street. It was a romantic setting to unload twenty-four years of trauma to a kind man wearing a knitted cardigan. The sun would peak through clouds and shine onto the both of you through two large windows, between which sat a Japanese peace lily.

You soon realised he was just the first man to let you speak uninterrupted.

You spoke at him mostly, finishing observations that had been years in the making with “Does that make sense?” Even though you knew it made sense. You were certain, actually, that everything you had articulated came from somewhere deeper inside of you than any man could reach. You just couldn't leave it hanging there like an exposed nerve.

Maybe it was because he didn't speak much that you liked him. Sometimes he would offer anecdotes or remedies for PTSD-induced panic attacks that you both knew you would never use.

In most sessions, you had simply basked in the divinity of being listened to. You wondered if this was how devout Catholics like your grandmother felt at confession, or perhaps it was how all of your ex-boyfriends had felt.

You weren't even particularly attracted to him. He had been ten years older than you, and when your sessions first began, you'd been casually fucking someone a year older than him – but he didn't need to know that.

There were a lot of things you'd decided he didn't need to know. Like the fact you snorted cocaine until your nose bled, sliced into your thighs a couple of evenings a week, and let men use your body to masturbate as a feeble attempt to reclaim your sexuality - as if it had ever been anyone's for the taking.

Had he known the dirtier parts of your life, you feared he would have crossed out the word victim in his black Moleskin notebook and replaced it with bystander.

Maybe he would think you were a pathological liar and diagnose you with a personality disorder. This was something you'd been warned about by the first friend you had made at university.

“My mother is a therapist, you know. Don’t tell them you cut yourself or that you’ve told anyone you cut yourself – they’ll diagnose you with BPD.”

“But I’ve told you.”

“Trust me. They’ll put you on an SSRI and you’ll never be able to orgasm again.”

You were freshly eighteen and had never had a real orgasm anyway, but this terrified you enough to reel in your catalogue of symptoms for the GP appointment you had scheduled later that day.

In the end, you'd buckled and sobbed as the doctor sat adjacent to you. You didn’t mention the self-harming or the suicidal thoughts, but did tell her that you didn’t know where to go from here.

She'd slid a leaflet from the university's self-help website across the table before pushing her chair back and motioning toward the door.

“Call 999 if things get worse," she had said. "But let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that point. A&E is very overwhelmed at the moment.”

So you got on with it. Boats against the current, or whatever. You made the hurt so small and buried it so deep within you and swore you'd never let anyone get close enough to pick at the stray thread to your undoing.

And for a little while it worked. You became what you knew you should be; you presented your face for fucking and never let the door slam on your way out.

These days, you'd felt as though you were slowly becoming rotten.

It started on the surface; a bizarre case of adult acne that no dermatologist could diagnose for love nor money. Blood tests, topical steroids, antibiotics, potentially-baby-deforming drugs. You tried them all to little avail. In the end, it was simply the passing of time that had rid you of the rot.

Next, it had been your womb. Decomposing from the inside out. Your body had made the decision for you that goodness couldn't form in your guts.

The final straw had, embarrassingly, been your heart.

You hated to say it aloud. So much so that you hadn't. But it had been a quiet promise of yours; one you'd kept quietly close to your chest - that your suffering would never turn you ugly.

But here you were, alone and swearing at the wind, the rage beneath your skin growing like a tumour.

You hated it.

You hated yourself.

You hated that you were angry but had never been taught how to be angry, because anger wasn't a pretty emotion; it was one that should be starved and kept in the corner of your wardrobe to rot like black mould.

So here you stood: before a Victorian townhouse with your scarf furiously fighting the wind, droplets of rain threatening your freshly straightened hair, scanning various names scrawled on the building's buzzer.

S. PHYSIOTHERAPY

A & R SOLICITORS

J. MILLER PSYCHOTHERAPY

You bit the inside of your cheek and ducked further into the doorway, pressing the buzzer for the last option.

A voice had answered quicker than you'd anticipated, soon followed by a harsh buzz of the intercom.

"Come on up."

Dr. Miller's office was on the third floor.

You huffed, struggling with the combination of the stairs and attempting to wrangle your wet coat from your back. Amidst your struggle, you hear a door open somewhere above you, followed by a couple of soft and slow footsteps.

Your chin instinctively lifted toward the source of the noise, feet carrying you round and round the spiral staircase.

Light poured around his silhouette from the window behind him. It was ridiculous, actually. The sight was almost holy.

Neither of you spoke as you made your way up toward him. You felt as though you were on your knees beneath him, transfixed in supplication.

The sleeves of his blue cotton shirt were haphazardly pushed up just before his elbows, arms outstretched and fingers wrapped around the wooden bannister.

You were supposed to be actually trying with this one, not fantasising about the ways the veins in his arms probably bulged with his hand around your throat.

After being politely let go by your previous therapist, you'd promised yourself that the colleague he'd recommended to you, Dr. Miller, would be the one to fix you for good.

"Hello." He nodded, not quite managing a smile.

He reached a hand toward you, which you shook with the little strength left in your body.

"Hello." You tried your best to imitate his stoic cadence, your hand still tightly in his.

You let him break the handshake first, playing a petulant, one-sided game to see how quick he would be to scare.

"After you." He gestured to the room behind him. "Take a seat wherever you feel most comfortable."

"If there is any cowboy paraphernalia in that room I am not paying for this session."

"Excuse me?" His eyebrows knitted together, no sign of humour registering on his face.

"Your accent - it was a joke. I mean, I paid already anyway." You fumbled your words awkwardly. "Jokes are always much funnier when you explain them."

He cocked his head slightly. Hesitant to embarrass yourself further, you saw yourself into his office.

The room was dim for a space endowed with Victorian-style floor-to-ceiling windows. It felt like you could get lost in it, hide away, tuck yourself into a corner and be lost for days.

"I have your notes from Dr. Hughes." He said.

"Anything juicy?" You asked, still surveying the room.

You couldn't put your finger on the specifics of his scent, but it was familiar; like passing a man in the street wearing the same aftershave as your father, or a boyfriend you hadn't seen for years.

"I'd like to figure that out myself."

You'd eventually settled on the armchair positioned opposite his own.

You had briefly wondered if this was a test, that he would be psychoanalysing whether you chose the armchair or the adjacent sofa.

Maybe you'd failed already.

For the majority of the session, you'd gone through the necessary motions of admin, confidentiality, and what you eventually wanted to get out of therapy.

"I don't have the ability to fix you, y'know that right?" His question had caught you off guard.

"I know that." You'd replied meekly.

"It's just, I don't know what kind of promises Dr. Hughes made you. We trained together, you see. He had always been more, how do I put this, hopeful than I am."

