#he sometimes misses but always aims for the head

[comediakaidanovsky]

trying to wrap work for the day but got stuck thinking “cm punk is the joyce carol oates of wrestling” just on repeat and now i can’t focus

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

Danny was sitting in the back, his backpack obnoxiously taking up the seat next to him, when the door to the lecture hall creaked open near silently.

“What are you in here for?” Danny asked the guy who crept into class. He sympathetically took his backpack off the Seat of Shame and allowed the guy to sit down. Funnily enough, they had the same hair and eye color.

“Gen Ed. Undecided. You?” The guy grunted quietly back.

“Environmental studies. I’m Danny.”

“Tim.”

With the implicit understanding of two people in a required class they could not give less than two fucks about, Tim and Danny tuned back into the lecture. When the class was assigned group work, Danny looked over to see Tim softly snoring, head slammed down on the table.

“Tim. Wake up, dude.” Danny poked his shoulder.

“Huh? Class over?”

“Nah, we got group work. Discussion board.”

“Oh shit, thanks for waking me up. Wanna team up?”

Danny shrugged. “Sure. We should aim to post it in the middle so the professor doesn’t read our answers to the class.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Any idea what we’re talking about?”

“Kind of?”

“Good enough for me.”

——

Tim Drake kept seeing Danny Fenton around on campus.

“Danny! Dude, what are you doing?”

Danny turned, gloved hands full of crumpled trash. “Picking up after the student population, apparently.”

“Didn’t think environmental studies was that serious.”

“Global warming is very serious, you jerk,” Danny smirked at him, crossing the grass to put the trash into the trash can. “Reduce, reuse, oil shouldn’t be spilled in water and all that.”

“Basic stuff,” Tim grinned. Nice, he basically had a friend past Bernard now!

They were friends, right?

“And yet humanity fails to comprehend it. Incredible. Incredibly stupid that is.”

“They get it. Major corporations just don’t care.”

Danny sighed. “True that. You on your way to your next class?” He took off his biodegradable gloves off (nitrile and nylon, baby!) and chucked them into the trash.

“I’ve got free time, actually. Prof cancelled for his daughter’s surgery.”

“Oh, shit, that’s rough! You wanna go downtown and join the strike?”

“A strike? What for?” Even as he asked, Tim hiked his bag higher onto his shoulder, ready to go. They fell into step as the two left campus.

“Apparently, Quillan Pharma was doing some shady shit at their manufacturing plants. I think it’s like killing kids, and pouring toxins into the ground.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. Oh! Poison Ivy’s gonna be there!”

Tim blinked. He casted a sideways look at Danny. Sure he’s been here long enough to know… but it couldn’t hurt to check. “You know she’s an eco-terrorist, right?”

“Okay, but like… people suck sometimes. And all she’s asking for is like don’t kill the planet. And she doesn’t do that whole mind control thing too much anymore! The Sirens are so cool. Plus, one of my best friends at home might actually kill me if I don’t try to get her autograph. Poison Ivy is like, Sam’s personal hero.”

Tim snickered. “Yeah, okay. Mind if one of my friends join? His name’s Bernard.”

“The more the merrier,” Danny nodded. “Ooo! Hot chocolate. Want some?”

Danny bought three drinks as Tim trailed behind, texting Bernard.

“He said yes.”

“Cool! We should meet up somewhere before the drinks get cold.”

Well, Danny got the autograph. Tim got a new friend, and Bernard got a drink from his crush.

——

“Oh, you’re the glowing dude that Batman always talks about!”

Danny blinked, eyes scanning the wing-like cape and the yellow emblem on the hero’s suit. Danny was indeed glowing, stars and nebulas freckling across neon green skin, and glowing hair the color of a white dwarf star, tinged with the blue from his ice core.

“I… have absolutely no idea who you are,” Danny lied, like a liar. He’s found a surprising niche of entertainment in messing with the local vigilantes and he’ll be damned if he missed this opportunity.

He heard a snicker from the comm lines as Red Robin visibly brushes it off.

“I’m Red Robin. Why are you picking up trash?”

“Picking up after you humans, apparently.”

The both of them blink, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu. A moment of awkward silence passed before they both shook it off.

“Are you here to help? No offense, but the track record for you people is terrible.” Danny strode over and grabbed a bag. He opened it, and shook it at Red Robin’s face. “See? Batarangs, these odd bird looking ones, the R’s. Seriously, pick up after yourselves!”

“Oh, woah, can we have these back?”

Danny yanked the bag back before Red Robin could get close. “Pay me. These were incredibly tedious to pick up. Especially the batarangs. I mean, I even found a whole bunch of old rusted ones in the middle of the bay. What did you do, dump an entire bag in there from the air?”

Red Robin sighed and took out a wad of cash, with tracking fluid all over it. Danny grimaced, smelling the odd scent on the money. “That’s not real cash. It smells off. Are you trying to give me counterfeits because you’re broke?”

Red Robin gaped, oddly offended. “No! They’re real!”

“Doesn’t smell like it. It’s stinkier than the trash. Go get the one with the money, the litterer. Tell him I’ll be back the next full moon. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” Danny grumbled, disappearing on the spot to watch Red Robin flounder with the stack of cash and the piles of dead bodies on the shore.

“What the fuck even is my life these days?” Red Robin wondered out loud, stuffing the cash back into his pocket. He looked over the plastic wrapped bodies and slumped, sighing.

Oddly enough, Danny felt a sense of sympathy. Well, he’s not getting paid for sympathy. He’s not getting paid at all tonight, actually. Danny flew off, plunging once more into the depths of the significantly cleaner waters, and used his ice to scoop out oil stains.

Danny glanced around and sighed. He had a lot of work to do.

——

“So you’re saying he’s like a werewolf mermaid fae child immortal god thing, right?”

Bruce grunted.

“B, what the hell are you smoking these days? You know drugs are bad, right? Do we need Superman to give you that PSA?” Jason snickered.

Tim, massaging his arms from having to haul an ungodly amount of dead bodies, grunted. He’s so similar to Bruce that it gave the people currently in the cave hives.

“He said full moon. I don’t think we can track him with regular stuff. The bugs kept shorting out.”

“Oh boy,” Dick sighed. “Don’t fall off the spiral cliff, Tim. You’ve got midterms to think about so no stalking the guy.”

“Yet,” Tim shot back, changing out of his suit.

Bruce grunted, setting aside a huge stack of cash.

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat- enter Jason 1/2

MASTERPOST

The air was different with Cass, now. Danny felt a little anxious as he followed her to the study after breakfast. Something about her was serious-determined-protective. 

She always felt protective towards him. That was why he'd followed her in the first place. Some ghosts lied, but they couldn't do it with their aura. He knew what she really felt for him. 

“Sit?” She asked him. She gestured at the big squashy chair. Danny did without complaint. Cass perched behind him and started dragging her fingers through his hair, relaxing him.

Man. She was good at this. Top tier mothering, right here. Danny went limp. 

“I'm worried,” Cass broke the silence. She didn't sound worried. She never really did. Her voice was quiet and serious, but still kind. Her thumbs dug into his scalp. He pushed his head back against it. Bliss. “Barbara made you sad. Because you miss your sister?”

Danny tensed. 

‘I should have figured that Batman would track me down.’

Maybe he had known, if he was honest with himself. It didn't hit him like a shock.

“Tim thinks your name is Fenton,” she added, brutally sensible as always. And yup, that was it. No point in denying it. “Declared dead. In danger?”

He sucked in air through his teeth. He wasn't going to lie to her. 

“Worried,” she repeated. 

He thought about it. He really did. Danny bit his lip. 

She was liminal. That probably meant she'd come really close to death, in at least one sense of the word. Would that mean she was desensitized to it, or extra paranoid?

…It was hard to imagine Cass over or under reacting to a possible danger. She was just so steady. But would she see him as a possible danger if she knew what he was, what he really was? 

He could feel it out before he took a plunge with the whole truth.

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was invasive. She didn't seem to realize that she was liminal. That meant she definitely didn't realize how much she was communicating to him under her words and gestures. 

But Danny deliberately tuned into her quiet aural communication and tested the waters. “Tim is right, I'm Danny Fenton,” he said. He knew he was too tense. She would definitely feel it. But what could he do about that? He was nervous. “I… Maybe I did die.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. He could feel the crush of grief on her heart. 

But it didn’t wash away the thudding repetition of love-protect-my darling. There was no suspicion, no guilt, no fear. It was just pain for his sake, with no calculation about how to solve a sudden problem. 

God. He wanted so badly for that to have been how his parents reacted. His eyes started to sting.

Danny sniffled. He thought it was safe to tell her. “I died,” he corrected, and he knew he was right when Cass made a little wounded sound and leaned her body into him, aiming to comfort. “Not then, but a couple years ago. I’m different now, and it’s uh… It’s dangerous to be this way.”

“Affects?” Cass asked quietly. She started to pet his hair again. “Mood? Health?”

“...Huh,” he said, because that was a sensible question he hadn’t expected. If he really thought about his mood and emotions before and after the accident: “Yeah, uh, there’s sometimes a mood thing. I might be a little more aggressive than I was before? And I can get kind of intense sometimes.”

He had thought that was basically just a reaction to having a whole bunch of new threats in his life. But would pre-electrocution Danny have been able to actually stand and fight Skulker? He had genuinely been afraid of the jocks. Maybe… Maybe he was different. Sure, Sam and Jazz were up for shooting ghosts with Fenton tech. Would he have been if he was just human? 

…He didn’t really think so.

Oof. Well, that wasn’t exactly great for his sense of self.

Cass shook him lightly. “Health?” she repeated.

Danny forced down that revelation to deal with later. He didn’t like acknowledging that he was kind of a chicken by nature, but historically, there wasn’t much evidence of bravery pre-mortem. “Uh, my heart rate is really slow, body temp is low, so I can’t really afford to go to a doctor for a checkup,” he said. “Uh, sometimes I’ve got none at all and my hair turns white.” He paused there. That was- that was enough, yeah? He was going to be honest with her because she deserved honesty from him. But that didn’t mean he had to explain the whole great beyond and his inhuman status.

“Sounds like Jason,” Cass said, after a long silence.

Danny short-circuited. “Wait, what?” He craned to look at her. “Who?”

Cass darted forward to kiss his forehead. “Little brother,” she said cheerfully. “Want to meet him?”

Uh, yeah. Danny nodded vigorously, wondering what the hell she was on about. “Do you mean he died?” 

“Died,” Cass agreed, getting out her phone and tapping away at it rapidly.

“Not like, heart stopped for a minute on the operating table and he was revived, or what?” Danny pressed.

“Dead in the ground, came back later,” Cass said. “Dead for months. Now, very crabby.”

Danny balked. “What?”

“White hair too,” she said. Then her face did something funny. “I think he dyed it recently,” she said. 

Danny huffed a laugh. “If it’s the same thing as mine, you can’t dye it.” He saw her look over his head for white streaks. He didn’t correct her line of thought.

He hadn’t thought that anything could top the anticipation of meeting Batman. But Danny had to admit the rest of the day was a wash. Apparently Jason couldn’t make it until the evening, about an hour before patrol.

Danny nearly paced a line into the carpet. He had enough energy to do that now, even without ecto. He was getting soooo much food here. A guy couldn’t even stress out for an hour without someone coming by to make sure he had fruit and yogurt or a hot drink.

He didn’t need someone to come and tell him that the much anticipated Jason had shown up. Danny knew it when he went to take a sip of cruelty-free chocolate milk (hand delivered by the most frightening child in the world) and choked on vapor.

Damian gave him a glare and snatched the drink away. “Are you incapable of drinking beverages?” he demanded. His face looked so goddamn cross but he was just worried.

Danny managed a smile. “No, went down the wrong pipe, sorry.”

Damian didn’t seem to even see the fog, so- so that meant that either he was really unobservant or he wasn’t liminal enough to see it the way people did in Amity. That was a small blessing. Danny appreciated it and he took back his drink to have something to hold onto.

That was a whole ass ghost. That was a whole ghost coming onto the property, one that felt big and mad and old. Danny smacked his lips, disconcerted. 

He, uh, didn’t know what to expect from this.

[xiao-come-home]

Thinking about post-story Jiaoqiu trying to find himself in the new situation.. and getting even more clingier 🤧

warning: spoilers for jaoqiu's story if you havent played the new quest. possible ooc jiaoqiu?

Word count: 1k+

a/n: its been a while from writing and even tho im not disabled in any way, i hope its alright bc im kinda nervous to post this. i just think hed be a lovely pain in the butt to get more love </3

The new reality has been a true challenge for Jiaoqiu - trying to navigate through the house was already a tedious task, let alone cooking, but he wasn't going to give up so easily. While yes, he did miss doing things by himself - which, once in a while brought dark clouds over his head - the foxian managed to find enjoyment through doing tasks together, with your help.

It's quite known that Jiaoqiu isn't afraid of craving affection from you anywhere and anytime - especially now, considering he's limited in what he's able to do safely without hurting himself. Now that you're welcome in the kitchen to assist him, the pink-haired foxian can't help, but pull you flush against him while you carefully guide his hands to cut vegetables in even slices.

The healer slowly trails the tip of his nose down your hair until he recognizes the familiar shape of your neck - Jiaoqiu nuzzles happily into you, ever so slightly tickling you and giving you goosebumps; he smiles against your skin when you let out a comically fake, tired sigh, only fueling him to continue pestering you further.

He purposely takes his chin off the top of your head and searches for your ears so he's able to whisper, but when you decide to playfully confront him, Jiaoqiu only plays dumb and tilts his head to the side, asking you a seemingly innocent question, "Hmm? What do you mean, love? I'm not doing anything, the kitchen is not a playground, remember?"

There's a chance you'd probably believe him if you two were mere coworkers - but his twitching ears always give away his attempts to lie to you.

Jiaoqiu is clingy. Absolutely no news to anybody. That's when you finally get done with cooking, it's time for the cunning foxian to get a break; he stretches his arms to you, waiting until you put his hands on your cheeks. He cups them gently, rubbing the soft flesh with his thumb, and softly moves it to find your lips - his mind paints a picture of your figure, the shape and every crease his fingers feel; he smiles at you yet again, with a glimmer of mischief.

He wants to kiss you.

He also knows he will most likely miss your lips more or less.

But instead of feeling hopeless, he uses it to his advantage.

Jiaoqiu begins to pepper your face in kisses until he feels you try to get away from him and hears your angelic giggles; he kisses your left eyebrow - oh no, that's definitely not the place he's aiming for! He moves more to the right and kisses the bridge of your nose - oh no, not yet! The softness of his lips meets the apple of your cheek - oh, that's closer, but still not the goal he has in his mind...

After a while of Jiaoqiu purposely changing directions (and probably missing some anyway, but it's not like he complains about it, since he can kiss you more this way), with a little help of yours, he places a kiss on the corner of your lips, barely giving you time to breathe and finally, finally reaching his awaited destination, pressing his lips on yours; he gives you a few quick kisses if he feels like he still misses the exact place to change the angle, melting into a puddle with butterflies in his stomach.

Is it hard sometimes? Yes. The heavy weight travels straight to his heart, leaving him clenching his fists; the foxian hates the helplessness that hurts twice as much, much worse than the wounds Hoolay has inflicted.

Nowadays, his ears pick up your step way better, even letting him guess correctly what jar of herbs you're opening from the mere sound. He uses his tail as some sort of object detector - but he only waves his fan innocently when it makes you yelp in surprise, as Jiaoqiu runs the tip down your spine all the way down.

"Ah, I wonder what that was?" Jiaoqiu wonders, the fluffy ears twitching and the pink tail swishing behind him, "Is something wrong, beloved? Did you mess up the measurements? No worries, we'll fix it right away."

Well, if you decide to leave the house for supplies, you now have to hold his hand all the time. Just to be sure, he also wraps his tail around you, so he knows you're by his side and he doesn't bump into anybody. Hey, he's just thinking about the civilians around him! As a doctor, there's nothing else that matters more than keeping them safe and healthy... Right?

Even though he's been braiding his hair for years and could probably do it by himself again - being only a tiny bit off on one side, he cuddles up to you in the morning and presses kisses onto your neck, silently asking you to help him once you get out of bed - you certainly can't miss his hair getting all up in your face... and therefore, what he's asking for.

Does he feel a liiiitle desperate? Mmm, a bit.

