#i just learned what touch wood means ^^

[mkmas]

Take Me, My Beloved Villain - Jude Jazza

sorry for any mistakes 🙇‍♀️ also everything is owned by cybird, i only translated

Kate: Ju-Jude, please let go! I can walk on my own!

Jude grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me down the corridor.

Jude: You’re going to run away as soon as I let go. I have to be cautious.

Kate: I won’t run away! I will pay back what I owe you…!

Today is the 31st of December.

I had been helping Victor make preparations for the countdown party since this morning.

However, Jude suddenly appeared in the kitchen.

“Have you forgotten that you owe me for saving your life yesterday? I will have you pay me back in labor.” …….. Then, he kidnapped me.

(I’m grateful to Jude for saving me from almost getting shot last night. He saved my life)

(But…)

Kate: It must be hard for Victor to prepare alone…..

Jude: Ha, you’re worried about him? How kind of the princess.

Jude: But it’s useless to try to measure someone who is the Queen's aide by ordinary standards.

Jude: No matter how much you complain, it's already decided that you're going to help me with my work. Shut up and follow me.

And so, I was forcibly brought to the common room.

On the desk is a familiar typewriter.

Jude: Use it to transcribe the handwritten documents. The format should be the same as the sample.

Ellis: Jude, I got what you asked for.

Ellis, who came into the room after us, had his hands full of papers.

Kate: Thi-This many…..!?

I trembled, and Jude gave me a cold glare.

Jude: Can’t do it? Was your life so light that you didn't deserve a job of this magnitude?

Jude: Sorry….. I must have overestimated.

Kate: Life isn’t light, even for me. But….. It’s too much, I don’t know if I can do it alone.

Ellis: It's okay, Kate. Jude wouldn't ask someone who isn’t capable.

(….. Ellis and Jude are like carrot and stick)***

Kate: ….. I understand. I will do it wholeheartedly…..

Jude: Don’t put your heart into it. All I want is speed and accuracy.

Jude: If you miss even 1 letter….. Do you want to know what happens?

I began work with a twitch in my cheeks, sensing that it was more than just a threat.

———

Jude: ….. That’s enough.

Jude stopped my work at 7pm, a few hours after we started.

Kate: Eh…. But it looks like there are still some paperwork left to do…..

Jude: No matter how much progress you make, there's no point in reviewing if I can't catch up.

(But I think Jude's revision work is well on its way….?)

Jude: ….. What’s with that face? I told you to stop, but you’re not happy?

Kate: N-No. It’s not like that.

(….. That’s right. Jude said so, so let’s call it a day)

I've learned from experience that pestering him will only make him grumpier, so I decided to clean up my desk.

Kate: What kind of year would you like to have next year, Jude? Do you have any resolutions?

Jude: Resolutions? I have nothing like that.

Jude: The year changes, but in reality, there’s no actual real effect. It's just an arbitrary boundary decided by humans.

Jude: Last year, this year, next year, nothing I do will be any different.

(If I recall correctly….. Jude needs money to fulfill his promise to someone)

(That’s what you’re working so hard for, right)

Kate: Jude is pushing forward towards his goal.…. It’s amazing.

Jude: Flattery will get you nothing in return.

Kate: I’m not looking for anything in return, I really do think so.

It didn't mean anything, but Jude frowned as if he had eaten something he didn't like.

He waved his hand as if to tell me to get the hell out of the room.

———

Victor: Kate! Are you finished with the work Jude asked you to do?

Kate: Yes, he doesn't need any more help today.

Victor: The best timing, we were just about to eat.

Victor: I'm glad Jude kept his promise to me.

(Oh, by the way…..)

———

It was when Jude came to the kitchen to take me away.

Kate: Sorry, Victor.…. I have to help Jude.

Victor: Don't worry about it. I'll prepare everything for you too!

Victor: But….. With all these delicious food prepared, you have to get Kate back in time for dinner, okay?

Jude: It’s up to her to decide when she can go home.

———

(….. Jude, I guess you let me go because it was time for dinner.)

The timing of the work being stopped seemed unnatural, so it must be it.

Then, time passed as everyone gathered in the dining room to eat.

However, Jude never came to the dining room.

(I guess his work isn't done yet…..)

Curious, I kept looking at the door, but there was no sign of anyone coming in.

Roger: Kate, could you do me a favor?

Kate: Yes, what is it?

Roger: I want you to bring Jude some food.

Roger: Jude hasn't eaten anything since lunch, has he? If he dies, we'll have a lot of work to do starting in the new year and it will be troublesome.

Roger: He would get annoyed if I nag him so I would be grateful if the young lady can encourage him.

Kate: …..! I understand!

Having found a good reason to visit Jude, I put some food on the plate and left the dining room.

Alfons: ….. Saying you’re worried when you’re really not, how shameless.