"Oh wow. Forty minutes into our first session and you're already hopeless?" You were only partly joking.

"I'm a big believer in transparency, and I can see you were meeting on and off for a few years. I'm just intrigued as to what your end goal here is."

You bit down on your cheek, swallowing the ember of rage that was burning in your throat.

"Do you think I do this for fun? Carve out an hour a week to relive my deepest, darkest traumas?"

"Not at all. I just find it interesting that after almost three years of therapy, you still can't use the word rape. You've referred to it as the thing that happened four times already."

The rot crept up your throat, threatening to pour out of your mouth and fill the room with the ugliness that grew inside of you.

"What is this, some kind of tough love therapy?" You scoffed. Was he trying to get a rise out of you?

"It can be whatever you want it to be."

He was kind of annoying, actually.

The two of you sat in silence, defiantly holding eye contact with one another to see who would be the first to break. And when he finally spoke, it was more of a statement than a question.

"That's time. I'll see you at the same time next week."

"How are you so sure I'll come back?"

He smiled for the first time that afternoon.

"I'm not."

#my fic #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal characters #tlou hbo #tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedrohub #pedrostories

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autistic-mandalorian · 3 months ago

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I would love to hear this

Oh sure! Fair warning, this gets long, so it's under a cut:

So I have looked carefully at Maul post-bisection, specifically at where his abdomen ends and his prosthesis begins, and I believe that he was bisected between the L3 and L5 vertebrae, or just above his pelvic bone. Here is a diagram I drew on of where he was cut:

Image Description: The first image is a screenshot of Maul with his prosthetic legs from TCW. The screenshot is annotated to note where exactly Maul is divided between flesh and prosthesis. The second image is two diagrams side-by-side, one of the human body focusing on organs, and the other of the spine. Both have a line drawn around where the belly button is to note where Maul was bisected. End ID.

So in terms of what he lost, it was a LOT. Not just his legs, but most of his intestines, his bladder, his pelvis, his gonads, half his bones, most of his blood volume, and a lot of his abdominal and back muscles (as well as their attachment points, making the remaining muscles limited in their usefulness).

Image description: A diagram of the human musculature, from the ventral and dorsal sides. The diagram has a line drawn across it to show where Maul was bisected.

Fortunately for him, most of the organs in humanoids are located in the chest cavity (because the intestines need a LOT of room to work), so he kept his kidneys, liver, stomach, lungs, hearts, pancreas, gallbladder, etc etc. However, his intestines are interesting in that by getting chopped in half, his small intestine was actually disconnected from his large intestine. The small intestine connects to the large through the ileocecal valve, which is located on the left inferior side of the abdominal cavity. He got chopped right through the middle of the abdominal cavity, so he lost his entire cecum, the majority (if not all) of his ileum, and the valve that connected them. This means that anything he digested would just ooze into his abdominal cavity even after the giant wound repaired itself, unless he got surgery to reconnect them. We will say for the sake of the story that he fixed it with The Force while living in his trash hole.

Now, it is possible for people to be bisected like he was and survive, just only in a medical environment. It's an extremely rare and radical surgery called a hemicorporectomy. It's the last of the last resorts, because it leaves you with a lot of problems. Here are some of them:

Maul would need both a colostomy and urostomy bag, since his rectum and bladder are both gone. These would need to be regularly cleaned and emptied.

His missing intestines would also result in his not digesting most of his food fully, so he would need supplemental nutrients to help combat malnutrition. He obviously does not get these for most of his life (if ever) so he is almost certainly malnourished.

Due to his newfound Nightmare Castration, he would need regular doses of hormones or would risk osteoporosis. Which hormones is up to the reader (I nominate estrogen)

His spinal cord is, thankfully, fine--- it doesn't actually extend past L1-L2. However, he did lose the filum terminale, meaning his spinal cord is kinda unanchored in his spine and floating around, which isn't great and could lead to nerve issues down the line. Some of the nerves that were cut in his lumbar spine (specifically, the L4 lumbar nerve supplying the quadratus lumborum muscle) could also cause partial paralysis in his back, as well as some wicked back pain.

Shoutout to @necropocene for inspiration as well as the following headcanons:

Maul's lungs and other organs are constricted by his intestines being forced upward into his chest cavity, reducing his lung capacity

Maul suffers from chronic nausea

Maul's prosthesis needs to be very well-cushioned because the waist is not a load-bearing structure (too squishy!)

Now onto my specific headcanons for his prosthetics and mobility devices:

The thing about pelvises is not only do they let you use legs, they also allow your organs and muscles to attach to something rigid. For this reason, I think Maul should have two pelvises: one internal, being more like a metal frame that his abdominal and back muscles attach to, and one external and connected to his legs.

The lumbar spine and sacrum are what allow the spine to connect to the pelvis, so in order to use his prosthetic legs, I think it would be prudent to give Maul a prosthetic spine, Borg Queen-style. Now, this would admittedly be a pretty big infection risk (piece of metal sticking through the skin and all) but I think it's cool so I am invoking The Rule of Cool on this one.

Maul's legs are not something I spent much time on, because his canon ones are fine.

I do have headcanons for a wheelchair, though!

His wheelchair wouldn't be designed like your average wheelchair, because those are generally designed to accommodate people who have pelvises. His would probably look more like a plant pot or a baby bjorn, imo? It would have to support him without putting too much pressure on his torso, so I think a sort of foam well with a backrest, attached to wheels would be a good design.

I also think that his prosthetic spine should be able to dock with the wheelchair so that he can control it as an extension of his body, like the prosthetic legs.

Image description: Three pencil drawings on notebook paper. One is of Maul post-bisection, with each of his organs labeled and colostomy, urostomy, and gastronomy ports. The next two are of his wheelchair, which follows the description previously given. End ID.

And yeah, those are my headcanons! Thanks for asking :) I love talking about fantasy biology!

#Maul #Darth Maul #fantasy disabilities #Star Wars prequels #star wars headcanons #disability headcanon #Maul oppress #star wars tcw #TCW

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candycandy00 · 5 months ago

Text

Once Upon a Time - A Gojo x Reader Fanfic Part 2

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! First up is Cinderella starring Gojo! You met Prince Gojo as a child and fell in love, but you’re sure he doesn’t remember you. When you’re forced to take your stepsister’s place as his “pleasure” for the evening, you’ll get your reunion, but it might not be what you hoped for.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Fairytale AU. Gojo as Prince Charming. Reader as Cinderella. Rough sex. Depictions of abuse by the wicked stepmother and stepsisters.

Any and all feedback would be appreciated so much! There will probably be three parts. Dividers by @benkeibear and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Gojo pounds on the door, rattling the frame, probably waking up everyone at the inn. Within seconds, Geto has opened it, but he doesn’t get the chance to say a word.