Does he feel like he's feeding the helplessness in the back of his mind? Sometimes.

But it's worth to look for happy moments regardless of the situation - and you being perfectly aware he's doing it solely to get even more of your attention - makes him feel a little better with it.

Though, he knows when to stop and give you space; he doesn't want to actually become your burden, even if he lost his sight, he's still trying his best to stay as independent as possible in terms of daily tasks as possible.

If you're tired, Jiaoqiu waits until you hand him the brush and he's the one combing your hair; if you're too sleepy in the morning, he's the one helping you put on your clothes with verbal help, even if it takes a bit more time than usual. Along with you, he organizes medicines so neatly, it takes a blink of an eye for him to bring a full tray of medicines when you happen to catch a cold.

Does he miss being able to see? More than he'd admit.

But the more he thinks, the pink-haired foxian always comes to the same conclusion - it'll probably be harder to unlearn the clinginess once his eyesight comes back...

But for now, maybe it's alright to indulge a little more?

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely! could i pretty please get a blueberry muffin (part 2) with this fic:

https://www.tumblr.com/moonstruckme/727381518213857280/not-sure-if-youre-taking-requests-buttttt

thank you!! 🫶🫶

Thanks for requesting <3

part 1

cw: concussion, vomit mention, maybeee some d/s dynamics? in the soft sense though

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 812 words

You’ve forgotten your sandwich again. It stays suspended in the air, halfway between your mouth and your plate, while you stare at the coffee table like there’s a riddle in the scratches on the wood. 

“Sweetheart,” Sirius prompts you. You look over at him, lost, and he nods to your sandwich. “Are you full?” 

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No.” 

You take another bite and press your lips together hard as you chew. Sirius worries you might cry again. It’s been on and off tears since they nabbed you from Marlene’s and if your aim was to cut through Sirius’ anger about you going when you shouldn’t have, you’ve done it thoroughly. He feels like he’s being cleaved open with each one that rolls down your cheek. 

“Does the paracetamol feel like it’s working?” Remus asks you. 

You nod, swallowing. 

Remus repositions himself in the arm chair, propping his chin on his hand with a sigh. James stops midway between the bathroom and the sitting room, his hair wet from the shower. 

“Uh oh,” he says. “Are we talking?” 

“We’re talking,” Remus confirms. 

James makes a face but sits down. His knee immediately begins bouncing. 

As ready as Sirius was to tear into you earlier, he feels for you too. You look into your lap as you pull the sleeves of Remus’ jumper over your fingers, waiting for someone to start. 

“Dove,” Remus sounds exhausted with this already, “you knew why going to that party was a bad idea for you.” 

“Yeah,” you say quietly. 

“Then why did you?” 

You’re picking apart the knit of Remus’ sleeve. Sirius takes your hands in his, stopping you. Your eyes linger on them. “It’s Marlene’s birthday,” you say. “She’s my friend.” 

“She is your friend, angel,” James says gently. “Do you think she really would have cared if you’d missed her party if she knew how awful it was for you to be there?” 

You look like you’re chewing the inside of your lip. “It wasn’t awful.” 

“You got sick on the drive home,” Sirius reminds you. Okay, it’s possible he’s still a little angry. “Do you mean to tell me that was the result of you having a good time?” 

He immediately feels like shit when your expression twinges painfully. 

“I know you wanted to be there for Marlene,” Remus cuts in, “and to make her happy, but I don’t think it was worth making yourself miserable.” His voice is calm. Sirius doesn’t know how he does it; Remus was the most upset when they learned you’d gone to the party, but somehow he manages to keep his tone gentle, his expression kind as he talks you through the fallacies in your own reasoning. “You need to be more considerate of yourself, dove.” 

“You are a considerate person,” James says. “We love that about you, sweetheart. You’re kind, and you’re always thinking about everyone else, it’s just that sometimes you think about them too much. Marlene getting to see you at her party, versus you getting the rest you need to keep your concussion from getting worse…” He mimes a scale with his hands, making a face. “It’s not a very fair trade-off, yeah?” 

You nod but don’t speak. Your eyes are on your lap, and when Sirius dips his head to try and see you better, your lips are a harsh, tortured line. He squeezes your hands. 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice thin. 

Remus makes a soft sound, reaching for you. “Come here, babydove.” 

You join him in his chair and Sirius sees his boyfriend’s worry finally dissipating as he mushes brief, ardent kisses into your hair. James smiles softly. 

“You’re alright,” Remus promises, voice muffled from how his lips are stuck to your head. He rubs up and down your back firmly while you hide your face in his chest. “We just want you to understand. So you don’t do it again.” 

“I know.” Your voice sounds fragmented, and it’s like ice picks through Sirius’ chest. “Sorry, it’s not you guys, I just—” You take a stilted breath. James moves to perch on the arm of Remus’ chair so he can squeeze your shoulder. “I just really don’t feel well.” 

“Oh, I know.” Remus rests his forehead on top of yours. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you feel like you could be sick again, baby?” Sirius asks. When you shake your head, he stands. “Then let’s go to bed, yeah? Do you feel sufficiently lectured?” 

Your shoulders give a little shake, and though he already suspects it’s from laughter, James’ grin confirms it. 

“Do you want us to keep Remus away from you?” James teases, giving your shoulder another squeeze. “Would that make you feel better?” 

“Yes,” you say, while winding your arms around Remus’ waist. 

Remus doesn’t even feign offense. Only cups the back of your head and mushes another kiss into your hair.

[thebestsetter]

Kuroo has always had a bad hair.

Ever since he was a kid, one of his main physical traits is his atrocious bed hair. He wakes up like that because of how hard he presses his pillows to his ears while he sleeps, so it's not really a habit he can change easily. Also, he has never had a problem with it, especially because his pretty wife, you, said it's one of your favorite parts of him.

You always talk about how you love his hair, even if you still call him "rooster head" sometimes. You love to pet it, you love the shape, the color and everything involving his hair. Not even he is capable of understanding the "attraction" you feel for it, so he just enjoys it.

So yeah, he doesn't really hate his hair, and overtime, he learned how to keep it more "tamed" and "behaved". So he thought his hair problems were over. No more bad hair days.

Well, he thought.

"Stupid... hair tie...." Kuroo murmured, voice coming out muffled because of the pink butterfly pin with glitter that was on his mouth. His eyes held a look of extreme concentration, akin to a hunter aiming for a deer in the middle of the woods.

He was serious. In fact, he had never been so serious in his life. Because this wasn't any occasion. It was the first time you had ever let him dress up your 5 year old daughter for school. He couldn't mess this up.

Her hair needed to be perfect. He just seemed to forget he had never braided a hair before in his life.

"Daddy, are you alright?" His little girl asked, feet moving around and hands on her lap, waiting patiently for her dad to finish the "amazing hairstyle" he promised her.

If only she knew.

"Yeah, sweetheart!" Tetsuro said, drops of sweat running down his forehead. "Just wait a little more!" He said, taking his phone off his pocket while still holding a lock of hair and still with the butterfly pin in his mouth.

He then started watching a video on youtube. It's title was "How to make a braid with only 3 steps".

"Ah, so it's actually done with 3 locks of hair, not only 2!"

He then began treading his daughter's hair with such precision that it was scary. His eyes were focused and it seemed like he couldn't pay attention to anything else. It was only him, the hair ties, and the hair. Nothing else.

After a while, things were actually going somewhere.

No way. He was almost getting it finished!

"Tetsu, honey, are you guys ready?" He heard you calling from the kitchen

"One sec, love!" Kuroo shouted back. "Now I just need to do this and... AHA! My masterpiece is ready!"

"How do I look, daddy?" His daughter asked, smiling brightly at him. Even if she had some missing teeth, Kuroo swore it was the prettiest smile he had ever seen in his life. Of course it was. It was just like your's, afterall.

"You look amazing sweetie. Like a real princess! You're your dad's princess, you know that, right?"

"Thank you dad!" She smiled again, hugging him strongly. He hug her back, careful not to touch her hair in the process. He couldn't ruin his hard work!

"Now, why don't we go show mama how great you look, hm?" He crouched down and smiled at her

"Of course! Let's go dad!" She laughed, grabbing his hands and pulling him downstairs.

She really was the cutest kid Kuroo has ever seen.

"Okay sweetheart, close your eyes!" Kuroo said, peeking from the kitchen's door. "Our daughter wants to surprise you with her amazing hair - the one I braided, of course"

"Sure, Tetsu! I can't wait to see this great work of art!" You giggled, using a sarcatic tone.

I mean, look at his hair. He couldn't have an experience with braiding. It was clear the hair would look utterly horrible.

"Hey, I sensed that sarcasm!" He said, which made you giggle "Mind you, she loved it!"

"If you say so. I'm gonna close my eyes now!" You smiled, putting your hands on front of your eyes to show them you wouldn't cheat and open your eyes

"No peaking, mama!" You heard your daughter saying, her little footsteps making you realize she entered the kitchen.

"Yeah, no peaking!" Kuroo agreed.

Gosh, they really were the same.

"Okay, okay! I'm not gonna peek"

"Now, I'm gonna count to three and say 'now'. Then you can open your eyes!" Kuroo said, voice showing how excited he was

"Okay!" You smiled

"1..."

You were really starting to think he did a great job. He looked so proud of it, after all!

"2..."

You heard your daughter giggling in the background. Maybe you really judged your husband wrong. Maybe he did know how to braid hairs.

"3..."

You were sure it would be at least decent. If it was, then you'd let your daughter wear it to school. If they were both happy, why not?

"Now!"

You then remove your hands from your face and open your eyes, meeting the most...

Atrocious braid you've ever seen.

"She's not going like that to school." You deadpanned, looking at the hair and wondering why he thought this looked good. Had he never seen a braid before in his life?

"HUH? WHY NOT?" Kuroo shouted, his chest that was once proudly puffed up now deflating

"Why not, mama?" Your daughter started tearing up, looking up at you with big, pleading eyes.

"It looks..." terrible. Is what you really wanted to say.

But looking at your the sad faces of your family members, you didn't find the strength to do so. And so, with a sigh, you smiled and said

"Too good! Other kids will be jealous!"

"For a moment there I thought you were judging my hairstyling habilities!" Kuroo laughed, that obnoxious laugh of his that you loved so much echoing through the halls

"Oh!" Your daughter also laughed, the same way her dad did "There's no problem! I can tell dad to do their hairstyles too!"

"Great idea, sweetie!" Kuroo agreed with her, eyes sparkling up

"I think... it's better if you don't"

"What do you mean by that?" Kuroo asked, looking straight at you with a very sad face.

"Just... you don't seem to have a talent with hairs."

"But you told me you love my hair!" Tetsuro pouted

"I do. And I love you, too!" You kissed his nose, making him smirk at you.

"Not enough. What about... here?"

He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in for a kiss on the lips. It was full of all the love and passion he held for you and the family you both created together.

"Ewww, daddy and mommy are kissing! Gross!" Your daughter put her tongue out and did a "throwing up" mimic, making you both laugh.

"Now, let's take you to school, sweetheart!"

You smiled, leading both your husband and your daughter to the car.

You really loved your family, even if Kuroo didn't know how to deal with hairs sometimes.

You wonder if he would "get along" better with his son's hair. The son that he still doesn't know is in your belly right now.

Well, he still has 7 months to practice for when the time comes.

~ A/N: FINALLY WROTE A REQUEST!! It was so fun writing this omG. I love healthy families 💕. ALSO, first hq fic!! 🥳🥳

Masterlist

[ambitiousmars]

.☘︎ ݁˖ GENTLE precision

.☘︎ ݁˖ summary: viktor works in his own way. on the floor, in the dark, sometimes even in his sleep. but no matter the circumstances you'd hate for him to miss his morning coffee.

.☘︎ ݁˖ pairing: viktor x gn!reader

.☘︎ ݁˖ genre: fluff

.☘︎ ݁˖ warnings: no use of y/n, pure fluff, not proof read, based on season 1

I'll gently graze you, so you'll remember my touch. I'll softly speak to you, so you'll remember my voice while it's coaxing you rather than haunting you. And I'll remember you, so when you remember me, we'll remember us.

"Morning, Viktor." You greeted yourself as the door of the darkened lab clicked behind you, hand grazing against the wall to find the light switch.

"Keep them off," Viktor would urge, "Please." He'd mumble politely as a blue light sparked from the floor beside his chair.

"What are you working on?" You'd ask, making coordinated steps with coffee in each hand towards the sparking light.

You didn't know it could be so dark in a light room. The window looked as if it was the dead off night, and you clearly wouldn't know any better if he told you it was, in fact. Even if you were outside ten minutes prior.

One step: lies a cord notorious for being tripped on.

Picking your foot to place three more steps.

Where a table clock laid, broken glass facing down that no one bothered to pick up.

Picking up your foot, you took a few more steps before standing beside the busy man.

"I hope that's coffee I smell." Viktor whispered, not because he didn't want you to hear but because of how gentle he took your care. Whispering was a sign of vulnerability, not even he noticed about himself.

"Well, you always did get what you hoped for." You responded in the same tone, a smile evident in your voice as you lowered yourself to sit beside him.

He pulled away from whatever he was working on and removed the goggles he placed on his eyes to the floor beside him.

He reached a hand out to you, noticing you couldn't see him in the dark and you weren't even looking at him. He located your wrist to grasp lightly and slide the coffee from your hand before letting go.

"What are you working on?" You asked, moving your eyes back to him. As your eyes found his, you noticed the glisten in his eyes that still glowed through darkness, something you'd hate to miss.

He hummed through his sip off the hot beverage, letting you know he acknowledged your curiosity.

"Same thing I was working on yesterday,  and the day before..." He spoke, although not great with humor, you could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. As if he wanted you to laugh at the thing he found frustrating,  maybe to make it less frustrating for him.

"And why are we on the floor?"

'we.'

A simple word, a simple pronoun aimed at the two, now sat on the floor together.

"You can sit on a chair if you'd like." Viktor suggested.

'we.'

No one told you to sit on the floor.

"Then you'd be the only one sitting," You shook your head even when you knew he couldn't see it.

"And you'd be the only one standing." He whispered, more to himself than anything.

"Presicely."

Being alone was what he wanted, but being with you is what he craved. He didn't mind being accompanied on the floor by someone who doesn't mind accompanying him.

But it was far more than his presence, you'd hate to remember him by the man who was all alone unless you asked. You shouldn't have to ask, and he shouldn't have to answer.

Your hand found the air, with what you could see you brought it towards where you thought the shoulder of the man was. You were a bit far off until it landed on the fabric of his vest.

He didn't say anything, although he was curious he knew once you'd find what you were looking for, he'd know. Like now, when your hand glided across his chest to his right shoulder--letting your face follow where your hand went, you rested your cheek on his empty shoulder.

Which he allowed, as he sipped his coffee and thought about the question told once today.

"And why are you on the floor?"

[monst]

Locked in

Dick Grayson x Gn. Reader

Extra: Fluff, And very mild taco sauce angst

     You were content with watching him from your spot on the couch, Haley’s head on your lap while you gave her scritches. You hadn’t seen him in a while. An off-planet Titan’s mission that kept him from your grasp for longer than both of you expected. And to no one's surprise, he’s returned to more work. You admired his work ethic but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish he’d take it easy. 

     “I hope you’re thinking of me over there~” You heard him chime from his seat at the kitchen table. 

     “Kinda.” you sniff “I’m thinking of how peacefully quiet it was when you were gone.” 

     “Ouch,” He laughs. “And here I was, thinking of you~” You know that tone, and you know he’s baiting you into feeling bad. And it’s working. You try your luck and peek up from petting Haley. You breathe out through your nose at the look he’s giving you. Big blue eyes fraught with faux sadness, His pretty lips pursed in a tempting pout. You crack when he furrows his brows looking utterly pitiful. With an exaggerated huff, you relent. 

      But you aren’t going to make it easy for him. You bite your lip looking between the doggo’s ears and fluttering your lashes at him shyly. “I missed you.” You don’t quite manage the coy tone you were aiming for, you're too earnest, as it’s the truth. You did miss him. A lot. His act drops instantly. The lines around his mouth pinch and he averts his gaze. 

     “But not that much.” You add. “I really enjoyed being able to use a blanket.” You lay the breadcrumbs and the Robin pecks. 