Roger: It’s not really a lie, is it? Well, the biggest motive was that the young lady was worried.

———

I came to the common room with a bowl of hot soup and a loaf of bread.

(Huh…..? Jude isn’t here. He left his papers here, so he’ll probably be back soon)

There, my eyes fell on the desk that Jude had been using.

(Ah….. I knew it, it was a lie that the revision process couldn't keep up)

The paperwork I had finished producing had long since been reviewed, and another new set of work documents was spread out on the desk.

(From the moment we met... Jude has been mercilessly and arrogantly cornering me.)

(So why does he sometimes give me kindness that is hard to understand?)

Is it just a whim, or is it to win me over and use me.…. or is it something more?

(….. I don't know what Jude's true feelings are, which is why I'm so curious and want to know)

But, even in the midst of uncertainty, there are certain things.

I hope Jude’s dream comes true one day, those are my feelings.

(That's right! Let's make a wish for the New Year!)

(I think I'll use.….. this wooden desk that Jude used)

Kate: Touch wood…..

While whispering, I tapped the desk lightly. It's a spell that has been passed down in England for a long time to ward off evil spirits.

Jude: ...... What are you doing?

Kate: !?

I heard a doubtful voice behind me and turned to see Jude standing there.

Kate: Wh-When did you get here…..!?

Jude: Just now. …… So, what’s up with the princess?

Jude: Muttering to the desk with a grim look, were you trying to put a curse on me?

Kate: It’s the opposite! I brought dinner, and gave Jude a good luck spell.

Stuttering my words, I explained that I had no malicious intentions.

Jude: I don't need silly wishes like "I hope my wish comes true".

Kate: N-No! I didn’t wish like that.

Jude: ….. Oh?

Jude raised an eyebrow in interest. I felt like he was urging me to continue, so I opened my mouth again.

Kate: ….. Jude says if you owe something, you should pay it back.

Jude: Loans exist to be paid back.

Kate: If the loan is to be paid back…..

Kate: In that same sense, I hope your efforts will be rewarded as well.

Jude: …..

Kate: That’s why….. I wished that Jude’s efforts would be rewarded.

Jude: ….. What a childish wish.

Jude's reaction was as cold as I expected, but that was okay.

Whatever I wish in my heart, is my choice.

Jude: And yours?

Kate: What is?

Jude: Resolutions, resolutions. I'll have to pay you back for your questionable spells. It's a pain in the ass, but.

I never thought that he would give back what I had wished for on my own.

This kind of discipline may be one of the reasons why Jude has been so successful in his work.

(My resolutions for this year are…..)

Kate: ….. I would like to get to know Jude and spend more time with him.

Jude: Spend even more time with me? Come on, you don't have to make that your resolution.

Kate: Eh…..?

Jude: You owe me a lot, remember?

Jude: You don't think you can pay back in a day what you owe me for saving your life, do you?

Kate: Eh, it’s not right!?

Jude: You said it yourself, life is not light. It's not even close.

Jude: Don't even think you can leave me until you pay off all your debts.

(Then that means….. I can spend a lot of time by Jude's side?)

Jude was probably just stating the obvious, that I owe him and I should pay him back, and that there is no special meaning to this.

(It bothers me that I'm treated like a labor force, but still... I don't know why... I'm happy)

The fact that I wanted to be by your side and was allowed to do so even for whatever reason warms my heart.

Jude: ….. Respond.

Kate: Ye-Yes…..! Next year too-

At that moment, as if timed perfectly, a bang sounded.

When I turned around, I saw large fireworks going off in the distance from the common room window.

(….. Oh, it's the New Year already)

Kate: ….. Let’s get along well this year too, Jude.

Jude: Haha, what a gentle and polite bow….. Hopeless.

Jude removes his gaze from mine to resume his work.

It was a new year that came without a countdown, but that didn’t bother me.

Maybe it's because I'm looking forward to being by Jude’s side this year.

***carrot and stick (飴と鞭) or candy and whip = combination of reward + punishment.

[yuujispinkhair]

THE SUMMONING - PART 2

You get hurt, and Sukuna learns the hard way that nothing is as terrifying as the thought of losing you

PART 1

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut + angst with a happy end Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: 18+, mentions of smut but nothing explicit, violence, blood, Reader gets attacked and almost dies, but Sukuna heals her, mentions of murder, mentions of cannibalism. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact. Divider @/benkeibear

Sukuna still visits you every other day, his feet always carrying him back to your little hut in the middle of the woods. Back into your arms, back to this newly-discovered feeling he only gets when he is with you. This warmth, that he never knew before. This fluttery feeling, that fills his chest and makes a smile tug at his lips.