“Who is she?” Gojo demands.

“She?” Geto asks coyly.

“Cinderella! It’s obviously a fake name!”

“I’m afraid it’s the only name she gave me,” Geto replies, stepping back to give Gojo space to walk into the room.

As Geto shuts the door, Gojo paces back and forth. “Okay, but she volunteered, right? You sent a carriage to pick her up?”

“Actually, something strange happened. The girl who showed up was not the girl who volunteered.”

Gojo stops his pacing. “What?!”

Geto seems to be struggling to hide his amusement. “I suspect the original volunteer backed out, and Cinderella was sent as a replacement. Why are you so interested? You normally don’t ask about the women you’ve slept with.”

“It was her. The one I told you about,” Gojo says. “The one I’ve been waiting for. She had the glass slippers, Suguru!”

“Oh, so you noticed? I was curious how long it would take you.”

Gojo stares at Geto, his jaw dropping for a moment. “You knew?! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Geto sits smoothly in one of the two chairs. “She seemed eager for you to notice yourself. I didn’t want to ruin her surprise.”

Gojo drops into the opposite chair. “I didn’t notice until she was walking out the door downstairs. I ran after her but she was gone. She didn’t even take the carriage!”

“Alright, in the morning I’ll go see the original volunteer and ask who they sent in her place,” Geto tells him.

Gojo is rubbing his forehead when a terrible thought suddenly hits him. “Wait… if she was a replacement, what if she didn’t even want to come? She might have been pressured or forced! She had welts on her arms…”

“She did seem nervous and frightened,” Geto adds.

Gojo stands up. “What if she didn’t want any of this? Oh god, what if I ra-“

“Calm down, Satoru. Did she give you any indication that she wanted you to stop?”

“No,” Gojo says, slowly sitting back down. “In fact, she acted like… she was in love with me.”

Geto nods. “That’s the impression I got from her as well.”

Gojo sighs. “I can’t believe this. I had her, Suguru. I had her in my arms, I had her underneath me. And I let her slip right out of my grasp.” He groans in anguish as he replays the evening in his mind. “I did such filthy things to her. I was rough with her!”

“Worrying about it now won’t help anyone. We’ll find her tomorrow and you can apologize,” Geto says.

Gojo wants to go find her right now, but he understands that a royal carriage showing up at this hour would make a scene. Cinderella seemed a bit skittish. He doesn’t want to scare her off any more than his depraved actions already have.

Still, he can’t stop thinking about the way her body felt, trembling beneath him, the way her lips looked wrapped around his cock, the sound of her sweet voice. She was everything he’s dreamed of, all these years.

************************

You’re walking down the street toward your home, having stopped running after getting a good distance from the inn. You had to get away from there as fast as you could.

Somehow, your dumb, naive brain thought that if Prince Gojo had sex with you, he’d magically fall in love with you. But in the end, he didn’t even want to see your face. Those intimate moments that meant the world to you had meant nothing to him. You were just another woman he’d fucked.

There had been a carriage waiting in front of the inn to take you home, but you didn’t take it. Right now, you’re the most emotionally vulnerable you’ve ever been in your life, still trying to dry your tears, so you need more time before walking back into your house and dealing with your stepmother and stepsisters. With any luck, they’ll be asleep and you can slip in without waking them.

You duck into an alley and change your shoes back to the satin slippers, replacing the glass ones in the bag you carried. You feel fresh tears coming on when you look at them. You wore them to meet the Prince and he didn’t even notice. All these years, you’ve wondered what would happen if you simply appeared before him with the glass slippers on your feet. Now you know: nothing happened.

Maybe you should sell them, use the money to buy some decent clothes for yourself or some new books or literally anything else. The shoes are just a source of pain now.

Once you reach your father’s small estate, you step into the building that had been the servants’ quarters, back when your family actually had servants, and hide the shoes under a loose floorboard. You can’t bear to have them so close anymore.

The universe does take pity on you in one way at least - no one is awake when you finally reach your house. You’re able to go inside, clean up, and change clothes without being disturbed or questioned. Then you climb into bed and cry yourself to sleep.

*******************

Prince Gojo wakes early the next morning. He didn’t sleep more than an hour or so, being both excited and worried. He’s about to find the girl he’s been waiting for, but what if she hates him now?

He couldn’t shake the image of her crying, the tears glistening on her face as they dripped from under the mask. And he’d promised her he’d make sure she never cried again!

In the heat of the moment, he’d assumed she was feeling overstimulated or overwhelmed. But the much darker possibility keeps haunting his mind. What if she was crying because she didn’t want it? What if he’d unknowingly forced himself on her? The very thought is too terrible to bear.

He’s angry at Geto, because his friend was supposed to thoroughly interview all volunteers to make sure nothing like this ever happened, and the man had admitted to noticing she seemed frightened! Why did he bring her on in?

But most of all, Gojo is angry at himself. He should have noticed the shoes. He should have noticed how nervous she was. He should have noticed the welts on her arms before fucking spanking her. But he’d been so caught up in his own pleasure, he let too many important things escape his notice.

That’s why he has to find her again and apologize. He has to make things right.

After dressing, he meets Geto outside the inn and both of them climb into a royal carriage. He feels jittery, and his knee is shaking.

“A bit of advice, before we get there,” Geto says, pulling Gojo’s attention. “I think it would be a bad idea to make your intentions for Cinderella clear.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“Think about your position. Every unwed woman in the kingdom is vying to be your bride. The original volunteer is clearly interested in you. If you let it be known why you’re looking for Cinderella, jealousy might get in the way.”

Gojo thinks about that for a moment. “I see. How do you suggest we handle this then?”

“Perhaps we could say that Cinderella accidentally took something from your room that belongs to you, and you simply want to retrieve it,” Geto offers. “Be clear that it was an accident, and she’s not in any trouble, so they won’t worry about turning her over.”

“That could work,” Gojo says. “And then once I have her in my sights, I’ll never let her go again.”

***************************

You woke up a little later than usual, having had a very stressful and restless night. You had nightmares of the Prince that were somehow separate but all blended together in the way strange dreams do. In one, he married your stepsister, in another he took the glass slippers from you and smashed them on the floor. In the most terrifying, he used your stepmother’s rod to hit your arms until they cracked like eggs, the blood pouring out like yolks.

Your stepmother and stepsisters were waiting in the kitchen to interrogate you while you prepared breakfast for them.

Was the Prince angry about the switch? Why didn’t he provide a carriage to take you home? Did you do your duty and please the Prince? Did you satisfy him? Did he offer to pay you? Did you get to meet his handsome advisor?