     “You’re saying I hog the sheets?!” He scoffs mock offense dripping from each syllable. You don’t waste time quickly narrowing your eyes, the memories of shivering in the night as he steals them away aren’t that far away! He’s raising his arms in defense “Okay so maybe I do… sometimes.” 

     “Sometimes?” You press. 

     “Well, I haven’t recently.” He grins, but there’s a tightness to the corners of his eyes as the joke slips past. 

     “Well, you're here to steal them now…” 

      You can tell that it’s still eating at him. Always feeling guilty that man, you roll your eyes fondly. His bad habits have grown on you too much for you to resent them. However, knowing him he’ll try to make it up to you even if you’re not bothered. You knew what you were getting into when you cast your lot with him. And you know you’ll let him play out his ‘atonement.’

      “Can I make it up to you?” And there it was. 

      “Yeah, you can start by finishing up over there so that you can come cuddle us.” You can see the tension melt from his shoulders at your words. And the sounds of his fingers against the keyboard resume. You yawn into your hand after a few minutes, your eyelids heavy. 

       “Or..” You look over to see his eyes already on you. “You can come here and cuddle me while I work?” He’s batting those pretty eyes at you as if you're not already unfolding your legs and standing. You leave the puppy to sleep as you leave the living room. Your hands slide across his back and over his broad shoulders. You kiss his cheek, laughing when he grumbles about you missing. 

      “As nice as this is, this isn’t what I meant.” He hums. His calloused palms grasp your forearm and you allow him to position you in front of him. He uses his legs to push the chair from under the wooden table. 

      “Dick.” You begin. 

      “I missed you too.” he cut in, patting his lap to drive his point home. “And it’s late, what if you fall asleep and we can’t cuddle?” He’s giving you that look again. All innocent and boy Scout blue and you're instantly suspicious. 

      “Fine. But I don’t see how you're going to get anything done like this.” You climb onto his lap and his arms wrap around your waist to pull you closer. “And no funny business” you add trying not to brush against his fresh wounds. He lets out a sulky ‘Aw man’ before he shuffles you both forward until you feel the wood resting against your back. His head is over your shoulder as he continues to type. Slower than he would have before, due to the awkward angle. You almost fall asleep that way, the soft rise and fall of his chest against yours, the rhythmic tapping of the keys. That is until you feel his lips against your head. 

   “‘m sorry.” 

   “Nothing to be sorry for.” You yawn, your fingers playing with his hair. 

   “You deserve a present partner.” He mumbles. 

   “And you, a patient one, Pumpkin I do miss you when you're gone but I Swear that I don't mind waiting” Your lips press against his scratchy stubble. “Not when I know you always come back.” You both ignore the blaring siren of what his not returning would mean. “‘Told you I'm locked in, are you?”

      He smiled, kissing your temple. “Always angel.” You'd have this conversation again. When he comes back to you from yet another mission all banged up and guilty. Absolutely no doubt about it. But you're here to stay, for as long as you have together, you’re locked in. 

[corpseidol]

Hear me out, a vampire like reader x sbg cast. Like they don’t drink human blood but they do drink phantom blood (do they even have blood?) Maybe reader had actually been in the cycle longer, giving them more experience with the phantoms? Like in the day time just your average goth but when it strikes twelve? Those phantoms better pray. I think it would be funny if they were the youngest, like Aiden but with more maturity? 🩸-anon

NIGHTFALL

author’s note : I LOVE THIS (you can be 🩸 anon!!)

concept : vampire!reader with sbg group

genre : hcs + one drabble, vampire au (only reader)

content : gn!reader

first meeting the group

⠀ › ⠀being honest, the group thought you were some newly found demon that lurked the phantom realm.

⠀ › ⠀they were freaked out when they saw you just recklessly eating off the flesh of each phantom and slicing all of them into pieces.

⠀ › ⠀at first you seemed like a maniac but the more they saw the more that ashlyn felt like you were doing it like you knew what you were getting into.

⠀ › ⠀as they were watching you assassinate each phantom and clear the area for them, aiden felt most fascinated and was about to jump in as soon as you killed them all until you started sucking on the phantoms flesh

⠀ › ⠀the group was looking at you with pure disgust (while aiden still had that smile on his face)

⠀ › ⠀logan stared at you, aiming his shotgun at you and as soon as the bullet almost hit, you flinched. then you were gone. gone?

“i’m offended.” you hissed, crossing your arms. your clothes were drenched in blood. as logan was about to shoot you again, you kicked his gun to the side and wiped the blood dripping on your chin with the back of your hand before licking it.

the others didn’t know if they should run but tyler confidently held his weapon at you “are you gonna be a problem?” he grit his teeth as he watched your smile fade “are you?” you asked, your hand curling into a fist.

first impressions

⠀ › ⠀the group concluded that they wouldn’t hurt you (unless you do something wrong)

⠀ › ⠀aiden was mostly fascinated by your skill and asked a lot of questions

⠀ › ⠀tyler was wary of you and would get protective when you go anywhere near taylor. he thinks you’re a psycho.

⠀ › ⠀taylor was a little wary but she did wanna warm up to you, she had questions to ask too

⠀ › ⠀logan seemed to be timid around you, his guard was always up. he had mixed feelings about you.

⠀ › ⠀ashlyn felt slightly troubled abt an addition to the group, but she really pondered when you said you’re way more experienced than them. she had many questions to ask. and those questions weren’t all about your abilities. (some, not all!)

⠀ › ⠀ben was quiet around you, he didn’t stand out very much.

drinking phantom blood

⠀ › ⠀it would freak them out when they all meet up in one area and you seem to be missing

⠀ › ⠀and then after a few seconds, you come back with blood all over your shirt with a dumb smile. they look at you with a weird face and you just stare at them like “wazzup ma dudes?”

⠀ › ⠀sometimes it’s like they have to keep you on a leash because of how reckless you can be

⠀ › ⠀they would get scared and start running from you when fresh phantom blood gets all over them and your pupils just grow bigger as the scent flows to your nose

general hcs

⠀ › ⠀i like to think that you get way more energy when you drink the blood of phantoms so when you do, you’re like an unleashed beast.

⠀ › ⠀compared to the others, you’re not scared to go in a phantom-filled area. you just make sure you’re prepared.

⠀ › ⠀in the real world, you deal with terrible body pains because of the adrenaline

⠀ › ⠀aiden is very playful and challenging towards you

⠀ › ⠀you and aiden are literally a power-duo

⠀ › ⠀when you and tyler still haven’t warmed up to each other, he would hate it when a phantom would be behind him and when he hears a loud squash; he would turn around and see a phantom’s body on the floor with their head being held by your sharp teeth with a shit-eating grin

⠀ › ⠀ben heals your bruises because you get hurt as much as aiden does

[annaloveshjp]

cold kisses ✧

——————————————————————

harry potter x gn!reader

word count: 1k

summary: cute little scenario of harry being sleepy and wanting kisses ♡

——————————————————————

“Y/N?” Harry’s voice pulls you from your book as he walks into the common room after his quidditch practice.

“Harry, hi,” you greet him. He walks over and plops himself onto the sofa next to you. Harry’s still in his quidditch sweater, which is a bit too big for him. He pulls the sleeves over his hands to make paws.

“You okay? How was practice?” you ask him, putting your book down and patting your lap, inviting him to lie down. He sometimes reminded you of a puppy.

“Fine, and good,” he says softly. He leans down and stretches across your lap, groaning as he does. The wind messed up his hair, sticking everywhere, but not much more than usual. You stroke his hair as he leans into you more, undoing any small knots the wind had created.

His cheeks grow warm from the fireplace that is always lit. He sighs in contentment as the warmth spreads through his body.

“Need a shower?” you ask. He doesn’t reply for a moment, then nods his head. “Yeah,”

“Okay, well, go,” you nudge his head lightly.

“I don’t want to,” he says. “You’re comfortable.”

“My lap will still be here after your shower, Harry,” you say, smiling. “Now go, love. Take a nice, relaxing shower,”

He tilts his head to look at you. “Okay,” he proceeds to roll off of the sofa, hurting his behind in the process.

“Owww,” he groans tiredly. “That hurt,”

“No shit, Harry,” you sigh. “Now shoo, before I drag your arse up to your dorm,”

He lets a small smile slip onto his face before getting up and going to shower, but not before kissing you on the cheek.

You pick your book up and continue reading as he showers. After a while, you check the clock and see it’s been thirty minutes and you start to wonder if he fell asleep in the shower.

You put your book down and walk up to his dorm. You knock and wait for a sign of protest but hear nothing, so you open the door.

Walking in, you look over to see Harry lying in his bed with damp hair and no shirt on. He looks asleep, but you confirm he isn’t when you hear a muffled hi coming from his direction.

You look around to make sure the other beds are empty (they were), then walk over to him and sit beside him.

“How was your shower?” you ask him, reaching over and rubbing his bare shoulder. He flinches slightly at your cold touch.

“Good,” he seems to be talking to his pillow.

A sudden idea pops into your head. “Hey, sit up,”

He lifts his head to give you a questioning look.

“Love, sit up,” you repeat.

He stretches before obliging. He now sits next to you on the bed, his eyelids drooping slightly.

“Good,” you say quietly before crawling behind him on the bed and sitting down again. You raise your hands and begin massaging his shoulders so he can relax.

He tensed up for a second. You questioned why in your head for a moment before realizing why he felt so warm; your hands had been cold before.

“Sorry,” you say. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, it’s okay, they’ll get warmer as you go on,” he says. “But that sure woke me up.”

A small laugh escaped your lips as you continued with your massage.

“How did everyone do during practice?” you ask him. Your hands are getting warmer now.

“Everyone did fine,” he says. “Ron missed a few, and Katie got lightheaded after an hour, but other than that, it was good.”

“That’s good,” you agree. “D’you think I'd make a good player?”

“With your aim? No way,” he jokes. “But maybe a beater. Do you like hitting things?”

“Sometimes,” you say. “One time I actually hit my sibling with a pillow and knocked them off our loft bed,” you cringe and half smile at the memory.

“Ouch,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say. “Maybe next year I’ll try for beater, who knows?”

“That’d be cool,” Harry says. “I’d get to boss you around, ha!”

“You already can, Harry,” you say without thinking. Your face turns red in realization but thankfully Harry can’t see.

“I– what?” he turns around with a slight smirk as he notices your shocked state.

You quickly compose yourself and say with as much confidence as you can muster, “You heard me. You already can.”

He narrows his eyes for a moment. “Okay, then. Get off the bed.”

You didn’t think he’d actually start to boss you around, but you oblige anyway. You crawl around him and off the bed, now standing in front of him. “Is that it?” you ask.

“Now, kiss me.”

You look at him. “Is that it?”

“Maybe,” he says. “Now do as I say. Please?”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes playfully before leaning forward and giving him a swift peck on the lips.

“Hey! That wasn’t a kiss!” he whines as you back away.

“It was!” you say.

“Barely,” he retorts.

“Fine,” you say as you walk up to him. Harry scoots back on the bed to make room for you to sit. You sit down and look from his eyes to his lips.

His hand cups your jaw as you both lean in for a kiss. Your hands go to his warm shoulders as your lips meet and suddenly your whole body is warmer than just a few seconds ago.

You lean into him to somehow feel him more, which makes the kiss more intense. One of his hands goes to rest on your hip and all of a sudden you’re sitting on his lap.

You pull away for air after a moment. “Good enough kiss?” you ask him.

“Almost,” he says. He leans forward once again and pecks your lips once, twice, then a third time before he says, “Okay, good.”

You smile and kiss him on the nose.

Harry pulls you with him as he lies down on his back, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around you protectively.

“I’m warm now,” you say. “Thank you for sharing your body heat.”

“No problem, love,” he says through a yawn. “Can we sleep now?”

“Of course,” you say. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Night, Honey,” he whispers.

[after-witch]

Sufferance [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Sufferance [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: Patience is a thread. Eventually, it snaps. You should have minded this with someone like Chrollo Lucilfer.

word count: 3000+

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, rough noncon sex, sexual assault, degradation

You love books. You always have. As a child, you would curl up under your covers, flashlight in your mouth or propped up carefully with dirty laundry, reading page after page until you heard the creak of your mother’s footsteps in the hallway and had to flop down like a fish, pretending to be asleep. As a teen, you devoured books on the bus, in between classes, sometimes during classes much to your teacher’s irritation. 

Your love of reading led where it sometimes does as an adult--to the library. You were just an assistant--shelver, pamphlet folder, read-books-to-the-kids-every-Tuesday-morning--but it was enough for you to be in the building.It wasn’t a particularly lucrative job, and you had heard from friends and family time and time again that you really ought to go back to school and aim for something higher. Time and time again, you shook your head, smiling, and said you were happy to be there.

Now, you wish you had listened to them. You wish you had put in your 2 weeks notice and went back to school or hell, just quit and taken a job somewhere else. Anywhere else. Preferably in a backroom. A warehouse. Somewhere that wasn’t visible to the public and therefore visible to people like him.

Somewhere that didn’t have you sitting quietly behind a desk, processing books, double checking inventory, darting here and there to help patrons or put something back on the shelves. 

Because that is exactly how Chrollo Lucilfer found you.

You met him once… twice… three… four… five times at the library. At least, five times that you know of; thinking back, you wonder if he watched you secretly. He must have, to know so much about you. You push that thought away.

He left an impression, but how couldn’t he? He was handsome and rather intimidating, with a casually professional outfit and an intriguing bandage wrapped around his forehead. His voice was soft and polite, inquiring, curious. 

He came back a few times. Struck up a conversation. Helped you reach a tall shelf, a low shelf. Offered to carry a stack of books that you had to put away without the cart because it had gone missing. 

At first you appreciated another kind patron--but there was something about him that you didn’t like. Something which seemed to seep out of him as time went on.

Oh, you couldn't have pinpointed it if you’d been paid in solid gold. It was something innate. Something primal. Something deep in your gut that told you to stay away from him, like a rabbit catching a whiff of a predator in the woods.

So you started avoiding him as much as possible, running into the stock room whenever you saw him come in, pleading with a coworker that you weren’t feeling well and needed to swap out. You thought if you ignored him, he would leave you alone, move on. 

Chrollo, on the other hand--if his own words told to you later are to be believed--fell absolutely, maddeningly for you.

So he waited to see if you could come around (you didn’t) and he took matters into his own hands.

That is to say, he kidnapped you. 

You had asked him why, just the once. He shrugged and mentioned that he couldn’t stay in this town forever, and he had to take you before he left. If he didn’t have to go, perhaps he might have tried to court you, but ah, it simply couldn’t be helped.

“Couldn’t be helped.” That’s what he said. It couldn’t be helped that he stole you from your life, your friends, your family. It couldn’t be helped that he stole you. Took you away from everything you’ve known and has decided to keep you with him. Like a pet--no, not that. Like a treasure. Something to be admired and touched at his whim.

And that is where you are now… 

Well. More or less.

Just because he’s kidnapped you doesn’t mean you have to give in to him. At least not outside of the fact that you can’t get away from him, and you know that there’s no point in trying to run or fight or desperately beg hotel concierges or passers-by for help. Because no one can help you. 

What you can do is fight, in little ways. Ways that dig under his skin and keep you from completely drowning in horror and misery. 

The best way to dig under the skin of the seemingly almighty Chrollo Lucilfer is to ignore his attempts to woo you. And oh, they are temptations, there is no doubting that. He has offered so much at your feet that you sometimes wonder why he simply doesn’t find someone who might be open to his advances and do the same. You’ve told him as much, and he’s murmured sweet nothings (emphasis on nothings, in your opinion) about how you’re the only one who’s ever really caught his eye and his heart. 

He’s offered you a veritable library of books, including treasures that you’re sure (even if he won't admit it) were stolen from some priceless collection. He’s taken you to bookstores and told you to have your pick, anything you want--it’s yours. He’ll even read it with you. 

He suggests getting your favorite meals--sticky and spicy rice dishes, homey pasta from the local restaurant, pastries with sweet cream. Whatever you want, whenever you want. He’s collected all of your favorite films (the fact that he knows which were your favorites makes you feel sick every time you think about it) and watched them with you, but there’s no enjoyment in the scenes. Just as there is no enjoyment in the jewelry he clasps around your wrist, your neck; the rings he slides on your fingers. 

You reject the intention behind them all, verbally or physically. Except the food, but only because you need the energy to keep up your struggles for another day. 

You refuse to accept this as normal. Any of this. 