Here in your hut, Sukuna doesn't have to be on his guard all the time. He can let go and just feel. It's a kind of luxury he never had before. When he feels the soft caress of your skin against his. When your warmth envelops him. When he surprises himself by how tenderly he kisses you and how slowly he moves on top of you, inside you, treasuring every moment of your intimate union, committing every gasp falling from your lips to his memory, reveling in the feeling of your legs tightening around him and your fingers digging into the muscles of his broad back, right before his name falls from your lips in the sweetest cries.

Sukuna can't deny that he would like to see you every day. He craves your presence, your touch, your company. He would like to sleep curled around you every night in his bed in his temple. He would like to have you join him during his baths. He would like to have you sit across from him at every meal Uraume serves him.

But when he brings it up one evening when he and you are tangled up in your bed, bodies still hot and sweaty from your freshly spent passion, you smile and shake your head slightly,

"My place is here. I don't think I would be fit to be the woman by your side, my Lord."

Sukuna's first instinct is to bark a command, demanding you to obey him and come with him. Telling you that no one says no to the King of Curses. But he closes his mouth again before his lips can form any words like that. It doesn't feel right to say that to you.

Sukuna almost laughs out loud at the realization. He is a man used to taking what he wants, a man used to everyone kneeling before him and following his orders obediently or dying a gruesome death.

But it's different when he is with you. He doesn't want to scare you or force you to obey his wishes. He doesn't want to use his power and strength against you. No, when it comes to you, Sukuna cannot bring himself to do any of that.

What would your connection even be worth if he forced you to come with him? It would just be like everything else in his life. Empty and fake. Sometimes, Sukuna catches himself thinking that nothing in his life is real. Everyone is just playing an act around him, careful to please the monster they fear. So terrified of him that they do anything to avoid his anger. And others are constantly sucking up to him, wanting nothing more than using him for their own gain. All they care about is his power, his riches, his protection.

How refreshing it is to hear you say no to him. How refreshing it is to see how honest you are. How brave. Sukuna's heart swells with pride and admiration.

No, he won't force you to come with him. He doesn't want to taint what the two of you have. He doesn't want it to become nothingness, just like everything else in his life. When one can take anything he wants without resistance, everything slowly loses meaning. But what you and Sukuna have is meaningful, and Sukuna wants it to stay that way.

And so he just laughs gruffly and tightens his four arms around you, pressing himself against you from behind, wrapping his huge, muscular body around you, holding you at least for a few hours here in your bed, while he adds softly,

"You are the only one that is fitting to be the woman by my side. I hope you'll give it more thought and maybe change your mind, little one. But if not, I will just come find you here. But know that I won't ever take another woman. The place beside me is reserved for you."

Sukuna sees you lift your head and look at him with surprise written all over your face. You reach out, and your tiny hand cups his disfigured cheek oh so tenderly. Caressing him as if he isn't the monster that everyone fears. He leans into your tender touch like a starving man, his four eyes closing momentarily as he just lets himself bask in your loving touch.

Sukuna's enjoyment is still laced with fear. It still scares him what you do to him. How you managed to put him under your spell. He is so strong and powerful, but his heart feels so fragile since he found his way into your arms.

Sukuna sighs and rolls off you, gazing down at your small figure on the bed, letting his hands travel slowly down your naked skin from your shoulders down to your thighs before he straightens up, his hair almost brushing against the ceiling of your small hut.

"Sleep well. I'll come to visit you again soon."

The smile he gifts you is too tender to ever be shown in bright daylight, but here in the dim lighting of your hut, which is only illuminated by several small lanterns, Sukuna thinks it is safe to show such raw emotion.

He walks back to his temple through the nightly forest, taking his time, breathing in the cold night air that carries the earthy scents of the forest. On his clothes, he can also still smell the soup you cooked for him. And underneath that is another smell. Your scent. Flowers and herbs and magic mixed with the sweetness of your sweat and your arousal that is still clinging to Sukuna's skin.

A light chuckle escapes his lips as he slowly follows the narrow path through the forest. Yes, you truly awakened another side of him. Who would have thought that the feared monster could become so tame and so vulnerable for a tiny human woman?

But Sukuna doesn't know just how vulnerable he made himself by falling for you until he returns to your hut three days later.

He is still quite a bit away when his nose catches the faint smell of smoke. His nostrils flare, and all four sapphire eyes scan the trees around him. His strong body is alert, his muscles taut, and his hands are balled into fists as he sniffs the air.

It is unmistakably a smell he is all too familiar with, a smell that he is often the cause of. The smell of destruction and violence. Blood and smoke.

Sukuna breaks into a run before he is even aware of it. He rushes through the forest, his large feet landing heavily on the soft forest trail. His breath is harsh in his ears, and his body is tense, every muscle ready to strike.

He can already sense the tragedy before he even reaches his destination. And he gets the cruel confirmation he dreaded when he enters the small clearing where your hut stands. Or rather used to stand. There is not much left of it.