Your stepsisters tossed in more lewd questions that had your stepmother scolding them.

Was the Prince as handsome without his clothes as with them? Was he a good lover? And one of them almost asked how big his cock was before shrinking away from her mother’s glare.

Luckily, you had the excellent excuse of being forbidden from speaking about any of it, by royal command. You could only confirm that the Prince was not angry and you had done your duty.

That was this morning, and you now find yourself cleaning the chimney in the kitchen, your body halfway buried in the fireplace, your tattered dress covered in soot.

Your stepmother bustles into the room and practically drags you out of the fireplace by your ankles. In a hushed but urgent voice, she says, “Stay in the kitchen! If you set one foot out of here before I say so, I’ll kill you!”

Shocked by the sudden threat, you look at her with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

She slaps your face, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to be a warning. “Don’t make a sound! We have guests, and they’re not to know you’re here!”

With that, she hurries out of the room. Confused and curious, you creep over to the kitchen door to listen. You hear the main door of the house open, then voices. Your stepmother and stepsisters are greeting someone politely. More voices, and then you realize one of them is achingly familiar.

It’s the Prince!

But what could he possibly be doing here? You have to know. You decide to take the risk of cracking the kitchen door open by just an inch, just so that you can hear what’s being said.

“You’re saying you have no idea who she is?” Prince Gojo is asking.

“I apologize Your Highness,” your stepmother says, “but she only gave us the same name she gave you. Cinderella. When my daughter panicked, I felt it would be rude to simply cancel. So I found a lady on the street in town and hired her to go in my daughter’s place.”

“That wasn’t necessary, madam. Your daughter could have informed my advisor that she changed her mind, and that would have been fine.”

“I’m so sorry for the confusion, Your Highness.”

“No apologies needed,” Prince Gojo replies, “but if you see Cinderella again, in town or anywhere else, please tell her I’m looking for her. I’ll be at the inn for two more nights, but after that she can come to the castle. I’ll tell the guards to let her in.”

Your heart flutters, your breaths come quickly. He’s looking for you! He must have remembered you after all! Your first instinct is to fling open the kitchen door and run out to greet him, but then you look down at your dress, and remember what you look like. Covered in dirt and soot, sweaty, dressed in rags, you can’t face the Prince! But he’ll be at the inn… You can clean up as best you can, maybe even swipe one of your stepsister’s dresses, and go to him at the inn tonight! He’ll tell you he loves you, and he’ll take you away from this misery, just like he said when you were children!

Your stepmother’s voice interrupts your daydream. “May I ask why you’re looking for her, Your Highness?”

Then you hear Prince Gojo’s beloved voice again. “She has something that I would very much like to retrieve. She didn’t steal it. There was apparently a misunderstanding.”

Your heart stops.

“My goodness,” your stepmother says, “What does she have?”

There’s silence for a moment, as if the Prince is considering what to say. Then he answers. “A pair of glass slippers. I believe she thought she was meant to keep them. But they’re quite valuable, so I’d like to have them back.”

You feel like a knife has been rammed into your chest. You can’t even breathe. He did remember you, he did notice the glass slippers. But he doesn’t love you, he only wants the slippers back. This is so much worse than him not recognizing you!

You feel tears pooling in your eyes as you choke back a sob, letting the kitchen door close silently. You don’t want to hear anymore! Several minutes later, after the Prince is gone, your stepmother bursts into the kitchen.

“Where are they?!” she screams, her daughters following in behind her.

If they’ve noticed that you’ve been crying, they give no indication of it.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, knowing but thinking it best to pretend.

She puts her face right in front of yours, rage building in her eyes. “The glass shoes, you little whore! The Prince said you took them! Did you think they were payment for letting him defile you? And you were going to keep them a secret from us?!”

Your mind races. You don’t know what you want anymore, if you even want to keep the shoes or return them, or just destroy them. But you do know one thing: you don’t want these terrible people to have them!

“I didn’t take them! I left them at the inn. Maybe someone else found them and took them or-“

She slaps you, right across the mouth, this time hard enough to sting and probably leave a mark. “I don’t believe you!”

You look at her with your red, teary eyes. “I’m telling the truth! I don’t have the shoes!”

Your stepmother looks at one of her daughters. “Go and fetch the rod.” Then she leans over you again. “You’re going to give me the shoes. Then my daughters and I will discuss whether we sell them or return them to the Prince to gain favor.”

You back away until your back hits the wall. “I said I don’t have them!”

As one of her daughters hands her the long wooden rod, your stepmother glares at you coldly. “We’ll see,” she says, and then she grabs your arm and pulls you around, so that you’re facing away from her. She tears the back of your dress open, revealing your bare back.

Then, she begins swinging the rod.

You lose count of the lashes. Your mind just shut it out after thirty-two. She hits you harder than she ever has before, and you can feel your flesh splitting, blood oozing down to your waist. You’re crying, shaking, huddled on the floor in your ripped, dirty dress. And somehow, even more painful than the beating, is the knowledge that you’d let your hopes build for even a moment, just to have the Prince crush them.

For a brief moment, just like when you were a child, you thought he was going to rescue you. You thought he loved you. But you were wrong.

**************************

On the carriage ride back to the inn, Gojo is in a sour mood. “Now how am I supposed to find her?”

He didn’t even see her face, so it’s not like he can describe her well. Her size, hair color, and eye color were all lovely, but not at all uncommon in this kingdom. Should he just walk the streets, looking for her? No, he’s too noticeable. Crowds would form wherever he went.

Geto has seemingly been in thought for a few moments, then he says. “The ball, Satoru.”

Gojo looks up. “Hmm? What about it?”

Every year the royal family hosts a masquerade ball at the castle. All noble families are invited and there are even festivities in town to celebrate. It’s only two days away, and one of the reasons Gojo came to town in the first place. The preparations are quite tedious.

“Open the ball to the general public,” Geto says. “She’s in love with you, so there’s a good chance she might show up, hoping again for you to notice her. It would be a great excuse for her to wear the shoes again, and even a mask in case she’s too shy or nervous to simply approach you on the street.”

“That’s a great idea! And this time I can watch for the shoes!”

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Geto tells him. “I believe your father said he had an important announcement planned for the ball, didn’t he?”

Gojo nods. “He said it’s a surprise.”

“My guess is that he’s going to formally turn the rulership over to you. Everyone knows you’ve been ruling for years, but he hasn’t made it official yet.”

“That’s what I was thinking too,” Gojo says. If all goes well, this could be the most important ball of his life.

********************************

Two days later, your back is still in agonizing pain. You had no one to bandage it, so all you could do was lie on your stomach and try to spread cold wet cloths across it to soothe the wounds.