That’s why he still ties you up when he has to leave, whether it’s a short leash that keeps you on the bed or a long chain around your ankle, keeping you away from the front door of wherever you’ve been stashed.

Sometimes you’re tied up when he’s here, too, if you’ve been too ornery. You refuse to let him touch you or kiss you, though God in heaven knows he’s tried. You’ve bitten him in the past, and got gagged for the trouble, but it was worth it. It’s not like you wanted to talk to him anyway. 

He can kidnap you, but he can’t make you love him. He can’t make you let him love you, either, whatever version of “love” he believes is in his heart.

But.

But.

But.

Patience is a thread. Eventually, when pulled too tight, it snaps.

You might have paid more attention to this fact, if you knew what was coming.

--

You shouldn’t be surprised when you exit the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in clean sweatpants and a lounge shirt, that the apartment has been transformed. It’s not the first time Chrollo has attempted a romantic evening.

But you weren’t expecting it and tonight, he’s pulled out everything in the book. Lights. Music. Food. Mood.

On the table of the hotel room are some of your favorite dishes, all neatly arranged on top of a crisp white tablecloth. There are glasses of wine, probably expensive. In the background soft music plays, something nice, relaxing, elegant. There are candles on the dining table, on the coffee table, above the fireplace. Flickering and dancing, giving the room a dreamy effect. 

And there is Chrollo, of course, standing as casually as he can (which is not very much at all) in front of the table. Staring at you with unspoken expectations in his eyes. 

“I thought,” he says, slowly, after a while, “that you could pick our movie tonight as well. Anything you please.” 

You don’t answer. You look at the table and then at him, but you don’t answer.

He sighs, and you see--just for a moment--one of the hands at his side clench and release. He walks toward you, and you’ve half a mind to turn around and lock yourself in the bathroom, but he’s quicker than your thoughts. 

One hand goes to your chin and you set your jaw together as tight as you can, lips pursed, ready to spit venom if he should try anything. 

“Darling,” he whispers. “I wish you’d let me treat you.” He pauses. “I wish you’d let me kiss you.” 

You can feel his breath on your cheek. It smells like mint. He probably popped one while you were in the shower. Asshole. 

He leans in, and it’s not the first time he’s tried to kiss you but it’s the most audacious in recent memory, and you yank your jaw away and take a step back.

You breathe in through your nose, wishing hot fumes could come out to represent how you feel inside. But they don’t. 

So you settle for words.

“Fuck. You.” You spit them out, jaw clenched, brow furrowed. “Fuck you and your ‘date’ and if you think I’m ever, ever going to let you… let you…” Kiss me, touch me, have anything from me except poison and hatred? You can’t finish.

The words aren’t enough. You need something more, something that lets you kinetically toss all of this anger and helplessness out into the world. 

Ah. The table. 

You don’t think before you do it. You just do it. Your hands grip the pressed white table cloth and you yank, hard, sending all the carefully set glasses and dishes flying to the floor. The candles, fragile things, sputter out in the process.

For a few moments, it is mostly silent, punctuated only by a soft dripping that you assume must be spilled wine and your own rapid breathing.

And then you look back at Chrollo and feel your stomach drop out from underneath you.

He’s staring, not at the mess you’ve made, but you. And he doesn’t look angry at all, which isn’t quite right--because you know he’s angry. You know it because the air feels heavy, rancid, like you’re being pressed down by mere emotion. 

“I’ve been kind,” he says finally, voice soft and calm. You want to scream--kind?!--but the feeling in the air keeps you from speaking. You don’t want it inside your mouth, this air. 

“I’ve been kind,” he repeats, “but enough is enough.” 

If you were a rabbit, you would have run. But you’re not, and so you’re standing perfectly still when he takes slow steps toward you and grabs your wrist.

Now, you do try to pull away--but for once, you can’t wrench yourself from his grip. You always had been able to before. But this is different--he’s different. It’s like he’s a stone statue, and no matter how you pull, it makes no difference.

Only he’s not as still as a statue. His hand returns to its earlier position, but instead of gripping your chin, he continues upward, tracing lines across your jaw, up your cheek.

“So lovely,” he says. “A pity that you haven’t let me admire you.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, venomous air be damned. You pull as hard as you can, your socked feet sliding on the floor. You wrench and yank and squirm. Stupidly, it turns out, because it doesn’t work.

He smiles at you. It’s not a nice smile at all.

“That is the plan, dearest.”

Your stomach lurches ahead of you, like a sudden stop on a roller coaster.

“What?” 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he begins to walk, pulling you behind him.  Your feet skid and slide, but it doesn’t matter. It’s like you're made of nothing, a doll, a toy, that he’s pulling along without resistance.

“Chrollo--what?” You ask again. 

He’s silent as he drags you into the bedroom, and it’s then, your toe bumping against the threshold on the floor, that you realize where this is going. 

“Wait, wait--” The words tumble out of you like water, but there’s no stopping the pull against your arm, or the gravitational force when he gives you a push onto the bed.

The softness of the mattress has you sinking into it, but you manage to scramble backwards before turning yourself over.

“Wait--” 

He stands over the bed. He looks at you for a few long, awful moments.

“No more waiting,” he says. Simply. Coldly. Goosebumps run up your arms and you want to run but you feel stuck, frozen, like something is holding you to the bed. You can’t tell if it’s something real or your fear keeping you there.

And then he’s crawling on the bed, his body over yours.

“I’ve been patient.”

His hand reaches out and grabs your wrists, which feel limp and useless; he pins them above your head.

“I’ve been kind.”

His other hand goes to your chest, but not to touch you. He grips the fabric of your shirt and pulls. It rips like paper. The air must be cool because goosebumps immediately dot the flesh of your bared chest, sending a shiver through your body that almost covers up the sense of dread within you.

There’s a sense of finality to those goosebumps. Because he’s not going to stop at taking off your shirt, is he? 

“No, I don’t want--you--you--you can’t.”

There’s something that changes in his expression, then. You don’t know what it is, and there’s not enough time to really focus on it. Not with adrenaline pumping through you, making you start to squirm, making your breath start to come fast.

He leans down, close to your ear, that damned smell of mint wafting into your nostrils again.

“I’m a thief, love. I can take whatever I want.” 

He lets go of your wrists, and both of his hands grip the waistband of your sweatpants. And that’s exactly when panic truly sets in. Your leg kicks--you hit him, you think--and your body flails, hands flying. Every muscle in your body is tight and tense and screaming to get away.

“No, no, no, no!” 

At your panic-induced fury, he merely hums, and it’s the most awful sound you’ve ever heard. 

You feel the shift in the air before you see the book. You hate the book. He’s never used the book on you, no, that is true. But you’ve seen it used on others. A warning towards you, but you didn’t heed it well enough.

He murmurs something and your hands fly up towards the headboard. You try to move them but you can’t. It’s like they're held together by some invisible rope. It doesn’t stop you from kicking your legs, twisting and turning, spit flying as your breath comes in ragged gasps.

At this, Chrollo merely uses his free hands to pin down your thighs.

And he waits.

He waits until your body is exhausted, too exhausted to kick or flail or fight him. Not that it did you any good, with your hands bound. And with his own strength in the mix. 

When your body ceases to do more than squirm pitifully against the bed, and your breath has gone from spitting and ragged to merely heaving, he smiles down at you.

“There, now. That’s better.”

You don’t want this.

“Please don’t,” you say, voice cracking.

But it doesn’t matter what you want.

Your sweatpants are pulled down first. He doesn’t pull them all the way off, and somehow, this makes your stomach squirm. Then he pulls down your underwear, bunching it along with your sweatpants down by your ankles.

You squeeze your eyes tightly and will yourself to be anywhere but here.

You hear his breath hitch at the sight of your bared body, at all the things you’ve kept hidden from him until now.

“Beautiful,” he says, a crooning reverence in his tone. “Simply lovely.”

Something desperate and stupid pushes you to open your eyes, to look at him, gaze shining with oncoming tears.

“D-Don’t,” you force out. “Let’s do--let’s do something else, okay? You can kiss me, or… or…” Your mind scrambles for some substitution.

Chrollo smiles down at you with indulgence, then presses a finger to your trembling lips.

“Hush now. You had a chance--many chances, in fact--but they’re gone now. We’ll do this a different way.”

And then he finally unbuttons his trousers and pulls them down, along with his boxers. You immediately look up, afraid and unwilling to see what’s underneath. 

He leaves his own shirt on, and the sight of that makes you angry, somewhere, deep down. Goosebumps on your chest give way to righteous flushing, hot, angry. 

There’s a moment where the two of you merely look at one another. You, with your eyes watery and wide, naked, bared. And Chrollo, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, filling up his own hollow spaces with what was prone in front of him.

And then his mouth is on yours, wet, warm, insistent. 

For the briefest of moments, it occurs to you that while you can’t move your wrists, you can still move your mouth. You can still bite. 

He pulls back only to speak against your lips, sensing your throats.

“Don’t bite,” he murmurs, in between pressing his lips to yours. “I can be so much worse than this.” 

And just like that, the thought of biting recedes, stuck behind the cold fear of what else Chrollo could do. Would do, if you pushed him to it. 

But that just leaves you and him, on this bed. 

He murmurs something in approval and begins to kiss you again. HIs tongue finds its way into your mouth and you want to retch. It’s wet and warm and awful. There’s pressure on your chest--his hands, resting at first, then kneading your breasts. 

Your entire body wants to recede into the mattress. To simply dissolve into it, down to the floor, and possibly beyond.

You don’t want him touching you, but he is.

He pulls away from your mouth, and you can’t look him in the eye, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I can’t wait any longer, my dear.” 

You know what he’s talking about but it doesn’t make it any less terrifying when his hands drift away from your chest, trailing down your stomach, until they finally reach between your legs.

It’s a light touch, at first. Something you could blink away. But he has no patience to take it slow, and in a moment his fingers are inside you. You’re dry. It hurts. But he says nothing when your breath catches in your throat and you let out a pained wheeze. 

Your inner walls squeeze him, not to keep him in but in an attempt to push his digits out. It’s an instinctive gesture, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t bother you about it. 

He pulls his fingers out and there’s relief for a moment,  until you feel  his thumb rubbing your clit. There’s too much pressure, an electric sort of tingle. You can’t tell if he’s experimenting or trying to get you wet or something else entirely.

You stare up at the ceiling. The ceiling has tiles. You could count them. You could count them and pretend you’re not here, and that this isn’t happening. 

Yet it’s too hard to do that, when you can feel him. Feel his thumb rubbing your clit and his pressure on the body and hear his breathing.

“Look at me, darling,” he says, light, crooning. Like he wasn’t keeping you tied to the bed and touching you unwillingly. Maybe while you’re trying to count tiles, he’s imagining that this went a different way. Maybe.

When you meet his gaze, he keeps it there. 

“This will hurt, I imagine.” 

He stares at you as he thrusts inside you and he’s right. It does hurt. You’re a little wet, maybe, but not really prepared. It feels like your breath gets knocked out of you, like something is stuck in your lungs, all the while a rough stinging against your inner walls brings tears immediately to your eyes. There’s an awful soreness where the two of you meet.

Tiles, tiles, tiles--who can count tiles while this is going on? 

Chrollo, still wearing his damn shirt, begins to thrust inside you. Your breath comes back just in time for it to hitch at the roughness of his thrusts, at how unusually wild and uncontrolled he seems. 

It’s painful. It’s humiliating. You don’t know how long it’s going on. Tears trickle down your cheeks, but they feel cold. A startling contrast to the painful heat between your legs, the uncomfortable dryness even as he thrusts inside you. 

“Oh, you’re cruel,” he says suddenly, voice tinged with just a touch of breathiness. 

His words make something inside you begin to crack. A fissure line ready to spread. 

“I’m cruel?” Pain chokes your voice.

He presses against you, leaning down so that he can kiss your jawline, peppering kisses on  your tear-tracked skin. 

“Yes.” His breath is hot against your cheek. “For denying me the pleasure of this feeling for so long.” 

Some part of you, some dull dragging part, wants you to ask what feeling he means. All you feel is pain and humiliation and this awful helplessness that feels like your guts are being scooped out while you’re still alive. 

“How awful of you,” he continues, uncaring of whatever thoughts might be racing around in your head. He presses a kiss to your lips. “But I’ll forgive you, in time. Starting with this.”

You shake your head against it all, and he only chuckles, pressing a sickeningly chaste kiss to your cheek.

And then he begins to thrust harder, and there’s added torment to it. More pain, more stinging, an awful feeling of stretch. Another feeling, too, something hitting you--again and again, timed with his thrusts. You realize, with a humiliation that makes you actually cry, that his balls are slapping against you. 

There’s an awful lewdness to it, and it’s something you’ll never forget. 

Now and then, you feel a thumb brush against your clit, and you jolt from it. But there’s no pleasure, no warmth, no seeking out his lips and arms to meld together in an embrace. The sweat you feel against your back makes you feel dirty. 

But all you can do is clench your fingers, wrists bound by some invisible cord, and wish for it to be over soon. It would be a mercy.

You don’t know how long it takes. Time drags and hurts. But eventually you feel him speeding up, catch a crack in his expression that tells you with certainty that he’s going to reach his peak. He leans down again, gripping your chin, and kisses you deeper than he has before.

He groans into your mouth as you feel him still, as you feel wetness inside you. It’s warm and thick and you want to vomit it up, even though it’s not in your mouth. You wish you could spit out the sound of his moan. You imagine brushing your teeth a thousand times and never ridding yourself of it.

In time, Chrollo pulls away from you, and removes himself from between your legs. Liquid seeps out of you, slow and warm. 

You will think, later, of birth control. Of asking for a pill. Your stomach will clench and you will throw up with worry that you could be pregnant. He will give you a pill and that worry, at least, will disappear. But that is later. 

Now, however, all is silent. Or almost silent. Your ragged breathing and somewhere on the wall, a soft ticking of a clock. Dim sounds from outside, but maybe that is only rushing in your ears. 

Your thoughts are not so silent. They are buzzing, going from thought to thought. He hurt you. It hurts. He made you kiss him. He fucked you. 

He’s taken everything from you now. Everything you tried to keep, stubborn, stupid thing that you are. Is it any wonder that more tears come, when this thought slams into your brain? 

And is it any wonder that Chrollo gazes down at you with something like reverence when you do? He drinks in  your expression, and when he leans in, you think for a moment--and only a moment--that he’s guilty. Or sorry. Or something almost like those two human emotions that everyone should possess. 

But what he whispers is nothing so human. 

“This is your fault, you know. If you hadn’t denied me for so long, well…”

He nuzzles your neck. His touch feels like sandpaper, but you can’t bat him away. How long will he keep your wrists bound like this? Another minute? Another hour? All night? 

He sighs against your skin. 

“Next time will be better, won’t it? No need to repeat this?”

You would like to go into the bathroom and flush everything out of you with scalding hot water. You would like to drink pure alcohol to rid your mouth of his taste. You would like to down pain pills, to address the pain between your legs.

But you’re tied to the bed and can’t do any of those things.

So you nod, absently. Your eyes go from his face--though his never leave yours, watching what you do, taking it all in--towards the ceiling. 

Oh, the tiles. 

One of the tiles on the ceiling is cracked. 

Someone should really fix it. 