A fire crackles loudly as the bright flames flicker in the soft breeze, swallowing the wooden structure. Your few belongings are scattered all over the forest floor. The pots you cook your delicious soup in, the little flasks with all the things you collect in the forest, your bedding on which Sukuna made you his over and over again just three nights ago, and the beautiful red silk scarf he brought you as a present, half of which is burned to ashes.

Sukuna has never known fear like this, as when he stands frozen in place, his four sapphire eyes wide open as he stares at the destruction before him. His chest feels so tight. The smoke fills his nostrils and his lungs, choking him. And even worse than that, there's also another all too familiar smell filling his senses. The metallic smell of blood. A scent Sukuna usually enjoys because it means food or that he had fun wreaking destruction. But today, the metallic dark red scent is making him nauseous.

He draws in a sharp breath, finally able to move again as his gaze darts around. He can see a trail of dark red liquid sticking grotesquely to the light green grass that your naked feet used to dance on.

Sukuna follows that trail, not like a hunter this time, but like a man walking toward his execution, mind reeling with dark thoughts, heart heavy, convinced that what he will find at the end of this red trail will bring his demise.

Because how could Sukuna still call himself alive if you were taken from him so cruelly? Was he even truly alive before he met you? Before you kissed him and loved him and treated him like a man instead of a monster?

Sukuna grits his jaw. Either this will lead to the ruin of the feared King of Curses, or it will lead to an even more terrifying rule of terror. He will burn everything to the ground, will burn the whole world down, will cut everything and everyone to pieces, will stand in the flames and watch them all burn and bleed and scream and beg for his mercy. But Sukuna will have none. He doesn't need this world if you aren't in it anymore! His kingdom will be worth nothing if he doesn't have his queen by his side. No one deserves to live when his beloved was taken from him!

Regret joins Sukuna's desperation and anger. Regret that he never told you the sheer extent of his feelings for you. That he didn't court you like he should have.

Sadness threatens to drown him when he thinks of all the half-finished poems lying around in his study in his temple, all his attempts to put into words what he feels for you. Would you have smiled if he had given you one? Would you even have been able to read those poems, or would Sukuna have had to read them to you? Would you have found them beautiful? Would you have understood how much you meant to him?

Did you die crying out for him? Did you die, not knowing that he... that he loved you?

Sukuna's nails dig painfully into his palms, drawing blood, causing wounds he doesn't even bother to heal. He forbids himself to dwell on those thoughts, accelerating his speed as he rushes through the forest.

Sukuna's strong legs sway for a split second when he spots your crumbled figure lying under a tall tree.

He is by your side in an instant, the King of Curses kneeling in the dirt, staining his beautiful white pants with your blood and the muddy dirt of the forest floor, but he doesn't care. His four thick arms instinctively reach out but then stop a mere breath away from your lifeless figure. Scared to touch, scared to cause even more damage.

When Sukuna finally touches you, it is gentle, almost timid. Just his fingertips ghosting over your bloodied skin. He sends his reverse cursed technique through his skin to yours. He doesn't dare breathe, fearing it will be a fruitless attempt.

Fearing you are already gone. Fearing you have already stepped over the threshold to the afterlife without him, lost and lonely, scared out of your mind because he didn't manage to protect you, even though he is the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared monster.

"No."

The word comes out in a broken whisper as Sukuna grabs you and pulls you into his lap, strong jaw clenching when he sees the damage the intruders did to you. The countless bruises, the scratches, the blood, the ripped clothes. A part of him dies in that forest as he stares down at the broken body of the one he loves.

"Come back to me, little one! Open your eyes! Look at me!"

Sukuna's voice sounds like the growl of a wild animal, too harsh and too loud in the otherwise eerily silent forest. He sends more reverse cursed technique through his fingertips, pressing them against your skin, almost crushing you in his urge to heal you.

Fear and anger are a dangerous combination. The words leaving Sukuna's lips are harsh, cruel even, demanding, filled with the desperation of a man who thinks he has lost everything,

"Don't you dare leave me, woman! Open your eyes! I didn't allow you to go! Your King demands you to look at him, you damn brat! Look at me! I forbid you to die!"

Sukuna's voice breaks at the last word. His vision is blurry, and he doesn't know why. Is it sweat running into his eyes? Is it the smoke from your burned-down hut? His face feels wet, and he wonders if it is your blood soaking his skin, marking him with the guilt he feels for not being there for you when you needed him.

Sukuna presses his teeth together. He feels light-headed. From the fear, from the guilt, from the sheer amount of power he is using to send all that reverse cursed technique through his fingertips to your cold, bruised skin. He doesn't care, though. He will give you more. Will give you all of him until he uses up all his strength.

If he cannot bring you back with his power, then he will just die here next to you. Will place his huge body over yours, protecting you from the wild animals who will surely soon be attracted by the scent of your flesh. But they will have to go through him first. At least he will be able to do that for you.