You’re back to work as usual though, wincing as you dust shelves and sweep the floors.

Your stepsisters are excitedly getting ready for the annual masquerade ball at the castle. They barely qualify as nobles, due to your father, but they go every year. And every year you are told to wait at home.

This year, for the first time, you’re happy you’re not going. You don’t think your heart could bear seeing the Prince now.

You gather up the wet laundry you’ve just washed and open the door to go outside and hang them up to dry. As you step outside, you nearly bump into someone. You step back and look up, then your blood freezes in your veins.

It’s Geto, the Prince’s advisor!

“There you are,” he says in a friendly tone as you gape at him. “I figured if I watched this place long enough, I’d see you. So they were hiding you away after all.”

You look around in all directions, feeling your panic rising.

“The Prince isn’t with me, if that’s who you’re looking for,” he says. “Oh, or are you afraid that dreadful old woman will see me? Let’s step around back, shall we?”

Without waiting for your answer, he walks around to the back of the house. You shift the basket of laundry to your other hip and follow after him, sitting it on the ground once you’re away from prying eyes and ears. No one else ever comes out here.

“What do you want of me, Lord Geto?”

“Will you be attending the ball this evening?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, I’ve never gone, my lord. My stepmother won’t allow me to.”

“It’s a masquerade. Why not go and wear a costume? Then leave before it’s over and get home before she does?”

You look down at your shabby dress. “I have nothing to wear to such a grand party. I borrowed my stepsister’s dress when I went to the inn.”

He smiles. “And what if you had something to wear? Would you attend?”

You swallow then take a breath. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I would rather not. I… I do not wish to see the Prince.” Geto’s eyebrows raise at that statement but he doesn’t say anything as you continue. “Please tell him that I’ll return the glass slippers. I didn’t know he wanted them back until I overheard him talking to my stepmother. C-could you give them to him for me?”

Geto’s eyes are slightly widened for a moment, then he gives an uneasy laugh. “Oh my, it seems like you’ve misunderstood, and I’m to blame.”

“What?”

Geto steps closer and puts a hand gently on your shoulder. You flinch slightly as his hand hits near one of your wounds. “We were afraid the other women would be jealous and try to avoid telling the Prince about you, so I advised him to say you had something he needs to retrieve. I’m sorry, I never dreamed you’d be so close by that you’d overhear him.”

The gears begin turning in your mind as you process what he’s saying. “You mean… he doesn’t want the shoes back?”

“Certainly not!”

“Then… why did he come here? Why was he looking for me?” you ask.

Geto smiles at you again. “That’s not for me to say. Best to hear it from the Prince himself. But I will say that he is hoping with all his might that you’ll come to the ball tonight.”

“But-“

“Don’t worry about what to wear. I’ve brought you a gift,” he says, reaching into a large leather bag at his hip to pull out a package wrapped in brown paper. “Just don’t forget to wear the glass slippers.”

He hands you the package and, before you can ask anymore questions, he’s gone.

You hurry to hang up the wet laundry and then rush to the old servants’ quarters to open the package. The folded dress inside is exceedingly beautiful. It’s blue, the same shade as Prince Gojo’s eyes, and sparkles with thousands of tiny rhinestones. Also included are matching silk gloves, silk mask, and a jeweled crown to wear on your head.

Is this… a princess costume?!

You can’t wear this! It would be in outrageously poor taste for someone to wear such a costume to a royal ball! It would be an insult to the true royalty!

But it’s so lovely! And the royal advisor himself told you to wear it.

You spend the rest of the afternoon thinking it over as you help your stepmother and stepsisters get ready for the ball.

You’d love to go, more than anything. Especially if the Prince wants you to be there. But what if Geto was lying just to make a fool of you? You’re so used to people hurting and using you, to being disappointed, that you almost can’t imagine that anything good could come of this.

In the end, you decide to give your romantic dreams one more chance before giving up completely. After the other women leave for the ball, you run to the servants’ quarters and get ready. The dress fits you perfectly, and you have to steady your heartbeat as you step into the glass slippers once more.

When you step outside, you’re surprised to find a small, nondescript carriage waiting for you. Geto must have sent it. You climb inside and force yourself to breathe as you wait to arrive.

The castle is alight with hundreds of lanterns, their flames glowing through glass tinted various colors. Crowds of people are lined up outside, waiting to be let in. The line seems to be moving quickly, so you walk over and stand at the back. You scan the area for your stepfamily but, thankfully, they’re nowhere to be seen. They must be inside already.

When you finally walk through the castle gate and reach the interior, you look around in wonder. There are even more colorful lanterns hanging about, as well as candles and torches. The ceilings are high, but become higher still when you reach the ballroom. One side of the room seems to be reserved entirely for food. Huge, lengthy tables are lined with exquisite dishes and glasses of wine. There are small tables nearby for guests to sit and eat, but most seem to be eating while standing and moving around the room.

On the other side, there’s a band playing lovely music for the guests to dance to. The whole middle of the room is opened up as the dance floor, and lots of couples are swaying about, spinning each other around and laughing merrily. At the back of the room, there’s a throne, and on it sits the elderly king, Prince Gojo’s father.

The queen died years ago, so there is only one throne. Prince Gojo himself reportedly stays so busy dancing and socializing at the ball that he doesn’t need a throne to be set out for him.

But where is the Prince? You turn almost in a circle as you search for him. Part of you is terrified that he’ll reject you, or simply ask for you to give the shoes back. Another part is excited for him to see you so dressed up. You’ve never worn such fine clothing in your life. You actually feel pretty for the first time.

You can’t help noticing the a few people seem to be looking at you and whispering. It’s probably because of your rather inappropriate costume. You ignore them and continue walking. As you pass by the food tables, you spot your “family” sitting down, enjoying a feast. Thankfully they seem too distracted to notice you.

Finally you see him, Prince Gojo, looking resplendent in his dark blue jacket with silver trimmings. He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by beautiful women who are all giggling and chatting with him. He’s wearing a dark blue mask, but even from here you can see his glowing smile. You watch him for a moment, and after a while you notice that his eyes keep flicking down to the feet of every woman who approaches.

Is he looking for you?

Gathering your courage and calming your breaths, you walk over to him. Your glass slippers click on the ballroom floor with each step, and as you watch, Prince Gojo seems to freeze in place. His head turns as he looks for the source of the sound, until he sees you.

His eyes shift to your feet, widen, and then rise to your face. He quickly excuses himself from the conversations with the other women and walks over to you. He stops right in front of you, staring with large, glassy eyes peeking out from his mask.

“You came,” he says, almost breathlessly.