[deonsx]

If They Become Your Boyfriend

Feat: Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor

Content: Nsfw

Dazai Osamu

• It was really hard for Dazai to trust someone, and it was hard for you too, but when he realized that he was truly in love with you, the wall he built was broken down by you. It took him a long time to trust you, he waited a long time to tell you everything, but you gave him time

• He's a total physical contact freak, his hands are constantly wandering around your body, he caresses your leg while sitting next to you, he holds your hands while walking, he always hugs your waist at work and gives you lots of long kisses

• He uses a lot of endearments such as "baby" "my girl" "my love" "honey" "darling" but these are just the names he uses around people. Assuming that your relationship has really hot nights, then these can turn into things like "Slut" "Good girl" These only make you hotter for him

• You never pushed him about his bandages but you always complimented them you planted kisses on his beautiful brunette skin and caressed his hair that day was very gloomy but it was like you were on a cloud for you dazai gave you permission to untie his bandages

• He likes to be sensual and slow in bed. He is serious, of course he can be a tease sometimes, but in general he likes to listen to your slow moans and spend that moment slowly and pleasurably

Chuuya Nakahara

• He really cares about his woman, his long thin fingers are always on you and he is a very jealous boyfriend. If he feels suspicious around him, he will eliminate that person and he will not feel even the slightest regret while doing this

• He buys you a lot of gold and diamonds as a gift. He really doesn't want you to miss anything. He buys you the most beautiful and most suitable of everything, from the most beautiful lace dresses to the underwear (he will steal them later)

• His taste is amazing, he always cooks you the best meals, so you never need a chef, you can always offer to cook together. If he is tired that day, he will definitely accept it, but otherwise he never wants to tire you out, maybe this is possible during the marriage period (he really wants this but thinks it's too early)

• Even though he seems like a very tough guy, he is a delicate man and he loves to sleep on your lap. He loves to lie in the spoon position so that he can feel every part of you clearly.. he loves your hips very much and sometimes he tries to put his head there and sleep

• He likes to pour wine on you and clean them with his tongue. He always tells you how much he loves the pleasure of finding his two favorite things side by side. He is always kind and aims to be the best for you

Fyodor Dostoyevski

• He is a really cold person but you never paid any attention to his coldness and continued to love him and after he noticed you, you experienced a strange excitement and eventually you found yourself in a relationship with him for 2 years and you are very happy with it

• You loved to caress his purple hair and tug it while you was moaning under him, and you loved to leave multiple fingernail marks on his back and bruises on his body. His white Russian skin was completely covered in red. Your body is completely purple, he definitely can't control himself, you don't regret it

• He's a jealous guy but he's a real pokerface when it comes to showing it, if he sees someone too close to you he removes them invisibly, his love language is definitely when he speaks words he likes to use naughty words on you

• He keeps kissing you longer, long and deep kisses all the time... his fingers squeeze your waist and leave delicate kisses on your neck, He's always rough in bed but he gave you a safe word beforehand so if you feel too unbearable he'll stop when you say it and he actually gives you gentle massages and calms you down in those moments

• He buys you the most expensive clothes, he doesn't have any money-related problems, he gave you an unlimited card and allowed you to spend as much as you wanted, he never made you feel incomplete, he showered you with luxury everywhere, even if you didn't ask for money

Enjoy!

There will be almost 500, requests are open, I will make them all as soon as possible

[sh1-n0bu]

✿ 𝙞 𝙖𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙜𝙪𝙣 ✿

characters: boothill x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, angst/no comfort, spoilers to his character story, reader death, canon typical violence, blood, death, injury description, slavery mention, reader is a galaxy ranger, reader also has burn scars, some mechanical and medical things might be incorrect

notes: i have been spoiling yall too much with the constant fluff and smut. so here throws this fic into your face. divider from @/cafekitsune. a deep thanks to @theblades for helping me find a way to kill reader off😇

word count: 6.2k words

bright sunlight, gentle breeze ruffling through his bi-colored hair and the soft laughter of children. he loved the days spent at the farm, playing hide and seek with his siblings in the corn field, looking after the animals at the farm and taking some out for a walk. if him and his siblings could be sneaky enough, they will be able to snatch a few of graey’s handmade cookies through the kitchen window before dinner time. if not, they’ll get caught red handed, yet be let off the hook with a few soft pinches to their cheeks and one cookie for each since graey was just that soft.

sometimes, him and nick would ride their horses, wilding through the forests and endless fields to lead their cattle to better water and brilliant clouds. nick would sing loudly and proudly — he always does — and soon, he would join in with his young, soft voice pitching out the same song. nick would laugh boisterously, ruffling his hair and knocking off of his hat in the process. he would whine about it, saying things such as his hat getting dirty and being scolded by graey. nick would just laugh and shrug it off with a “sorry kiddo”.

he loved this place. he loved the corn fields he runs through with his siblings, he loved the loud voice of graey yelling out, scolding the kids as they run off laughing like a bunch of menaces, the oldest holding the box of cookies graey keeps on the highest shelf away from them, he loved the guns that nick would pull out from his old box of tools, teaching him how to properly aim and how to shoot the empty cans placed in the distance. and the excited yell of the other kids when he finally manages to knock one down, making him feel giddy as nick congratulated him on his first shot. after he fully mastered the old handgun of nick and shot down all 5 cans in a row, he was rewarded with nick’s old cowboy sheriff medal. the golden, 5 pointed star was old and looked rusty but to little ol’ him, it was the biggest and most treasured gift he ever got.

little ‘loaded gun’ never separated from that medal. he wore it his jacket ever since nick pinned it there for him, proudly showing it off to his siblings and talking about how he will take after nick and graey’s profession in the future. how he promises to nick and graey that he will make them proud, how he will live up to their expectations and become an even better cowboy.

“you sure will, little partner” nick would always laugh and pat his head, re-adjusting the medal. graey would sigh and roll his eyes at nick’s actions before reminding him that he doesn’t have to choose that life if he doesn’t want to. young ‘loaded gun’ would pout, whining that he wants to.

“but i want to be a cowboy! i want to be like you and nick, taking down bad guys, bringing justice and firing big guns!” he would yell, shooting his arms up in the air and jumping around.

“uh-huh. talk about firing big guns after you lose that lisp of yours” graey would chime in, always quick to reprimand him for his missing tooth and lisp as his hands affectionately smoothen out his messy hair, groaning in defeat as the mess of black and white refuse to be tamed.

“but i already lost it! i’m a big boy now!”

“hey graey! am i a big boy capable of firing big guns now?” were the first words he said as he brought back his first successful bounty. the smell of gunpowder and ash clung heavy to his jacket but he didn’t care. the smaller kids ran up to his sides, asking for upsies while his siblings who had already grown up and decided to stay at the farm pat his back and ruffle his hair with affectionate teasing quips.

he did it. he held his promise and followed in the footsteps of graey and nick, the old rusty gun and the sheriff medal being a motivational tool for him to reach his goal. now, all grown up and a master trickshot amongst the cowboys of aeragan-epharshel, ‘loaded gun’ was ready to aim and fire at anyone who dares to harm the innocents. although it had been years since the last time he saw his parents and siblings, everything about them and the old red barn stayed the same. though, the corn field looked a little bit bigger than he remembered.

‘loaded gun’ had done a lot in his life since becoming a cowboy. from fighting bandits in the dusty fields, chasing thieves at the dangerous cliffsides to having a gun fight against rival gangs. there were many times he had narrowly escaped death, breathed nothing but the metallic scent of blood, death and bullets and he still prevailed. although he had lost friends along this deadly road, he had also gained many.

that night, ‘loaded gun’ sat across his parents, seated amongst his siblings as he recalled tales of his adventures. the warmth of his younger siblings’ hugs, the teasing quips of the elders’ back pats and the proud looks nick and graey gave him — he was sure of it; this place was where he was the most happiest.

so when he found a little figure, wrapped in a measly ragtag of a fabric, crying out and lonely, he knew he had to step in and take in the little one. it’s what was right and what graey and nick would have done. a small bundle, not even a month old was left to fend for herself. ‘loaded gun’ carefully cradled the baby close to his chest, trying his best to soothe her cries as much as he could.

“graey! nick! i need some help here!” and ‘loaded gun’ had become a father.

ever since becoming a father, ‘loaded gun’ has experienced everything that parenthood had to offer. sleepless nights of the baby wailing at an ungodly hour, searching for his comfort and warmth. having to change the baby’s diapers and bathe her. checking the temperature of the milk in the bottle before feeding time — everything parenthood brought him, he took it all in strides and jolly laughs.

sometimes, he would put the baby in a small bucket and take her out on the farm with himself. the little baby would laugh and clap her tiny hand together, big bright eyes unknowing of what was happening as ‘loaded gun’ fails to tame a wild stallion, proceeding to get his ass thrown off of the horse’s back. seeing his little girl so happy, how could he ever stop making a fool of himself? he even went far as to carve out a mini guitar for her after seeing her fascination with his old, weathered one.

“from now on, yer name will be clementine. can’t have my little girl going around without a name, right?” he asks, bringing up the white haired girl into his arms and raising her into the air. clementine only giggles, blabbering some stuff as she laughs at the feeling of being in the air. seeing the baby’s innocent wide eyes staring down at him, head haloed by the high sun, ‘loaded gun’s grey ones soften as a teary smile forms on his face. the scars on his hands remind him of his profession and dangers of being a cowboy, but in his heart, he swore that he will keep his little girl safe and to be the best father he can be.

“my little clementine…”

gone... it was all gone.

the corn fields where he used to run through with his siblings when they were young, the old red farm that was in the middle of being repainted, the comfortable warm yet dingy house that him and his family used to live in — it was all gone. the scent of sulfur and burnt bodies hung in the air, ash raining from high above like it was some sort of a rain, turning his already dirtied and burnt clothes into black. there was no sign of nick, graey, his siblings nor the panicked farm animals.

little clementine... where was she? aeons, you can do anything you want to him but please spare his little girl, please by some blind miracle, let little clem be alive. he won't care what he has to do or which burning log he has to push away with his bare hands, just let him hear the sound of his little girl's cries to let him know that she's still alive and he'll do it. he'll do anything to save his little girl.

running through the scorched earth, 'loaded gun' calls out for his family. nick, graey, his siblings and even by their childhood nicknames. clementine, where was clementine, where was his baby girl? his little girl, where—

small red scarf and a burnt mini guitar. that was all he had managed to dig out from the burning farm house of his home. that was all he had left of his little girl, the red scarf that was the same copy of his own and the hand carved guitar with its strings plucked due to the heat of the bomb. those two things were the only things he brought with himself as he travels through the vast galaxies, searching a certain doctor who had made themselves into a cyborg successfully.

on the kingdom of bandits, talia, did he found the doctor. heart heavy, eyes full of vengeance and burnt hands holding onto the strap of his bag that had his little girl's memoirs. the doctor tried to persuade him into thinking over his decisions again, to woo him into staying as a human and not to lose said humanity. but 'loaded gun' was steadfast in his decision. if he wanted to stay as a human, he would have already thrown his body into the fires that engulfed his home.

with a deep sigh and slight reluctance, the doctor fulfilled his wishes. blue colored blood being pumped into his new metal body, no longer warm, scarred flesh but rather a clean plated metal being wired into place. at least his head was kept intact. after everything was over and he regained consciousness, he simply thanks the doctor and leaves his payment on the operation table full of his former human blood mixed with his new cyborg blue ones. he didn't wanted to look at the walls or the floor — it was covered in filthy purple liquids.

"before you leave, will you at least tell me your name?"

"... it's boothill now"

"well, good luck with your hunt mr.boothill"

it has been... how long now? boothill doesn't know. since his 'rebirth' as boothill, he has spent so much time traveling from one world to the other, destroying one ipc ship to the next. it has been a bit too long in his opinion, as the destruction of his home planet has stopped being brought up as the latest hot topic at every bar or saloon he visits. or maybe they never talked about it to begin with. the ipc had friends and slaves everywhere, at every branch or organization or world, boothill wouldn't be surprised if they had ended up covering their filthy work by masking it as an another 'horrific accident that befell a poor world before we could save them' type of thing. the ipc were amazing at their manipulation after all.

"those ipc folk sure have been having some hard time since your sudden emergence huh, cowboy?" a voice rings out to his left, a body covered in a bright red coat sitting down beside him at the bar. gesturing to the bartender, he watches from the corner of his eyes as you order a glass of earl grey and marmalade cooler with extra ice. boothill doesn't know this stranger draped in red was nor did he care. but judging by the way you easily knew of him as the latest troublemaker against the ipc, you have probably heard of the bounty on his head or you just travel the galaxies a lot. or it could be both at the same time.

turning his head just a little bit more towards the side, he looks you up and down, trying to see if there are anything that makes you stand out in any form of way. anything to hint at what or who you were.

old, faded, long, red coat left open at the front, smart by the way you have easily deduced he was a cowboy by just his accessories and clothing alone and ordering anon-alcoholic drink despite having set foot inside a bar and took a seat beside him. he can't see any weapons on your body at the moment and your red coat was covering most of your body too. he'll just have to go in blindly then.

"done checking me out, cowboy?"

by the time he had finished assessing you and had looked up to see your face, you were already staring at him with a nonchalant smirk on your face. for some odd reason, boothill could feel his cheeks heat up and wires zap inside his metal body. there was just something about the way that you easily teased him and wasn't ashamed to hold an eye contact with his target shaped pupils that got him feeling weirdly self conscious. had he forgotten to shine the metal plates of his body today? was his revolver still in place, shiny and strong? what about his bullets? his hat? his hair? oh what if he smelled? can cyborg bodies have any odor to begin with—?

"come on now, don't look away from me. i was talking to you" he could hear you coo out, your hand coming up to turn his chin so you could look at his face. the warmth of your hand touching the only leftover human part of his, the laidback confidence you had in your own self, it all got boothill letting out a steam from his ears like a cartoon character as he quickly turns away from you, his hand pulling down his hat to save whatever tiny drops of image he had.

what a shame, turning into a flustered mess like a high school girl talking to her crush by just the smallest amount of flirting he received. where was his class? his sarcastic remarks? the sassy quips and bites he gives to those who touched him? his tongue felt heavy, cheeks felt like they were on fire and he could just hear the gears inside his body shifting and turning at an uncomfortably fast pace that made him feel like he was overheating. or maybe he truly was overheating. darn, he should visit the doctor again to get some certain things removed.

"a-ahem, didn't yer' parents teach you it's not okay to flirt with strangers at a bar?" curse him for stuttering over his words, he was supposed to appear cool not like a teenager boy dammit! and the way your lips curled upwards even more at the tripping of his words wasn't helping. well he'll be damned, you have a smile that cowboys would kill each other for.

"i'm [name], a galaxy ranger. and you are, dear cowboy?"

idiot cowboys like him would kill each other for.

"name's boothill, sugar"

it has been exactly 2 years and 4 months since boothill first met you and was introduced to a faction called the galaxy rangers. apparently, galaxy rangers are a voluntarily formed group that follows the teachings of lan, the hunt and carries out acts of service, upholding peace and justice. some galaxy rangers are a bit ruthless in the ways they deal with the injustice that happens at some worlds or galaxies, some are a bit more diplomatic, some travel in groups of friends and colleagues while some travel alone.

you were once the latter one; a galaxy ranger that travelled the cosmos alone, a bright red shooting star that shine and never fade till the break of day, bringing hope and destruction at once. were; because it has been precisely 2 years and 4 months since boothill has started to travel alongside you. he had decided to become a galaxy ranger, the voluntary group's ideals appealing to his own sense of vengeance and justice that he wishes to bring to a certain group.

"boothill, it's time to wake up" you call out, having always been the early morning bird out of the two of you. walking towards the bedside of the asleep cowboy, you poke at his eyebrows and nose, pushing his lips into random emotes, snorting at the slight hint of drool on his lips. despite having an all metal body, the cyborg was still very human at heart. you've seen the way he helps the elderly cross the roads, entertaining the kids of your stop of the day by teaching them how to properly hold a gun or to shoot one, how he pets a stray dog or a cat, how he sits down at the bar with you after a successful mission, a guitar in hand as he starts to sing in an unfamiliar language. how he looked sad as he regularly cleans the sheriff medal on his jacket, how he stares at a certain picture that he keeps in his jacket pocket.

or even the ways he calls out to a little girl with white hair, addressing her as "clementine", before apologizing and patting the girl on the head to say "be careful, kid". you've seen it all, or what you like to think of as all of boothill.

"fuck meeee, it's still early dawn sugar" the cowboy groans out, voice groggy due to his voice bank having been on resting mode and just restarted. reaching an arm out, he manages to grab a hold of the back of your shirt before you could escape, pulling you down onto his bed as you let out a shriek. grunting at your flailing limbs and attempts to escape his clutch, he only tightens them, climbing on top of you with a cheshire grin on his face.

"that's what ya' get for trynna wake up a cowboy, sugar. ya' get put in time-out" boothill grins at the red of your cheeks from laughing too much, a surprising flare of cuteness aggression coming over him as he leans over your face to gnaw at your cheeks with his shark-like teeth.

"on-nom nom nom nom nom, i'm gonna eat up yer' mochi cheeks, sugar!" the cyborg says, making an overdramatic munching noises as he gnaws the sharp edges of his teeth over the soft fat of your cheek. you could only laugh, throwing your legs back and forth as you try to escape his hold.