A broken, raw sound escapes Sukuna's throat at the same time as a small, barely audible gasp leaves your lips.

Your eyes open, looking weakly up at Sukuna, staring uncomprehendingly at him. Sukuna draws in a sharp breath, his large hands grabbing you tightly as if he is scared you will slip through his fingers again if he lets go of you. The wetness in his eyes is even worse now, clouding his vision, spilling over, running down his cheeks hot and wet.

Your tiny hand comes up weakly to cup his cheek, just like you always do, gently caressing the black markings on his face and wiping away the strange wetness on his face.

"Sukuna... oh Sukuna. You came. I knew it. I knew you would find me in time."

You speak the words as if you never doubted he would save your life. As if you are completely convinced that your fates are entangled until the end of time. And maybe it truly is like that.

Sukuna lets out a relieved breath. He leans into your gentle touch, turning his face so he can press a kiss to the inside of your palm. He can taste your blood on his lips and the salty taste of what must be his own tears.

How strange. He can't remember ever crying before. Not even when he was just a starving, abandoned child who wandered through the streets looking for a way to survive. Not even when everyone called him a monster and threw stones at him had he ever spilled any tears. But you... you bring out so many new things in him. It's terrifying and beautiful in equal parts.

But right now, all that Sukuna feels is relief. Relief so immense that it makes him grin broadly at you, his chest filled with tingling exhilaration, his mind light-headed as he lets his gaze wander over you, watching your wounds close again, watching the life come back into your eyes.

Just looking at you isn't enough, though. Sukuna needs to touch you, needs to feel your skin becoming warm under his palms, needs to feel your heartbeat under his hand. He needs to make sure you are truly breathing, living, part of this world again. Part of his world. Or maybe not just part of Sukuna's world, but his whole world.

His large hands run over your body restlessly, still sending his healing powers into your skin.

"How are you feeling? Does it still hurt somewhere?"

You shake your head, a dreamy expression in your eyes as you look up at him.

"I feel good. You healed me. Thank you."

A weak but genuine smile lifts your lips, making Sukuna gulp hard. He can't look into your eyes for too long, or he fears you will see too much of the raw emotions cursing through him. Instead, he inspects your body scrutinizingly, checking for even the smallest scratch.

Sukuna is satisfied with what he sees. Your wounds have closed beneath the dried blood. All the broken bones are fixed again. His little fragile bird is whole again. Its broken wings are fixed again.

Regardless, one of Sukuna's large hands is slipping under the torn fabric of your robe, cupping your left breast, pressing his palm against your naked skin, feeling your heartbeat fluttering underneath it, counting it, waiting until it has settled into the familiar, strong rhythm it always has when he rests his head on your chest after making love to you on your small bed.

Finally, Sukuna dares to let his gaze wander to your face, his voice rough when he asks,

"Who did this to you?"

You shake when you tell him what happened. How a group of men came up to your hut as you were cooking, how they instantly attacked you, demanding you to hand over all of your belongings. They took everything of worth from you and then set fire to your home before they proceeded to attack you while laughing and telling you that you wouldn't get out this alive. You tried to run from them, fleeing into the forest, but they caught you again.

You can't describe them other than they had dark hair and black clothes, but Sukuna doesn't need more than that. He can still smell them on you.

He makes sure that you are comfortable, slipping out of his haori to carefully put it under your head as a cushion. Telling you to rest and that he will be back in a short time. He takes your hands in his and brings them to his lips, kissing your knuckles, his blue eyes burning into yours as if he is trying to make you understand he will do anything to make up for his mistake.

Sukuna moves through the forest with all his senses sharpened. In his hunting mode again. The powerful predator chasing his prey. The merciless monster looking for the kill. He can smell the stench of your attackers and can easily follow their trail down a narrow path through the forest.

He hunts them down quickly and finds the small camp they set up by the river, where they cook fish over a fire and laugh and chat as if they didn't just try to take everything from him.

Their laughter stops the moment they see the large, strong figure break through the underwood. And the laughter turns into screams of terror when Sukuna smirks cruelly at them as he snaps his fingers to slash their Achilles tendons, stopping them effectively from running from his wrath.

Now, Sukuna's laughter fills the air as he watches them fall into the muddy grass, scrambling desperately in their attempt to crawl away from him, screaming and begging. Begging for mercy he doesn't have.

"You laid your hands on what is mine. Now, you will suffer the punishment for it."

"Please let us go, Sukuna-sama! We didn't do anything wrong! We serve you devotedly! We would never attack any of the villages under your protection! It was just a useless woman!"

"Silence, insect! I didn't allow you to speak to me. That woman is mine. How dare you touch what belongs to me!"