You look at the floor, too nervous to meet his intense gaze. “Th-thank you for allowing me to attend, Your Highness.”

He holds out his hand to you. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, princess?”

You blush, remembering the costume you’re wearing. If he’s offended by it, he doesn’t show it. You take his hand and let him lead you to the middle of the dance floor. Other guests back away and give the two of you plenty of room.

The song switches to something slow and melodic, and Prince Gojo leads you in a dance. You’ve never danced before, not like this, but he’s skilled enough for the both of you, gently swinging your body to the rhythm of the music. At one point he dips you, and his hand touches your back. You wince, biting back a cry of pain. Your wounds are still so raw. You’re worried blood will stain this incredible dress.

Prince Gojo notices your discomfort, and his eyes narrow as if in concern. Soon after, the song ends, and the Prince keeps hold of your hand, tugging you toward the hall and slipping out of the room.

The hallway is long and lavish, lined with beautiful paintings and sculptures. He doesn’t say a word as he pulls you along, and eventually he opens an ornate door and leads you inside.

It looks like a bedroom. Is it his? Or an extra one?

He closes the door, then suddenly crosses over to you and wraps his arms around you. Your back screams from the touch, but your heart soars. When he releases you, he looks like he could cry.

“You’re here. You’re with me. I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“I don’t understand, Your Highness-“

“Don’t!” he suddenly says, startling you into silence. “Don’t dare call me that, not when you’ve already called my name so sweetly!”

You feel heat creeping into your face. “… Satoru, why were you looking for me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I told you to come find me. I’ve waited all these years!”

Your heart pounds. He was waiting for you! “But why me? We were just children when we met.”

He takes both your hands in his. “Didn’t you feel it back then? A connection between us, like a red string of fate tying us together. I’ve known since that day that you’re my one and only.”

“I did feel it!” you say, tears welling up in your eyes again. “I’ve been in love with you since that day!”

He reaches up and slowly pulls your mask off, looking you in the face for the first time since you were children. He smiles, that same radiant smile from back then. “Hey, don’t cry! I promised to make sure you never cry again, remember?”

You nod, wiping your eyes. “I remember,” you say.

He puts his hands on your face, cupping it gently. “I loved you then. I love you now. Please never disappear on me again.”

Then, he kisses your lips, so softly, over and over. His kisses become deeper, longer, his tongue slipping into your mouth to taste you.

He finally pulls away, his skin slightly flushed. “I wanted to apologize for the other night,” he says.

You look at him curiously. “What for?”

He looks a little sheepish as he says, “For being so rough with you. It was your first time. I should’ve been more careful. And I shouldn’t have done, well, most of the other stuff too. I always imagined I’d treat you so gently, and I screwed that up. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head. “No, not really. Well, maybe there toward the end. But I didn’t mind. I love you so much, Satoru, I don’t mind if you hurt me. Just getting to be close to you, to touch you, makes me happy. You can do anything you want to me.”

His face reddens. “Fuck, you can’t say something like that to a guy who’s been craving you for years!” He kisses you again. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I only want to make you feel good, for the rest of your life.”

Your eyes shift to the floor for a moment. “Actually, I liked it… when you were rough with me.”

“Really?”

You nod, remembering the feeling of him pounding into the deepest parts of you.

He suddenly turns your body around, so that your back is facing him. He starts to unfasten your dress, but you don’t want him to see your wounds. You’re embarrassed for him to know about the beating, and you just want to enjoy making love to him.

“Wait,” you say, “can I keep the dress on?”

He grins, blue eyes gleaming behind the mask. “Want me to fuck you like a whore in your pretty princess dress?”

You’re looking at him over your shoulder, and you smile innocently at him. “Please, Satoru!”

Immediately his hands are wading under the layers of silky fabric, and as soon as they find your panties, he rips them off you as if they were made of paper. Then one of his hands is pressed between your thighs, squeezing the plump flesh, fingers probing their way inside you.

“So wet for me,” he says, his finger finding your clit and rubbing it vigorously.

A shudder ripples through you, and you almost collapse from pleasure alone. “Ahh… Satoru!”

Soon his thumb and finger are both on your clit, giving it a pinch that makes you gasp. You’re breathing hard, your hands finding the edge of a dresser to hold onto.

You hear fabric rustling and realize he’s opening his pants. Then he’s hiking your dress up to your waist as he bends you over onto the dresser. In one fast, hard thrust, he’s completely buried inside your pussy. You cry out, gripping the dresser with your gloved hands as he begins ramming into you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you hear him say behind you, his hand rubbing over your ass. “Your pussy feels so good. So tight… fuck… I wanna paint you in my cum!”

“Do it,” you cry. “Soak me in it! Drown me in it!”

He’s fucking you so hard, the dresser is rattling. You can feel him hitting your cervix, his grip on your waist bruising. One hand snakes around again to play with your clit, rubbing and pinching it roughly, making your whole body tremble and tears leak from your eyes as you cry out in ecstasy. It fills you with indescribable joy, to feel your beloved one so deep inside of you.

****************************

Prince Gojo is dangerously close to losing control completely. The woman he loves, the woman he hungers for, is moaning beneath him, her soft body shaking from pleasure, her wet pussy clenching him desperately. She couldn’t possibly be any more perfect for him.

He’s glad she wanted to keep the dress on. There’s something deliciously perverse about fucking her while she’s dressed in something so prim and lovely. The silky fabric feels good against his skin as he rails her, and she’s so wet that he’s making an extremely lewd mess between her thighs. He can hear it, the squelching sound of his cock stirring her guts.

The thought that he has her now, that he’ll be able to fuck her like this every day, is making him slightly delirious. He’s imagining falling asleep with her in his arms, waking up to the sight of her face, having her beside him for the rest of his life. And he can’t help picturing her licking his cum from her fingers. Fuck, he wants to cum in her mouth again. He wants to fill her womb again. He’ll need an heir after all.

He has one hand between her quivering legs, his finger and thumb merciless with her sensitive little clit, making her cry out his name in a way that has his cock twitching. His other hand moves from her waist to rub down her back. She flinches away from the touch, her moan turning into something like a bit back scream of pain.

Is something wrong with her back? He noticed her wincing when he touched it earlier. He’ll have to ask her about it later. For now, he just wants to enjoy the feel of her warmth enveloping him.

He hears her voice, and realizes she’s speaking, not just babbling nonsense in the throes of passion

“I love you, Satoru! I love you!”

He smiles and rams in deeper, making her squeak. “I love you too! More than anything!”

She clenches even tighter, moaning out his name while she cums. God, he could watch her cum forever. The way her hands grip the dresser, her body shaking, her voice becoming high pitched, it’s all so beautiful.