"boothill! you're a whole damn 700 kilogram of pure metal alone, get off of me!" you shriek out when the mischievous cowboy starts to gnaw on the skin of your neck and chin, akin to a baby kitten throwing a temper tantrum. as if to spite you, he only rolls his body over yours more, squishing you flat down onto the bed with a menacing laugh.

it was usual to start the day like this between you and boothill. he was not a morning person, you were and usually you would have to end up paying for being the early bird as he squishes your body flush against his own metal one. sometimes you two would end up just falling back asleep, with you being held hostage in boothill's grasp and boothill comfortably squeezing his face into your body. sometimes, you two would end up like this, just laughing and having a harmless prank time together. other times, you two end up with a bunch of ruined pillows, the feathers dancing in the air as you try to get at least a hit on him. but somehow, boothill was always better than you when it came to pillow fights.

"now what happened 'ere, sugar?" you could hear boothill ask, finally managing to get a deep breath in as he finally lifts away some of the weight he had on you. a cold, hard metal tenderly ghosts over where your neck and shoulder met, over the old burn scar you had. oh right, you forgot of that little fella there.

"ah, that. it's just some old burn wound from one of my earlier days as a galaxy ranger. there's nothing to worry about, don't worry" you hum, bringing a hand up to run through his mess of a bi-colored hair. his hair was always a mess no matter the circumstances, it was honestly a wonder how he doesn't have urges to cut his hair short. not like you were complaining, the long hair suited him perfectly and you wouldn't want him to change his looks.

as you lay there on the hotel bed, looking up at the ceiling, thinking over where to go next or what route you two should take during this next new mission of yours, boothill was busy remembering an old memory. an old memory that he wished to forget so vehemently.

red and orange — that was all he could smell all around him. the burnt down farm that was in the middle process of being renovated, the burnt carcasses — it wouldn't be right to call them carcasses, there was nothing much left remaining to even properly call them as that — the corn fields burning down. sulfur and death — that was all 'loaded gun' could smell as he dug into his burning home. the heat that scorched his face or licked away at the skin of his hand didn't bother him. all he wanted to do was to find his daughter, his little girl, his little clementine. please, let her be alive by some miracl—

"boothill?" your voice echoed in his head, snapping him back from the dreaded memory lane he accidentally made a trip down towards. looking up at your face, he could see the furrowing of [c] brows over your [c] eyes as they stared at him with so much concern, affection, wonder and care. he takes in the details of your face as his breath gets stolen, seeing the way the [c] locks circled around your head as you reflected the perfect image of what he thinks aeons looks like. by the mighty aeons, you were gorgeous. and how his breath is found once again as you run a hand through his hair, blunt nails lightly scratching at his scalp. you stole his breath away as easily as breathing it back into him.

leaning close into you, he felt the way your breaths mingled with his own, how if he were to try and reach out, he could feel your body heat against his only remaining body like an anchor, like a long awaited lover returning home. there was warmth in your eyes that was missing in his cold, metal body. humane marks that was reflected onto his own vibranium plates that tried to imitate human flesh. there was humanity in you that boothill feared he lacked in himself.

"[name]... i want to taste your lips" boothill breathed out before he could even catch whether he was imagining his words or was outright saying it. and he did get what he politely asked for, your split lips connecting with his own intact ones. he tasted life that he was sure that he had lost on your lips, a memory of something old and tender that had been burned away in the fires that scorched his home and your body. he felt something move and beat rhythmically within the confines of his gears and wires, convinced that he had somehow, by some way regained his heart. regained his human body. regained his humanity.

you breathed life into him and he found himself asking for one more when your lips left his own, and one more, and one more. and one more.

"boothill, when was the last time that you went to the doctor to have your body checked over?" you say, turning your attention away from sharpening your sword to his body. even from such distance, you could see some screws getting a bit looser, some little wires or the ends of wires peeking out from behind the plates of his body. from what you could remember, the last time your partner had told you of going to the doctor to have himself checked over was... perhaps a year ago.

as galaxy rangers, you two now constantly get into fights and battles. especially with the ipc as the corporation has added you to their list of wanted figures besides boothill's growing dead or alive bounty. in an order to be ready for any ambush or unplanned fights that may take place, you and your partner must be ready for any sort of fight that may come your way. which also means making a trip to the kingdom of bandits and thieves, talia, a bit often to see the doctor.

something that boothill insists doesn't have to be done after every fight or to have you follow him. the cyborg insists that it's for your own safety but you know that he just doesn't want you to see him being taken apart and put back together again like... like he has lost his own sense of self. despite his flair and bright smiles, you always knew that boothill had a deep sense of problem with his body. you know, since you were always the one to collect his breaking consciousness into your awaiting warm arms to place him back together again. peace by loving peace, you were akin to a warm candlelight that soothed his worries and shooed away any fears that might dig its claws into his wires.

"uhhh... dunno sugar. maybe a year? or even over a year ago..." the cowboy replies, looking up from his own weapon that he was cleaning. seeing your eyes narrow at him and shoulders become stiff, boothill quickly places down his revolver, waving his hands as a form of self defense from your already approaching lecture.

"h-hey hey hey! but don't worry, i'm genuinely doing fine, sugar! if anything, it should be nagging you for not resting and properly taking care of that shoulder wound!" the cyborg was quick to defend himself, instead pointing a finger towards your direction. more specifically, your shoulder.

"it's just a small cut, boothill! i've already gotten it cleaned and wrapped in bandages" you raised your arms in a surrendering motion, now taking on the side to defend yourself from his words.

just as boothill was about to retort back with something smart-mouthed, you two suddenly fall silent as the familiar sound of the heels of an eerily familiar corporation uniform resounds in the hallway boards of the inn. those footsteps and the light click! clack! of their weapons told you two everything you needed to know. silently, boothill puts on his hat, reloading his revolver at a terrifyingly fast pace. meanwhile, you shrug on your signature red coat, newly sharpened and cleaned blade ready to slice through the ipc's weapons.

waiting patiently behind the doors of your inn room, you two wait with bated breaths until a very quick clicking of the door opening is heard. before the door could even creak open on its old hinges, boothill has already taken the first shot. without needing for words to talk about tactics or which side to take, you rush out, the sharp edge of your blade cutting through the ipc's every weapons. behind you the sound of gunshots and bodies hitting the floor follows.

it was simple, really. you disarm the ipc and boothill takes care of the rest. surrounded at all sides? you will always take the east side while boothill takes care of the ones on the west. and if there's a ew weapon or a surprise in your way, boothill will just blast it high into the sky with his arm canon and you can make the rest of them into thin noodles at record time. a deadly duo you two were, gutsy as you stood against the ipc in its whole with no fear, only excitement at what new weapon you'll come across or who could get more hits in. perhaps that's precisely why the ipc decided to send battalion after battalion after you two this time. perhaps it was the bounties on your head that caused the inn owner to betray your trust and rat you two out.

either way, nothing could exactly stop in your way. weapons cut, guns exploded due to bullets meeting inside the hole, armories torn apart and ipc managers blasted. there was nothing that could stand against a hurricane of two galaxy rangers. a red coat flashing past the ipc, a grey shine that took down a panicking soldier standing kilometers away. but there was a little problem. boothill's loose wires had connected with the wrong ones, causing him to stay in his lock 'n loaded state. target shaped pupils now bright red with the grey of his irises now bright red that perceived all those with a weapon as an enemy.

after the final ipc manager fell apart in a heap of metal and wires, you heard the sound of a gunshot still being fired towards the west. was boothill ambushed? was he okay? rushing over to where the sound is the loudest at, you couldn't help but gawk at the state of the corpses and remains of some of the robots. the large gaping holes were not normal, if anything it looked more like a canon bullet with how the entry holes were bigger and the exit holes were smaller. why was boothill using his arm canon at every chance he got? what was happening?

"boothi-!" a bang rings out just as you make it to where the gunshot was the loudest, bullet wizzing past your ear, nipping at the shell of it. the wound left ringing in your ear as you hold up a hand to cover the injured ear, looking on in fear as the red iris and white pupils of your partner looks straight back at you. you could see your own reflection in his eyes and boothill didn't look happy to see you.

eyes that used to stare at you with fondness and sea of affection now stared dead into your own pupils as if you were an enemy. a threat.

"whatcha' lookin' at, scum? come on, let's see ya' dance" this was not your boothill, this wasn't your beloved, this wasn't the same sweetheart whose eyes turn into heart shapes every time your own gaze meets his. this was not boothill.

dodging a bullet by a mere graze, you duck behind an overturned table. shit, think [name], how do you get him out of that state? you briefly remember him telling you that he briefly goes into lock 'n loaded state when he has a stand-off duel. but what more? he was locked in that state of his, ready to kill anyone that comes close. do you have to duel with him to make him snap out of it? but you don't know how to shoot a gun.

but... what if it doesn't have to be a gun duel?

"hey!" you call out, sliding on the floor to hide behind another chair that was flipped over when the canon bullet of boothill shoots through your old coverage with no mercy. "how about a duel, cowboy? you think you can be a faster draw than me?" you can hear his gun click, knowing that now he needs at least a few seconds to reload. maybe 5 seconds at best, boothill was fast in his reloading. you hear a soft scoff as you hear his gun open, the soft clanks of his bullet entering the cylinder resounding in the empty room. one, two, three -- all six bullets in and the soft clink of the hammer of his revolver releasing indicated that boothill was ready for a draw.

"hah, what do you think, sweet cheeks? think you can keep up with me?" you can just hear the taunting in his voice, goading you to make the first move. deep breath in and out, your hand holding the sheath of your sword, ready to draw. silence takes over the room as you speedrun any plans or ideas to catch him off guard. any idea to make him snap out of it. you can be the faster draw but that won't promise you a win if your life is going to be lost.

a steady hand is what you need. just a steady hand to knock some sense back into boohtill... a steady hand to knock some sense.

"come on, fucker. what's taking ya'—" the table he thought you were hiding behind is abruptly flipped over towards boothill, taking him by a sliver of surprise before he aims and pulls the trigger. once, twice and the table was split into half. a chair was next, a single explosive bullet causing the woods to splinter and cover your form as you dash through the room, straight at him.

"'atta you fuckhead! packing some guts, i see!" boothill laughs, aiming straight at your head and pulling the trigger. the bullet doesn't hit, you managed to draw your sword in time to cut it in half. a grin matching the sense of a maniac high spread across boothill's face at the clinking of the two bullet pieces hitting the floor. all you had on mind was to get near him at this moment, nothing else. another bullet is fired, getting cut apart in the middle before his revolver joins, being split apart by your expert swordsmanship.

close enough, you can do it, you can snap him back into his senses.

the sound of broken revolver and dulled blade hitting the floor is disregarded the moment you lean in close to him, hand raised, fist reared back, ready to knock some sense into him. at the same time, boothill's left arm raises towards your abdomen. time seemed to slow and all you had in mind was to deliver a sharp knuckle sandwich.

BANG! CRACK!

your sharp punch landed straight across his face, making his hat drop to the ground. if this was any other bar fight, you would have laughed in his face as you witness his red iris turn grey again, paired with the signature marksman symbol pupils. you did it, your plan worked and boothill was back. when you wanted to point at his face and scold his ears off, all you managed was a weak wheeze. strange...

the world spun around you, the horrified face of boothill catching your attention alongside the sharp pain at your side. you didn't even knew that you fell to the ground as boothill cradles you up into his arms, holding you like how he always does as his metallic fingers gently hold your cheek. his mouth was moving, bi-colored hair falling like a curtain over you two as if to keep this moment hidden from the prying eyes of the corpses in the room.

what was he saying? there was a permanent ringing in your ears and you couldn't be more annoyed about the timing of something more than now. you wanted to listen to his voice, the gentle rasp as he apologized for now listening to you, the hidden tenderness as he calls you an idiot for getting too close to him. breathing became harder for you, black dots appearing in your vision, hindering you from seeing the way boothill was desperately holding you tight against his body. you must have hit your head pretty heard when you fell.

"... i told you... to have yourself checked o.. ver..." you barely manage to say, your voice dying in your throat as you try to talk to him. shaking hand comes up to cradle his cheek, trying to wipe away the tears that streaming from his grey eyes. why was your hand bloodied? it left stains on your dear boothill's cheeks and he will surely complain about it as he tries to wipe it away with his own metallic ones like a cat. you felt cold from the inside, you couldn't move your legs and even holding up your hand felt like a chore.

perhaps a nice rest will help you relax and gain your strength back. and when you wake up again, you will be back in the inn's room, your favorite cowboy by your side, clinging to you like a lifeline as he snores open-mouthed, wiping his drool all over your shirt. when you wake up again, your favorite cowboy won't be covered in blood. when you wake up again, there won't be this annoying sharp sting at your side that felt like your whole intestines were spilling out.

"sugar...? sugar, no, don't close your eyes! [name] wake up!" boothill yells, shaking your bloodied body as he tries to make you regain consciousness. you can hit him all you like, put pink ribbons in his hair, steal his hat, scold him for all you want, just please don't close your eyes. please don't fall asleep. please, don't leave him alone.

"... i'll get lost again if you leave me..." there was no pulse. your body was cold already. and the cyborg wished he could cry again. at least one last time.

[10yrratiolover]

Some of my, oh so many, Ratio Headcannons

he knows a bunch of languages, all of which he can speak fluently

^ this includes Latin

cleans his rubber ducks VERY thoroughly to make sure they don't mold

he HATES getting sweaty, it's the only thing he doesn't like about hot baths and working out

has very strict morning and nightly routines, gets genuinely upset if they're disrupted

I think he and Argenti would have great philosophical debates about beauty (please hoyoverse please see my vision)

just straight up hates bright lights

^ prefers warm lighting over cold

I think his skin is naturally clear but he's definitely got some kind of skincare routine anyway

missed out on a lot of social opportunities during his teenage years due to his studies and such, don't think he would have had many friends (at least not his age)

big fan of parallel play, mostly because he gets caught up in his head so often, he's completely content doing different things in the same vicinity

he also uses Aventurine (or others) as a canvas of sorts to throw ideas and thoughts on, he'll start explaining something, and mid explanation he'll run into the answer, thank whoever he's talking to even though they didn't do anything, and hurry off to write it down

frequent bruises around his collar/bottom of his neck from his alabaster

migraine sufferer, me too stay strong king (actually I think this is canon?)

he VERY rarely cancels his classes, it could be flooded up to his doorknob and he'd send out an email to his students like "Today's lecture is still on."

^ this includes when he's sick or otherwise unwell, he could be barely standing upright and he'd still give his lecture

he can't listen to music with lyrics when doing anything because it distracts him (he'll start zoning in on the words and stop doing whatever else he was doing (did I word this right? idk it happens to me all the time))

he sometimes wears the alabaster at home if sensory issues are really bad that day

^ he verbally shuts down sometimes, which sucks bc he's got a lot to say but he typically just writes things down instead

does actually throw chalk at his students, not as hard as his in-battle attack obviously but his aim is always on point

^ his perfect aim also applies to literally anything he throws, his keys, his phone, if he wants to throw something somewhere it's getting there

sometimes completely submerges himself in the bath and just holds his breath for a bit to fully clear his head

^ he can hold his breath pretty long so he sits under there for a bit (freaked Aventurine out the first time he walked in on him doing it tho)

call me crazy but I think he'd be good with kids

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 12: Apprentices

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering.Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 4881 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

Your gaze fixed on the target. The curse holding it was walking from side to side in a straight line as it mocked your poor aim. Practicing with the curses still wreck your nerves as not being used to seeing them as equals. They were supernatural beings that killed humans for hunger or simple fun, the main enemy in your universe. They were grotesque, mean and rude to all servants, constantly threatening that they would have been eaten already if it wasn't for King Sukuna. He is the one who decides when and how much the curses under his charge eat. Living in the castle of the great man-eating tyrant was like a rabbit living in a cage with hundreds of tigers. 

Your arms tensed as you drew the bowstring taut. The feather at the end of the arrow tickled your fingers, tempting them to let go. It was your first time practicing with moving targets. You took a deep breath before your fingers let go of the string. The arrow swam like a salmon against the current until it stuck against the top of the target’s perimeter. You lowered the bow with an exasperated sigh. 

“It was a good shot,” Kenjaku, who was supervising today’s training, cheered you on as he applauded your attempt. 

“I don't need it to be good, I need it to be perfect,” you took another arrow out of the quiver. 