He sees the comprehension settle over their faces, all hope leaving their eyes as they realize what they did. A satisfied smirk spreads over Sukuna's face as he slowly walks towards them, laughing when he sees their futile, pathetic attempts to crawl away. To escape from The King of Curses. From the God Ryomen Sukuna.

He stops only a few steps away from them, gazing down at them with cold hatred burning in his blue eyes.

"Usually, I would tell my loyal servant to come here and pick up your dead flesh after I am finished with you so they can cook it for me. But rotten people like you don't deserve the honor of being eaten by me. You will decay here in the dirt, getting eaten by worms and other animals."

Their screams, when he uses his power to slice them open and tear them apart oh so slowly, are sweet to Sukuna's ears. But it's not enough. Killing them didn't bring him the peace he hoped it would.

Sukuna knows there is only one place where he will feel better. By your side.

He hurries back to you, the tension leaving his strong body when he sees you sitting up where he left you, wrapped into his haori, hugging yourself and smiling at him. That sweet, warm smile that is always so full of affection.

Sukuna is by your side in a heartbeat, swooping you off the ground and into his arms, cradling you to his broad chest. You laugh, but he can still hear how shaken you are, and it almost breaks him. He feels sick. Sick at the thought of the pain and fear you had to endure. Sick at the thought of what almost happened. How he almost lost you forever.

Sukuna's arms tighten around you, his low voice rough and determined when he tells you,

"You're coming with me. Enough is enough. It isn't fitting for my lover to live out here in the woods anyway, and it surely isn't fitting for my future bride."

Your eyes widen at the word bride, but you smile softly at him, a small hand coming up to touch his chest, resting on his buff pectoral muscles,

"Alright, bring me to your temple until I fully recover. Maybe you can help me rebuild my hut afterward..."

Sukuna laughs gruffly as he presses a tender kiss to your blood-stained forehead. Even now, you so desperately want to stand on your own feet. But it's a small victory, at least. He can bring you to his home, take care of you, make sure you are wrapped in the softest silk, and eat the most nurturing meals to get you back to perfect health.

And who knows, maybe once you have seen the life Sukuna can offer you, you will finally let him have his way and keep you forever.

So Sukuna starts walking. He carries you all the way to his temple and smiles when he hears your soft gasp upon seeing its sheer size.

He tells Uraume to get clothes for you and everything else a woman might need.

"And make sure everything is of the finest quality. I only want the best for my betrothed."

Uraume raises a curious eyebrow at that but bows respectfully and replies with the usual politeness,

"Of course, Lord Sukuna. I will get the finest garments and items for your Lady."

You protest even in your weakened state, claiming that you don't need anything special and that you are used to living a simple life in the woods. But Sukuna just hums softly and carries you deeper into the temple.

"Oh, little one, I know you aren't here for my riches, but just let me spoil you a little bit, at least."

You sigh and snuggle against his naked chest, murmuring something about how good he is to you, and Sukuna can't help but make a strange noise, a low rumble deep in his chest, almost like a purr.

He carries you straight into his bedchamber. A place that is usually sacred to him. So private that no one is allowed in here apart from his loyal servant Uraume.

Sukuna gently lays you down on his bed, careful not to hurt you, gazing down at you with his four sapphire eyes full of love. Finally, the suffocating tightness in his chest vanishes, and Sukuna feels at ease again.

So far, Sukuna has only shared your small bed in your hut with you. But now you will share his bed with him, a huge bed the size of half your hut, with sheer endless silk pillows and luxurious sheets. No one else was ever allowed in here. But when it comes to you, all his former rules don't apply anymore.

Sukuna trusts you. And he wants you here. He wants to share his bed with you, wants to share his whole life with you.

You are his beloved, his woman, his bride.

Sukuna lets his eyes slowly travel over you. Your body is so small compared to his huge bed, but you look so comfortable, and your skin looks so beautiful against his red silken bedsheets. You meet his gaze, looking up at him with trust and love in your eyes. The way you always look at him, despite him being who he is and looking the way he does.

Sukuna smiles at you as he tenderly brushes the hair out of your face.

"Rest now, my love. You are safe here."

He sits on the side of the bed, watching you and petting your hair as you drift off to sleep.

Sukuna can't help but think that this is where you belong. In his temple. In his bed. He hopes you will stay forever. And if not, he will have to find ways to convince you. He will not risk losing you again.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! It's been a while since I wrote the first part of this story, but I couldn't get this version of Sukuna out of my mind again. I am so happy that I finally finished Part 2!

I hope you enjoyed it and that you would like to be Sukuna's bride after reading this 💗💗 I certainly do ;)

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[issybee06]

Baby hotline!

Viltrumite men and how they are in bed!

I got bored and when I’m bored I write so here! Munch!

Short dabbles, nothing major I just thought we should get a little snickersnack

This includes Thragg, General Kregg, Lucan, Nolan, Mark and Conquest, and that one Viltrumite Guard who got his head double teamed by Allen and Nolan(he was very pretty idc I just locked onto him like a dog smelling chicken)

…………………….…………………….…………………….………….