With her satisfied, he lets himself sink into the pleasure, closing his eyes for a moment and just feeling her. It only takes a few moments for him to reach the edge, and plunge right over. This time he cums inside her on purpose. They’ll be married soon and expected to produce royal heirs. Might as well get started on that.

After a few seconds of panting, after emptying himself completely, he opens his eyes to look down at his princess. His eyes go wide, his heart nearly stops, because he sees red splotches blooming out across the back of her dress, like crimson flowers.

He pulls out immediately, but leaves her bent over the dresser. His hands fly to the buttons of her dress, nimbly undoing them.

“W-wait!”’she cries, jerking as if trying to push him away. She must not realize she’s hurt!

“You’re bleeding!” he says, his voice shaking as he undoes the final buttons and pulls the back of the dress wide open.

What he sees will haunt him for the rest of his days. “What is this?” he asks, his eyes moving over the criss cross wounds covering her back. They’re red, raw, angry wounds, many of them leaking blood. They look incredibly painful, and maybe even infected.

“Don’t look,” she’s mumbling through tears. “Please don’t look.”

“Who did this to you?!”

He’s caught between feeling despair at seeing such damage done to someone so precious to him, and blinding rage at whoever dared to do it.

She’s sniffling, clutching the dresser, refusing to look at him as if she’s ashamed. He pulls her up and turns her to face him, pulling her over to sit on the bed with him. He wants to wrap her in his arms but he’s afraid of hurting her.

“It’s okay! I’ll take care of you. I’ll have our best doctors treat you. I promise no one will ever hurt you again!”

She nods, leaning her face against his shoulder. He waits for a while, letting her regain her composure. Her feelings are more important than anything right now, even his own anger.

When she finally pulls away, seeming a little more calm, he asks again. “Who did it? Please tell me.”

She hesitates, then finally says, “My stepmother. You met her when you came to my house.”

He remembers the severe woman he met. So his love was there the whole time? Then he remembers the welts. “Has she done this before?”

“She beats me with a rod all the time, but usually it’s not this bad. Just some strikes to my arms.”

God, he hates that old woman! His blood is practically boiling. “Why was it different this time?” he wonders out loud.

She looks away from him. “After you told her about the glass slippers, she tried to make me give them to her. When I refused, she tried to beat them out of me.”

He feels a stab of pain to his heart. This happened because of him! He stands up suddenly, no longer able to contain his rage. “Alright, I’m sending her to the guillotine! First thing in the morning!”

She stands up after him. “But you banned the use of the guillotine three years ago!”

“I’m sure we’ve got a functioning one left around here somewhere,” he says, then shrugs. “Fuck it, I’ve got a sword. I’ll lop the old bitch’s head off myself!”

“You can’t!” she cries, grabbing his arm. “I don’t want you to become a different kind of ruler, a different person, because of me!”

He looks into her glistening eyes, feeling calmed by her very presence. “Okay. I’ll think of an appropriate punishment. Maybe banishment, or years of hard labor.”

She sighs in relief. “Thank you, Satoru.”

He watches her straighten her dress after he helps her button it back up. She insists on waiting to see a doctor until after the ball is over. She’s dreamed of attending it for years, she says. She ties her mask back on, and the two of them head back into the ballroom.

There’s a bit of a commotion at the back of the room, where the King is standing up, addressing the crowd.

“-and that’s why I’m making this announcement tonight!”

Gojo takes her hand in his, wanting to share this moment with her, when he’s deemed the official ruler of the kingdom. When he steps up to the throne, he’ll also announce his engagement! He can’t help smiling at the thought.

Suddenly, a woman is brought out to stand beside the King. She’s dressed in finery that marks her as royalty, and he realizes he recognizes her. She’s a princess from a neighboring kingdom! He’s met her a few times, but he doesn’t think he’s ever had an actual conversation with her. What’s she doing here?

“For the good of the kingdom,” Gojo’s father says loudly, “I have arranged for my son to marry this young lady, Princess Yumi!”

Gojo can’t suppress the loud “What?!” that bursts from his mouth. He quickly looks at his real princess, the woman he loves, and she’s looking at him with an agonized expression.

“I swear I had no idea,” he says. “I’ll talk to my father. I’m not marrying her! I don’t even know her!”

Cinderella’s hand slips out of his. “No, your father said it’s for the good of the kingdom.”

“I don’t care what my father said!”

He sees tears in her eyes again. “It’s no use. I can wear this costume, but I’ll never be a real princess. Not like her. I’ll never be accepted as your bride. I was just living in a fantasy for a moment.”

He almost pulls her into his arms, but remembers her wounds. “I told you, I’m not marrying her! You’re the one I love!”

“And I love you! But this is reality! Just like when we were kids, we played pretend that we could be together, but at some point we have to face the truth and go back to our real lives.”

“But-“

She kisses him on the lips, and he can feel the wetness of her tears on her face. Then she runs, her shoes clicking on the floor as she flees into the crowd. Gojo tries to push through the people, but now that the guests have spotted him, they’re crowding around him to pat his back and congratulate him on his engagement. He politely moves through them, telling them he has an urgent matter to deal with, ignoring their surprised faces as the always friendly Prince snubs them.

By the time he gets through the mob of people and reaches the castle gate, all he finds is a single glass slipper.

Tag List:

@witchbybirth @artist1936 @labelt-san @megumisthirdog @bloopsstuff @kalopsia-flaneur @monsieurgucchi @victoria1676 @mekoepekoe @tomiokasecretlover @dear-fake-diary

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #x reader #jjk smut #candys2kevent

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

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Dusk to Dawn

Pairing: Ranch Hand!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky reflects on how far gone he is for you when he picks you up during a night out. Word Count: 1.56k Warnings: F/lirting, feels (it's me), dr/inking, pet name, implied s/mut, ranch hand!Bucky (he’s a warning, okay?) Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass , Divider - @firefly-graphics, Header - yours truly A/N: @rookthorne, this Sunbeam is for you. Also @sebastianstanbingo square: "I'm going to f-ucking ruin you."❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own! Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky put the truck in park once he arrived at the bar. It was a nice night, the air still warm enough that he had his window down on the drive over. He had to work a little later than usual and would’ve felt guilty missing dinner, but you had already made plans to go out with the girls. You still had a meal wrapped up and waiting for him once he finished out his day. Steve and the other boys were jealous of your home cooked meals and for good reason.

Always taking care of me, Sunbeam.

Now he had to take care of you.

The familiar sound of chatter and live country music greeted Bucky as he walked through the door. It was a slower night, but still crowded enough that he had to dodge a few people. Like many in the town, the two of you were regulars there and it was rare for you to be there without him. He tipped his hat when he made eye contact with Scott behind the bar, who nodded toward your usual table along the far wall.