You loaded the weapon and looked for the easiest target to hit from your position,  noticing the curse approaching the center of your field of vision. You reviewed the advice Sukuna had given you in your previous lessons. As you remembered his soft purr against your ear, his beefy body next to yours, his breath against your cheek and his hands covering yours. He always caused you to lose your concentration, sabotaging your attempts to focus by projecting memories of their times together into your mind. You were beginning to miss him as your teacher. 

It had been a couple of weeks since Sukuna told you that Yorozu would be his new sorcerer's apprentice. You faked surprise even though you had overheard their conversation and you were dying of worry inside. Your head was filled with all the possible scenarios where everything could go wrong. Being the older sister, your priority was to protect Yorozu at any cost. You had to make sure she ate well, slept in a comfortable place and that Sukuna didn't kill her at the slightest provocation. Luckily, you could watch your little sister practice her new skills from the library window while you studied. You had to be careful, though. If Kenjaku caught you distracted, he would hit you over the head with whatever he had in his hand to get your attention back. 

You found Yorozu's powers fascinating. From what little you had picked up of her cursed technique, she could recreate any object she knew. Sukuna began her training by showing her the various weapons in his possession for her to recreate with the help of her cursed energy. They then went on to observe various insects and birds to test if she could recreate animal materials. She could. You almost fainted the first time you saw her grow a pair of firefly wings between her shoulder blades. She was getting more powerful every day and it scared you.

Even though Yorozu was emasculating and foolish, Sukuna could not afford to waste her abilities. A sorceress with a technique so powerful that she was willing to serve him was good, too good to be true. During her lessons, he had dedicated himself to analyzing her movements and every word she uttered to decipher what she wanted from him. He knew that human interactions are based on transactions. Communication, buying and selling, democracy, almost everything they have built is based on I give you something so that you give me something in return. Yorozu could appear to be happy serving him, but he knew perfectly well that it was a facade to get something.

You hated the idea of Sukuna being close to your sister. It bothered you to see them so close when the king was correcting her posture when it came to wielding a sword or inspecting her new creations. The thought of him taking advantage of her or hurting her in any way drove you crazy. You didn't want her to go through what you went through in your early days at the castle. Psychological, physical and verbal humiliation from a tyrant was something you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, much less your little sister. Luckily, it didn't seem to be like that... for now. If Sukuna even thought of laying a finger on her, you'd make him pay.

The very thought of him being near her at all times, of him holding her hip, or of his voice being as gentle as it was with you caused you a discomfort you had never felt before. The next thing you knew, your fingers were no longer holding the arrow. The arrow flew along with your dark thoughts. You barely realized what you were feeling. Your body froze for a second until the arrow slammed into the head of the curse holding the target. 

The curse staggered from the impact, but quickly regained its balance and yanked the foreign object out of its skull. You were shocked to see what you had done. You hurt a curse that was helping you. When you were about to apologize for your terrible mistake, the curse growled at you in annoyance as its skull regenerated by its reverse curse technique. It looked at you with a "If you do that again, I'm going to kill you" face. It was only restrained by the fact that Sukuna had ordered them not to mess with you. 

“That one wasn't so bad,” Kenjaku smiled at you so you wouldn't feel bad about hurting someone by accident. 

“I didn't mean to,” you replied sadly. 

“A little more meaning and you'll be ready to kill someone,” Kenjaku joked, but you didn't laugh. The fact that he saw death as a joke bothered you, but you had learned to tolerate it. “Let's take a break, what do you say?” Your teacher changed the subject immediately upon noticing your discomfort.

You took off your quiver and gloves while your teacher told the curses to take a break. As we reached the coldest days of winter, Sukuna had gotten you a fur cloak so you could practice outdoors without dying of hypothermia. You put on the plush hat and wrapped yourself in the cloak as if it were a blanket. It wasn't that cold today, but the material was so soft you just wanted to rub your face on it. 

You laid the equipment on the table as you watched Kenjaku carefully. He was a strange creature. Even though you knew he was a body invaded by a curse, you weren't afraid of him like Sukuna or Uraume. It helped that he had the body of a really attractive man. His long dark hair reminded you of the same night you see through the window. His traditional clothes were always ironed and moved delicately. His sharp, yet radiant eyes were what caught your attention the most, they looked full of life for someone dead. 

“Tell me about yourself,” you asked him as if you were asking him to tell you a bedtime story. 

“What do you want to know?” Kenjaku asked you, turning his attention back to you. 

“Whose body are you possessing?” 

“Don't you recognize it?” Your master raised an eyebrow in surprise. 

“Should I?” He let out a loud laugh. 

“Right. Sometimes I forget that you come from humble beginnings.” He loved to emphasize to you the abysmal difference in class between you. “The person in front of you is King Suguru Geto.” 

You knew that name perfectly. Like King Satoru, he was a highly sought-after king among the nation's single women. After the death of King Geto, his handsome son had to take over the kingdom earlier than planned. He was rumored to be a kind-hearted, powerful man and had a brilliant mind as the only kingdom to have a direct relationship with the Gojo kingdom. Your mother went on and on about how much she wanted one of her daughters to marry him. You could only shake your head at her delusions. "As if we could get close to him" you thought amusedly. 

“Is this man King Suguru Geto?” You asked, still trying to process that you were in front of the corpse of a king. 

“It was,” Kenjaku said with a mocking smile. 

“Did you kill him?” You asked even more surprised. 

When King Suguru was killed, the news spread like wildfire among the villages. All you knew was that he was found dead of poisoning on the morning of the fifth anniversary of his coronation. His death had become quite a mystery, as he had no enemy kingdoms and was in good health the night before. 

“I wish. I took over his body before they wanted to revive him,” Kenjaku replied. 

“It is a pity that you died, your majesty,” you said as you bowed to him. 

“There is no need to call me that, miss. Suguru Geto died years ago,” Kenjaku clarified, uncomfortably, at the bow. 

“I believe the bodies are sacred. It’s the temple we live with all our lives and it is the memory we leave of our existence,” you explained. “Humans deserve respect, even if they are no longer here.”

You learned that when your father died. Your mother was so deep in her mourning that she didn't even want to get out of bed for the small funeral they had planned. You and Yorozu were the ones in charge of burying your father with tears falling on the ground, while Nanako and Mimiko picked flowers to place on his grave. The weight on your heart did not compare to the weight of the incomplete body as they placed him in his makeshift coffin, a wooden box they had built with rusty nails. 

Your father passed away one night on his way home from work. He was walking through the tall grasses under the dark sky, excited to get home to see his family. The night was so dark that he never saw the group of curses stalking behind him coming. They pounced on him and did not hesitate to eat him alive. According to neighbors who lived nearby, the cries of pain and pity were so loud that they woke them up. When the neighbors arrived with torches and guns, your father was no longer breathing. 

Your poor father was missing his legs, arms and part of his torso, but still, they moved his body carefully as if he were whole. Despite his tragic and unexpected death, your father deserved a decent funeral even though they didn't have much money. Among his entire family, they placed the coffin in the grave they had dug while a neighbor sang a ballad about his life. His wife and daughters did not keep their feelings in the minute of silence. Maybe he wasn’t the most brilliant, rich nor exceptional man, but he will be missed and they won't forget about him. 

“Humans and curses have something in common,” Kenjaku approached you so you could look him in the eye. “Our bodies may rot and turn to dust, but our souls always live on.” 

“Really?” You asked. 

“I assure you,” Kenjaku took your cheek to caress it with his thumb in an attempt to comfort you. 

Even though Sukuna was a ridiculously giant curse, he was a master of vigilance. Unbeknownst to you, he was always watching you. Whether it was with his own eyes or through one of his curses, he knew what you were doing and with whom every moment of the day. Today was no exception. He clenched his fist as he saw how close Kenjaku was to you. They should be practicing as he had instructed, not fondling you in broad daylight. Luckily, you had arrived at the right time to stop him. He walked out of the castle with Yorozu following him like a well-behaved duckling to where they were to stop the scene. 

“Why the fuck aren't you practicing?” Sukuna scolded Kenjaku with a fierce roar. Seeing him, he and you bowed at his arrival. 

“She had been practicing for an hour. Rest is important so as not to wear out the muscles of humans,” Kenjaku explained without a weight of guilt. Sukuna looked at you, there was no trace of guilt on your face either. "I'll let it go this time," he thought in annoyance. 

“Sister, look at the dress the king got me! Isn't it pretty?” Yorozu approached you. 

She opened the black cloak that covered her from the cold to show the white dress that Sukuna had commissioned Uraume to make for her practices. It had long sleeves, tied at the waist with a long ribbon and the skirt came below her knees so she could move freely. It wasn't as elegant or complicated as yours, but it was better than the maid's uniform. 

“It is very nice. Our king has very good taste,” you said as you saw your sister happy about her new garment. 

Yorozu has loved dresses for as long as you can remember. The delicate fabric, the pretty beading, the interesting designs and how the skirt moves on the dance floors. You remembered the birthday when your father gave her a set of crayons that was incomplete, she got so excited that she started running and screaming all over the house. Since then, you used to see her sitting at the small desk you shared, drawing her own designs. She was the reason her mother spent money on dresses. Yorozu would promise her that if she bought her one, she would flirt with the richest man at the ball. She never did, playing with her mother’s narcissist feelings.

“The king told me that if I behave well, I can have a dress as beautiful as yours. Isn't that right, my king?” Yorozu said before returning to Sukuna to hug him by the arm. 

Your left eye twitched when she approached him with such confidence. You could never do something like that, afraid the king would take it the wrong way. You didn't understand how Yorozu could be so trusting as to act so naturally. 

“I'll get you one when you prove you deserve it,” Sukuna said reluctantly because she was touching him without his permission. 

Training Yorozu turned out to be more complicated than he thought it would be. She was a completely different girl from you, more so than he thought. She was shrill, distracted, and sometimes more cloying than chocolate ice cream. You wanted to push her against the ground like you used to, but this time you held back the urge because you were right in front of them. Yorozu squealed with delight at the response. 

“Today I want Yorozu to learn how to use a bow,” Sukuna explained. “I want you to show me how much you have learned in this time that I have not been training you.” He turned to you, that only made you feel more nervous. 

“I think it's an excellent idea. The best method of study is teaching,” Kenjaku commented. 

“This is going to be so much fun!” Yorozu squealed excitedly. You just nodded complacently. 

The first stage of the training was for Yorozu to create her own archery equipment. This would be of great help to them in the future. In case you were in the middle of an invasion, the moment you ran out of arrows, Yorozu could create more easily. She took your bow to examine it closely. Her black eyes examined its elements and details with utmost care, memorizing each part to perfection. Her hands molded to the wooden body and her fingers felt the thickness of the string. You had never seen Yorozu so focused in your life. 

She handed the bow back to you to generate her own from her own hands. It was the first time you had seen her power at such close quarters. The wood, the strong string and the feathers of the arrows began to emerge from a strange energy emanating from her. It was a wonderful power if it could create anything. She could fix what was broken or help those in need. There were endless possibilities that Yorozu had at her fingertips. It was a shame that she had decided to use her power to hurt others. 

Your sister ended up with a stronger and sturdier bow than yours that she had customized herself. The wood looked of better quality and the arrows had purple feathers to distinguish them from yours, which were white. Yorozu showed the king her new creation with a proud smile. You may not have agreed that she would fight for the king, but the important thing was that she was happy. 

The afternoon passed slowly as you taught Yorozu everything you had learned so far. You taught her the correct T-position, how to release the arrow correctly and how to hit as close to the center as possible. Sukuna and Kenjaku were watching from a considerable distance, they could hear all the advice that both of them had given you in the last weeks. 

Sukuna was proud that you had really memorized everything he had taught you. He was beginning to see the leader within you come to the surface. Just as he had planned, but this was only the beginning. There were many more things you had to learn. All at its time. 

After an hour of basic archery class, Yorozu was ready to aim on her own. She loaded the bow, held the arrow in a T-position and looked at the target as you had taught her. She released the arrow with force and missed the target. She missed once, twice, three... so many times to the point that she got fed up and broke the bow in half with the help of her knee. Kenjaku looked at her in grief, while Sukuna grabbed his forehead in disappointment. You approached your sister to calm her down. 

“Take it easy. It's a skill that takes practice,” you told her with a smile to cheer her up, just like Kenjaku sometimes did with you. 

“I need motivation.” Yorozu said before creating another bow with her cursed technique. That's when she got a great idea. “Let's hold a competition. Whoever hits the target closest wins.” She encouraged you. This sparked the interest of the teachers that were looking at them. 

“Sounds like fun,” You told her excitedly. This would be like playing with her again like they used to do when you were kids. 

“Let's bet something to make it more interesting,” Yorozu said excitedly. 

“I like that idea.” You thought of something you wanted from her. “If I win, I want you to give me a foot massage,” you told her with a wicked little smile. 

“Ew, gross.”

Sukuna smiled to himself to see you laughing and joking like that. It was a side he never thought he would see up close. Being a large, carnivorous curse, those below him on the food chain feared him with good reason. He was so used to seeing you cry, suffer and beg for your lives that he had forgotten that you can also rejoice, thrill and be passionate. I had completely forgotten that you were once a free girl with a say who tells jokes, plays with her sisters and enjoys cooking for her family. He would like to see you more like that, to be the real you without being afraid of him.

Unfortunately, if Sukuna wanted to achieve his goals, he had to keep your leash short. You had to be the perfect wife so that you would become the perfect mother that his future heir would need to become a strong leader. There was no time for the foolish things humans like to do. Sukuna's face returned to its serious countenance. 

“But if I win..." Yorozu thought out loud until she hyper-focused on what you were wearing. “I want your dress.” She dared you with her dark eyes. 

You weren't sure you could do that. Underneath your fur cloak, there was a sky blue dress with beautiful gems encrusted on the chest that flowed down to the skirt. It was one of the dresses Sukuna had given you. You couldn't give away something as precious as that. 

“The king gave it to me. I can't give it to you, choose another prize,” you said to Yorozu while looking at Sukuna. 

“Oh, come on! I've seen you wear seven different dresses in the last week! I don't think our dear king will mind if you give me one, right?” Yorozu looked at Sukuna with sad puppy dog eyes. 

You really liked that dress. It was the one that best accentuated your body of all the ones you had. It had hanging sleeves that allowed you to archery comfortably. All the other dresses were nice, but that one was your favorite. You looked at Sukuna as if you were asking him to say no.

“Bet it,” Sukuna finally spoke. You and Kenjaku were surprised at how easily he had agreed. 

“You are the best, my king!” Yorozu shouted happily. “Let's begin.” She shook your hand to start the competition. 

Being the one who had been practicing the longest, you went first. You saw the still target 50 meters away from you. You took a deep breath as you got into position. It was perfect. You pulled the arrow all the way under your chin. It was perfect. Your fingertips barely tensed the string as you drew the invisible trajectory. It would be a perfect shot. You could feel it. Finally, you released the string and the arrow traveled at full speed until it hit the top perimeter of the yellow center. It was as close as you've ever come to hitting the bullseye. 

“Good job, miss!” Kenjaku congratulated you as he clapped like a proud father. Sukuna just analyzed the target. It wasn't a perfect shot, but it was very close to it. 

“Not bad,” Yorozu said competitively as he positioned himself in front of the target. “Now watch and learn,” She smiled wickedly. She was up to something. 

She placed the arrow on the bow and did exactly what you did. Everything rigorously as you had dictated during the lesson. You analyzed what she did in case you could give her any advice. Yorozu was confident that she would win. Once she had the center in her sights, she made the arrow and bow increase in size under her fingers with the help of her technique. You recoiled as you noticed the drastic change. Unable to cope with the new weight of your weapon, she released the arrow to lower the bow as quickly as possible. You followed the arrow's journey with your eyes as your mouth opened at the tremendous impact, destroying the straw target completely. 

“Well, I think there is a clear winner,” Yorozu looked at you with malice. 

“It's not fair. You used your technique,” you said annoyed. 

“You never forbade me,” Yorozu declared. “Now, don't be a sore loser and give me my prize.” She raised her hand to you.

“Now?!” You groaned as you slammed your cloak shut. Yorozu nodded energetically. 

The blush of embarrassment crept up your cheeks. It was embarrassing, but you had accepted the deal. It hurt to give up that dress, but at least Yorozu would have something nice to wear, just like you. You closed the cloak and reached for the ribbons that tied it behind your back to get rid of the dress that wrapped around you. Luckily you were wearing a corset and a white bottom, so you wouldn't be naked. You jumped out of the dress and gave it to her. 