Grand Regent Thragg-

Fucking mean

Like full-on does not care if you aren't prepped or shit he's going in.

He wants kids, not pleasure, so he's fucking like its his 9-5

He's got your ass up, sharp, calculated, thrusts as you're sobbing and begging to cum. Red marks on your cheeks, bite marks on your body, cum from previous orgasms running down your thighs.

You beg again and he scoffs.

“Again…? I don't think it's fair that you've got to cum 5 times now and I haven't cum once,” he chuckled lowly in your ear, “hold. It.”

General Kregg-

Terrible husband, great father.

Excellent in bed.

He gets around, and doing so he's learned A LOT from all his fairs and now knows exactly what makes you tick.

If he's one thing, he's great at memorizing and learning from his conquests.

He's got you on top, smirking as he watches you work yourself before he shifts his hips just enough to get the head of his cock to kiss your sweet spot.

“Fuck!”

He's humming, thumb lazily rubbing circles into your clit, “come on star…youve got it…give me another baby to spoil.”

Lucan-

Omggggg

I love Lucan so much he might be one of my favorite Viltrumites in the comics

So loyal to his wife, refused to breed with any other humans besides her

He would treat his partner right, praising and kissing and would take time to learn what you like and hone in on it 10x more than you'd expect

Like eating you out? He's got that tounge trick down to a T

“Fuck…Lucan…right-right there!”

He'd blink his pretty dark eyes, hick your legs higher on his strong shoulders and work you until you were seeing the stars he hailed from.

Nolan-

HE KNOWSSSSS

We all know he and Debbie were still going at it

He looks older, but his stamina? Unmated. Once he's got you its end game.

He's passionate, rough but not mean, hands on the headboard as he's pounding into you. The wood will splinter, the wall will dent, you wont walk for days, but he's grinning and cooing down at you.

“Come on darling…cant you keep up? I think you can…youre my tough little human…”

He's tweaking your nipple, pinching it and rolling it roughly, snorting when you whine, “shhhh, you like it.”

Mark-

Bottom.

Canon bottom.

Whining and holding you too tightly cause he still can't fully control his powers so you'll bruise, begging you to fuck him harder. You're on top, riding him as he thrusts up into you with a pathetic look on his face. So in love, wanting to please, you tell him to do something hell fucking do it.

“Ah-AH~ ba-baby! So good when you ride me, so tight…so warm-FUCK-b-babe can I cum? Please? Please? Plea-”

“Mark…huh…t-touch me?”

Don't need to tell him twice, he's already swiping his thumb over your clit and watching you unfold before messily cumming inside with a cry of your name.

Conquest-

Dominating

Taughting

Teasing

He's gonna toy with you, drag out each orgasm and then ruin your peak. He wont let you cum, not until you're crying and offering up your soul to a demon does he let you finish.

Its not even about him, he can care less about if he gets to cum, his pleasure comes from breaking you, ruining you, claiming you like this.

He'll laugh, ruining another orgasm, “Aw, were you gonna cum? Did I ruin it for you? I guess we're just gonna have to start over, again.”

You'll cry, hell laugh and lick your tears up without care.

Viltrumite executioner-

I think he's a switch, I mean look at him.

He can either be pounding you mercifully with your legs on his shoulders and one of his hands on your throat.

“You like this? Fuck… you're so filthy…flying all the way to the prison just for some dick…”

Orrrrr

He's moaning, crying, whimpering under you as you force another orgasm out of him and admire the was his tan skin flushes and his pretty eyes fill with tears from overstimulation.

“Oh-stars-p-please…i-i can't anymore…too much!”

[sai-int]

omg what about first time giving RTS!Simon a blowjob !! Is he all rough and mean about it or is he gentle, letting you explore his body and take your time adjusting to his size?

hmm... I’d say both! reader seriously teaches simon how to love as their relationship develops. he absolutely softens a bit, but he’s nothing if not a man stuck in his ways, if even a little.

cw: detailed blowjob, fem!reader below the cut!

“I dunno about this, babe…”

You’re kneeling on the mattress, bare legs tucked under you, fidgeting with the hem of one of his old shirts—your favorite one, soft and worn, hanging off your shoulders.

You’re nervous. And not in the shy, flirty way either.

It’s more raw than that—honest. There’s a slight tremble in your voice you can’t hide.

Simon’s sitting back against the headboard, legs relaxed, arms loose at his sides. The mask’s off for tonight (at your request), resting folded neatly on the nightstand beside his knife and the book he’s been pretending to read. His eyes meet yours, warm and steady.

“Y’got this, sweetheart,” he says softly. “But no pressure, yeah?”

You chew your bottom lip, glancing toward his massive bulge hidden beneath his boxers, the space between his thighs.