"Bucky!" he heard you shout before he looked your way. "You're heeeeeeere!"

He wondered just how many drinks you had. Enough that you were feeling good, but not enough to get sick. You could hold your own.

"Now we can get the party started," he smirked.

What followed was a beautiful laugh as you stood up from your chair and he couldn't stop himself from staring. Your smile was like watching the sunrise and he felt lucky he was worthy enough to see it another day. You chose to wear one of his favorite sundresses and paired it with the perfect pair of boots, giving him a chance to appreciate your perfect body. He unconsciously licked his lips as he sauntered toward you and noticed you did the same.

"Seeeeeee, what did I tell you?" you asked the group at the table when he stopped a foot away from you. "I said I’d bag the hottest guy here tonight.”

"We know. We all know," Darcy playfully rolled her eyes at the other girls. "Bucky's hot and he has a big dick and you love him. Blah, blah, blah."

“I thought ladies didn't kiss and tell," Bucky smirked when you invaded his space.

"Oh, I stopped being a lady the moment you had your wicked way with me," you smiled sweetly. "You ruined me. Congratu-fucking-lations."

"Is that right?" he asked, knowing he'd never forget that night.

He'd also never forget to treat you like a lady.

He inhaled the sweet liquor on your breath when you framed his face and leaned in close. You didn’t quite kiss him, but you did smile when your lips ghosted against his. He yearned for more.

“It is right ‘cause I’m right. You’re hot and you do have a big dick you know it. You ruined me, mister,” you said, moving a hand to poke his firm chest. “And you're soooooooooooo cute. How’re you hot and cute? Explain.”

The laugh Bucky let out was enough to make your friends laugh along with him. You could be a sweet or feisty drunk depending on the mood. The last time you got feisty was when some out-of-towner tried to hit on him. You made sure to let her, and everyone else in the bar, know he was a taken man.

As if he could want anyone else when he had his Sunbeam.

“Just the way I'm made,” he smiled, placing his hands on your hips and lightly swaying you to the music. “Like I'm made to love you.”

You didn’t say “aww” along with your friends, but your gaze softened a bit more. He didn’t believe the bullshit that a man had to be silent or embarrassed about loving anyone. He loved you and he was going to say it as often as he could.

“Is that why you’re here tonight?” you asked, a dreamy smile on your face as you plucked his hat from his head and placed it on yours. The smile you gave him was one of his favorites. “'Cause you love me?

"Yeah, I am,” he smiled back, one reserved just for you. It was one of your favorites. “You called, so I came running."

Where you go, I go.

"Then it’s a good thing I'm ready to go home with you, handsome. But I'm warning you, I’m not planning on sleeping. Gonna keep me up from dusk to dawn," you said happily before a thoughtful look crossed your face. "Or is it dawn to dusk? Doesn't matter. You're fucking me. That's what matters."

"You know I gotta get up early tomorrow," he reminded you as he tried not to laugh.

He worked hard to keep the place running and so did you. The tasks wouldn't do themselves, but the enticing thought of your legs wrapped around him as he indulged in your wet heat was worth dragging a little tomorrow. He'd catch up on sleep later.

"Not the only thing that needs to get up," you said, smirking when the realization crossed his face. "Ohhhhhh. You picked up what I put down."

"Now you're just teasing me," he said.

You yanked him closer by his belt buckle. "Teasing you would be telling you I'm not wearing anything under this dress."

He groaned quietly, suddenly jealous of the chair you occupied before he showed up. "You want me to fuck you before we get home?"

He took pride in seeing a tremor wrack your frame. "You better, Bucky Barnes, otherwise I'm fucking myself."

Hot, but not tonight.

"Where?" he smirked.

"My pussy. That's where," you said without skipping a beat.

A random guy nearby drinking his beer might've heard the exchange since he began to cough. The two of you certainly had a way with words. He didn't care if the entire bar heard it.

"Oh, I'm fucking your pussy," he promised. It was a feat he didn't start to twitch in his jeans. "I meant where are we doing this."

You hummed as you contemplated. "Bathroom or truck bed."

The image of your pussy soaked and waiting for him to fill it took over his thoughts more and more. He wondered how much shit he'd get if he dragged you off to the bathroom. It wouldn't be the first time. Throwing inhibitions out the window was something he grew used to with you.

But the truck bed might be better. He could also least lay you down. Not the most romantic gesture, but also not the worst place two of you had fooled around.

The fun part would be deciding if it would be done in the parking lot or if he'd pull over on the way home.

"Truck it is," he announced as he pulled you away. "Say g'night, ladies."

"Yeah. Please, leave," Darcy teased.

You looked over your shoulder as the rest of your friends said their goodbyes. "G'night, ladies! I'm going home with that hottest guy in town. Don't come looking for me."

And I got the most beautiful, amazing girl in town.

"Take care of her!" Darcy yelled.

"He will! I'm his Sunbeam," you said proudly before you went out into the night air and leaned into him with a giggle. "Hey."

"Hey," he smiled back, keeping you against him.

"Did you hear me? I'm your Sunbeam," you whispered before you giggled. "I'm your girl! You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know that," he chuckled at your happiness.

What you didn't know was that he had a ring ready for you so he could make it official. It wasn't fancy or flashy, but it was bright and beautiful. Like the sun.

Like you.

"Forever your girl?"

"Forever my girl," he replied, his voice thick when he put a hand to the back of your neck. "You'll always be mine, Sunbeam."

Butterflies fluttering from a kiss isn't just something that happened with girls. Because the second he put his lips against yours, he felt like he'd float away if you didn't keep him on the ground. Even with your tipsy gaze when he pulled away, there was so much love in your eyes. It was brighter than all the stars above you. It was unconditional.

And he wanted to treat you like he was still trying to win you so he'd never lose you.

"Promise?" you asked so softly he almost missed it.

"Even if the sun stopped rising tomorrow, you'd still be mine and I'd be yours."

You were it for him.

"Good," you sighed in relief before you began to drag him to the truck. "Now get inside me," you ordered.

"Oh, I will," he promised, watching your hips sway.

You didn't stumble once as you found the truck, You were an impressive woman. And he was so far gone for you.

I'm going to fucking ruin you.

He heard your sharp inhale from the words he didn't realize he said out loud. "Told you, Bucky. You already ruined me, but you can do it again," you said, tapping the top of your head. "And I'm keeping your hat on."

"Yes, ma'am," he chuckled, knowing those two words would send more shivers up and down your spine.

And he'd do a lot more than that before the sun came up.

Do we want more of them, lovelies? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #ranch hand!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #ranch hand!bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #sebstanbingo #ssbingo #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

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