“Yay!” Yorozu shouted excitedly.

She yanked off her white dress, revealing that she was completely naked underneath. Kenjaku and you watched in horror, while Sukuna simply looked away. He really hated to see her naked during practice, so he forced her to at least put on a haori.

“Why aren't you wearing any underwear!” You scolded her, embarrassed. 

“Why are you wearing underwear?” Yorozu asked, playing it down as she put on the new dress. 

She pulled the dress up from the neckline and then put on the sleeves. She tied it in the back as best she could on her own and modeled it to her sister. It fit her...just fit her. She didn't quite fill out the bust, the sleeves swam, and it was tight around her waist. Some parts were tight, while others were too big. She could wear it, but it just didn't look right. 

“How do I look, my king? Don't I look beautiful?” Yorozu asked Sukuna as he modeled the dress for her. He analyzed her for a second.

“I ordered that dress especially for your sister, it is custom made for her,” Sukuna explained when he saw that it did not fill the bust. “It is unique and unrepeatable," Sukuna said as he looked at you. 

You closed the cloak over your chest at those words. Even though you knew he was talking about the dress, a part of you wanted to think that he was dedicating those words to you. Your cheeks reddened at the thought of something out of your imagination. Kenjaku noticed your embarrassment and thought you were embarrassed about being in too little clothing. Quickly, he approached you. 

“Put this on, miss," he said as he took off his yukata. 

You blushed more when you saw the splendid body the late king was hiding. Slim, but well-defined arms, smooth biceps and abs you could carve clothes on. Your lips parted slightly in shock. This was your first time seeing a shirtless man. 

Sukuna was annoyed at the scene he was seeing. Kenjaku was too close to you again, too close for his liking. "Is this how he usually treats her when I'm not around? I should increase my vigilance," he wondered as he watched the scene with disdain. 

As Kenjaku was about to put the yukata over your shoulders, his arms came off his body in the blink of an eye. You were stunned for a second before you could comprehend what on earth had happened. Your mind was awakened when you heard the thud of his arms crashing against the grass, still holding the yukata. Sukuna approached you, pushing Kenjaku by the torso away from you. 

He picked up the garment and draped it over your shoulders. You didn't know what to say about it. Sometimes his actions lacked logic and you found it hard to understand. His thick, clawed fingers brushed against your skin as he helped you tuck your arms into the sleeves. His hands traveled gently to your waist to tie the bow that closed the yukata. He was acting like a fairy tale prince...well, minus the fact that he cut off someone's arms to do it. You could only thank him with a whisper that only he could hear. 

Yorozu squeezed the skirt of her dress tightly, not intending to hide her jealousy. Why was Sukuna treating the woman who didn't want to marry him so tenderly? It wasn't fair. If she had arrived at the castle earlier, he would be in love with her, not you.

Kenjaku watched the scene intently as his arms slowly regenerated. On one hand, he had a spoiled sister who wanted the king's attention. On the other hand, he had the sister who had no idea what was going on. And last but not least, a jealous king who hasn't realized he's jealous. “I think I can do something about this,” he thought.

“Training is over today,” Sukuna grumbled before walking back to the castle at a quick pace to pretend nothing had happened, leaving you with your heart in your hand.

“Yes, my king,” Yorozu, Kenjaku and you said at the same time along with a farewell bow, each in their own world of thoughts.

“Sis, I’ll give you your dress back for a foot massage,” Yorozu told you reluctantly once Sukuna entered the castle.

“Deal,” you said with a smile, happy to have the dress you loved so much back.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Sukuna scolded himself as he walked through the castle halls, hiding his reddish face in shame for letting his emotions get the better of him. It was a good thing the servants feared him, because he didn’t want to talk to anyone. He locked himself in his office with a slam and leaned back in his chair. If he closed his eyes, he could still see your eyes looking up at him in disbelief as he felt your warm skin beneath his cloak. He brushed his hair back in exasperation. “What the fuck is going on?” he thought.

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[hotdsworld]

"Perfect illusion"

Dark!Neteyam x F!Reader

a/n: the work is written by me. I'm reposting it as I have a new account now and the old one was deactivated. Credits for beautiful dividers to @cafekitsune. Adult Neteyam pictures @cinetrix.

Word count: 2,5k

Summary: not everything is as it seems, sometimes all that one needs to deceive is a perfect illusion.

Warnings: 18+!, aged up Neteyam, con to noncon, oral (both receiving), nipple play, unprotected, p in v, forced tsaheylu, forced knotting/breeding, obsessed Neteyam, manipulations, toxic relationship, overstimulation, dacryphilia

It was hard to watch you sneak away with Lo’ak for obvious reasons, just for you to come back smelling like him. Neteyam hated it, he even began to hate his brother a little bit for taking you away from him. You weren't Neteyam's, that was true, but Neteyam felt like you belonged to him anyway, and Lo’ak was stealing you… so Neteyam did what he could, knowing that you had a soft spot for Lo’ak. He couldn't allow you to fall in love with his brother. Lo’ak didn't deserve you, no one deserved you but Neteyam. So when you were in that strange relationship with Lo’ak, Neteyam would take you on strolls so you could see Lo’ak with others. Or when he knew you were going to visit Lo’ak he was hiding a female loincloth so you could find it. Anything to get you away from his brother… soothing you when you came to Neteyam crying because Lo’ak can't take you seriously and respect you. Neteyam would act like a concerned friend giving you advice that wasn't really useful.

And so Neteyam did lead the little deal of yours and Lo’ak’s to come to an end. You couldn't handle Lo’ak fucking others where you two had some kind of an agreement. You wanted to forget about him… so you headed for someone who was there when you needed him the most: Neteyam.

He had to break you or rather make it look like Lo’ak broke you so he could put you back together, and he succeeded. You were depressed at first, thinking of Lo’ak, and missing your little meetings… but soon enough Neteyam proved himself to be a perfect man, or so you thought.

It was heaven, having you on your knees before him as you sucked his cock eagerly. Your eyes locked on his, you aimed to please and you weren't failing. Neteyam tilted his head back, groaning, his fingers tangled in your hair, occasionally yanking you further down on his cock. He loved the sounds of you slurping and gagging, getting his cock all wet with your spit. Neteyam loved it sloppy.

It was heaven, having you on your knees before him as you sucked his cock eagerly. Your eyes locked on his, you aimed to please and you weren't failing. Neteyam tilted his head back, groaning, his fingers tangled in your hair, occasionally yanking you further down on his cock. He loved the sounds of you slurping and gagging, getting his cock all wet with your spit. Neteyam loved it sloppy.

“Such a good girl for me, aren't you? Sucking my cock like a hungry slut,” Neteyam teased, his hips bucking forward, his balls almost slapping against your chin. The way you looked up with tears in your eyes… it was making him want to ruin you. You looked pretty with your lips wrapped around his cock. “That’s my tìyawn, keep sucking, yawntu,” Neteyam moans, feeling himself getting close to the edge. With you, it was always like that. You had so much power over him… you could make him cum untouched if you wanted. “You are going to swallow my cum, aren't you, sevin? The most precious girl in the whole universe,” Neteyam hums, putting his hands on the back of your head as he begins to thrust in and out of your mouth, taking complete control of your movements. His length hitting the back of your throat, but Neteyam was gentle. He couldn't scare you away, he couldn't reveal his dark side, not until you were so deep in love with him that you would be able to ignore it. You hollow your cheeks, causing Neteyam to moan loudly. “Mm, that's good. Swallow all of it, all…” Neteyam groaned, spilling himself inside your mouth. You swallowed right away, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Neteyam pulled out of your mouth slowly, brushing your hair off of your face. “I guess I need to return the favor,” Neteyam hummed before laying you down on your back. You looked up at him, clearly excited for the pleasure he was about to give you. Neteyam settled himself between your legs, kissing all over your lower abdomen. He was gentle and loving, truly a perfect man…

“Neteyam,” you whined as he continued to kiss everywhere but where you needed him the most. He raised his eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Impatient, are we?” Neteyam hummed, kissing and licking your inner thighs. You needed his mouth higher. “Use your words, tìyawn.

“I need you here,” you whimpered softly, your cheeks flushed.

“Ask properly. What do you want, sevin?” Neteyam loved to tease you, and you were so easy to taunt too…

“I want you to eat me out, Nete,” you force yourself to say. Neteyam nodded in approval.

“What a good girl…” Neteyam leaned down before he began to suck on your clit gently. You moaned softly, placing your hand on his head. “I love this sweet pussy. It's all mine… only mine,” he planted a kiss on your clit before he moved his tongue down to your slit, tasting your wetness eagerly. Neteyam was eating you out like there was no tomorrow like he was a man starved. Neteyam was moaning and humming against your cunt, enjoying your taste. It was addictive, he was an addict and you were his drug. You bucked his hips into his mouth, craving more of his skilled mouth. Neteyam put his hand on your lower stomach to stop the movement. “Let me enjoy you, yawntu,” Neteyam hums before focusing on his task again. His tongue buried deep inside of you, so warm and big… The pressure in your stomach builds as he tongue fucks you. Your spine curved against the mattress, and you pulled his braids as waves of pleasure washed over you, causing you to spill yourself on his face. Neteyam cleaned you up eagerly with his tongue, grateful for getting to taste such a sweet goddess again. “Do you still have some energy left in you, tìyawn?” Neteyam taunts. You nod eagerly, wanting nothing more than to feel him fucking you deep.

“Yes! Yes, please. I need it, I need you,” you say sweetly, making Neteyam chuckle in amusement. He got on top of you slowly, rubbing the head of his cock against your wet folds.

“Such a wet pussy for me… I love this pussy, it's perfect. Always so needy and ready for me… Beg me, tanhì. Beg me to make love to you,” Neteyam ordered. You looked into his beautiful eyes, chuckling.

“You want me to beg? Don't you want to spoil me?” You taunt back, causing him to shake his head.

“Not today, yawntu. Today you beg me,” Neteyam grinned, showing off his perfect teeth. That smile of his… Neteyam was charming and so precious.

“Please, Nete. I need your cock inside of me, filling me up… I want you to stuff me full with your cock.” And what was Neteyam supposed to do with you begging so nicely? Besides granting your wish… He entered you slowly, Neteyam was a gentleman who cared about your well-being. You gasped in unison as he bottomed out, stretching your tight walls with his thick shaft. Neteyam sets a steady pace, letting you adjust to his size. The feeling was familiar. You have done this before but his size never ceases to amaze you. Always hitting the best spots inside, stretching you out deliciously… “Would you look at that? Such a tight pussy, gripping me so well… it doesn't want to let me go, does it? I can barely pull out to thrust inside again,” Neteyam laughed, moving his hands to your nipples, pinching and massaging them gently with his fingers. They hardened right away upon his soft touch. Neteyam loved how responsive your body was to him, it was just proving him right… he was right about you being as obsessed with him as he was with you, or so he wanted to think. He leaned down and captured one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it carefully. You moaned loudly, eyes rolling back. The thrusts were slow but deep, sex with Neteyam was always passionate. There was no rush, just pleasure and intimacy. “That’s it. Just like that… I love being inside this pussy,” Neteyam was moaning against your nipple, sending pleasant vibrations through your body. He was speeding up gradually, pounding deep into you, hitting that one spot that was making your body tremble. The pleasure building inside of you. Neteyam sucked on the other nipple, driving you crazy.

“Lo’ak,” you moaned loudly, nails dug into his back probably leaving a mark. You realized what you did when Neteyam’s moves came to a full stop.

“Say that again,” his eyes narrowed. Everything inside of him was boiling. He was ready to lash out, to strangle you right here right now… no, he wanted to strangle his brother.

“Neteyam, I’m so-” but he didn't let you talk, covering your mouth with his hand.

“You said enough, whore,” he began to move again. But the thrusts were no more gentle and passionate. Your lips parted as the roughness overwhelmed you. It felt good, fucking you like he wanted to from the very beginning. Neteyam was fucking you like he hated you, and it was the truth somewhat… Neteyam hated that he loved you, he hated how you affected him. And now after all that he did for you, you moan his brother’s name? Neteyam needed to claim you once and for all. Make you his forever and he didn't care if you were up for it. He pulled your kuru with one hand and his own with another, making your eyes widen as you realized what he wanted to do. You couldn't let him.

“Neteyam, I'm not ready. It's too soon, please. Let us enjoy ourselves-” you were cut off by him connecting your kurus. Your eyes widened as you felt everything, every single emotion he was feeling right now. All the love, obsession, anger, jealousy, lust… and he could feel your emotions. Neteyam knew you loved him, he could feel it… but he could also feel fear. You were afraid and being scared around a predator was the worst thing you could have done. You were not two separate beings, you were one, connected by a sacred bond that could not be broken. Just as Neteyam wished, you were bonded to him. Your soul, your mind, your heart, your body… were his. And he was yours. The line between his ending and your beginning wasn't there, you were like one person.

“See, tìyawn? Our bond will never be broken, I will make sure of it by knotting you, breeding, filling up with my offspring, marking your womb. No more Lo’ak. That way you will be mine for eternity,” Neteyam growls, pushing deeper inside of you. Neteyam could feel your fear, it aroused him even more. It could seem like a punishment for you too… moaning his brother’s name… he should have brought Lo’ak here and made him watch. You tried to resist, you didn't want it to be like that… you hadn't thought of children with him yet but you were sure as hell you didn't want to conceive them like that. It was hard, you couldn't focus on your feelings as his own overwhelmed you, and all the love and obsession were messing with your mind. Neteyam was love bombing you on purpose, sending the strongest emotions to fuck with your mind. The tears streaming down your cheeks… You were vulnerable and he loved it, completely at his mercy… finally, just like he wanted in his fantasies. And normally, Neteyam would have hated to see you cry but now… now it only aroused him more. He kissed the tears away, licking your soft skin. The tears were salty… “You are so fucking cute when you cry, you know that?” Let it all out, good girl. Let it all out,” he hums, licking and kissing the tears away. Neteyam didn't stop pounding into you, making sure for every thrust to be deep, punishing even. His tip swelled, getting ready to knot you. It was what Neteyam craved and needed and no matter how loudly you were begging, he was going to do it.

“Neteyam, please,” but your plea fell on deaf ears. Neteyam didn't hear you, he heard one word, one name: Lo’ak. And he couldn't allow you to think of Lo’ak ever again. He didn't want you to scream too much, he didn't want to see his beautiful mate in pain… so he was sending love through the bond. You needed to feel loved by him, you needed to calm down.

“It's all going to be fine. I know it's not your fault, it's his. He's like a pest, my whole damn life I needed to defend him,” Neteyam was getting aggressive again. His relationship with his brother worsened since he met you.

“He's not bad,” you mutter as the tears continue to stream down. It was too much for you, your body and your brain couldn't process it.

“Just for him to try and ruin you. He's ruined but not you. You’re mine, I helped you to be one again. I helped you to pick up the broken pieces of yourself. You should be grateful I'm giving you the privilege of carrying my offspring. I'm the best option, sevin. You will forgive me for how it happened… I’m going to cum. I'm going to fucking knot this perfect pussy and claim your womb, fill it up with my seed. Maybe we will be lucky and get more than one?” Neteyaam caressed your hair, giving you a few more brutal thrusts, intending to go deep. He was ready for the last step. “Mine, mine, mine. My woman, my pussy, my mate. You are fucking mine, slut,” he was ready to knock you and shoot his hot load inside your pussy. His cock ached to knot you already. Neteyam would be fulfilled, claiming you completely. You didn't want to cum, you didn't… but your bodies were one so when he began to release… you couldn't stop it. Your body shook as the knot locked you together. Neteyam’s hot seed mixed with your juices. Neteyam came really deep inside, you could feel the warmth there. Your body knew him… but did your mind know him? He was like a different person now. “You’re mine and I want you to remember that,” Neteyam hissed, releasing your neck from his grip. He kept rocking against you, desperately wanting to fuck you again but he couldn't, because of the knot. All that mattered was cumming again and again inside of you, to ensure that you will be carrying his child. He was going to empty his balls inside even if it meant overstimulating himself… now not only himself but you too. You were connected for eternity. You were exhausted, unsure of what you really felt as your bodies were one. Neteyam owned you and he would do anything to keep you his, even if it meant going against his brother or even… you. The man before wasn't Neteyam, it was all a perfect illusion.