Your cheeks go hot. Even after all the time you’ve spent together—after learning every inch of each other’s bodies like scripture, you still get nervous. You could sculpt him from memory, chisel him from marble with your eyes closed, and still he makes you feel small.

He’s just so much—all tank-like and solid—and somehow, that never stops making your stomach flip.

“It’s not that I don’t wantto, I do, it’s just… well, you’re—”

“Big?” he finishes, one brow raising with a slight, crooked smirk. That dry humor is still there, but it’s softened with affection.

You huff a laugh, sheepish. “Yeah... not something easy to ignore, y’know.”

He shifts slightly, sitting up to trace the back of his hand along your jaw. “I’ll help y’out, sweets,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Won’t do anythin’ alone.”

That calms the buzz in your chest a little.

The room smells like the two of you. amber and clean linen, a hint of his aftershave soaked into the sheets. You’re both on the bed he built for you. Literally. A wide, sturdy thing, carved from maple wood—the exact kind you’d mentioned offhand in a story once, something about your grandma’s porch as a kid.

He never forgot. He never forgets anything, actually. But now, it holds your shared weight, your shared life. Same with the sheets: pale grey, soft from so many washes, tangled up with the comforter he always kicks off but you always steal back in the middle of the night.

You take a breath and settle between his thighs, breathing slow as he guides you closer to his length with gentle hands—one at the nape of your neck, the other resting steady against your jaw. Nothing rushed.

You pull down his boxers and take him in your hands. He murmurs sweet nothings when you wet your lips and suckle at his tip, when you test the weight of him against your tongue, when your hands slide over his thighs and he shivers beneath your touch.

“There y’go,” he groans, voice thick, chest rising and falling like the tide. “Just like that, Girl— Doin’ perfect.”

You glance up at him through your lashes, the edge of a smile tugging at your lips as you pull your lips off of him with a pop. “Could say the same about you…”

Simon huffs a breathy laugh, head tipping back for a second. But when he looks at you again, it’s different—his gaze darker, more intense. “God, you’re trouble.”

you hum a laugh as you swallow him down again, your mouth moving slow, building confidence with every pass of your tongue, every soft hum that makes him twitch beneath your hands.

You hollow your cheeks a little and take him deeper—gulping as his cock tickles the threshold of your throat. He curses under his breath, thighs are tense under your palms, his stomach flexing as you keep going. with one hand, you stroke what doesn’t fit, and with the other, you gently fondle his spit soaked balls.

And just when you think you’ve got the rhythm, that you’ve found your pace and your place in it, he shifts.

His hand weaves itself between the locks at the back of your head, fingers threading through the strands as his hips roll up into your mouth. Controlled, but undoubtedly rough.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby—” he groans, voice almost strangled. “Dunno what y’doin’ t’me— Christ—”

You gag around him and your eyes widen, part surprise, part thrill—and his grip in your hair eases, smoothing along your scalp.

“Too much?” he murmurs, meeting your pretty, glassy eyes. His voice is all second-hand smoke now—breathy, rough when he breathes. “Tell me if it is. I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, eyes watering slightly, lips swollen from the stretch of him. You don’t want him to stop. Not when he’s like this—straining to hold back, fighting himself every second just to let you lead, even when he so clearly wants to take over.

He cups your cheek with one large, shaking hand, thumb brushing the corner of your lips as he salivates over the way your lips stretch to take him—your eyes wide, jaw tense as you lave around him, the muscles in his stomach twitching each time you swirl your tongue just right.

“Look at you go,” he hums in awe, “So bloody sweet for me— Sweet thing—”

His praise comes ragged now, breathless, and he can’t stop touching you—your hair, your face, your neck. Like he needs the contact just to believe you’re real.

“Shit baby— So good- fuck—there y’go…” His cock violently twitches in your mouth when he finally reaches his peak. It isn’t necessarily a storm—it’s a slow, rising tide that’s pulling him deeper and deeper.

He gasps, instantly shooting thick ribbons of tangy cum down your throat. You swallow (not like you had much of a choice), pulling off of him when his thighs stop twitching.

You crawl up beside him after, wiped mouth, flushed cheeks, tucked against his chest like you always are. He reaches for the throw blanket at the end of the bed without thinking, draping it over your shoulders, hand smoothing along your back.

“You alright?” he murmurs, nose brushing your hair. “Wasn’t too much?”

You grin against his chest. “Nope. Might’ve even liked it.”

“ ‘Might’ve,’ she says…” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Gonna be the death of me, y’minx”

You snuggle into him and press a soft peck to his clavicle.

“Si?” You tilt your head to look at him.

He meets your eyes with a soft, fucked-out smile playing on his lips.“Hmm?”

“Can I do it again?”

[littlelovelunette]

Ambessa and reader who has mommy issues? Mostly in the sense that their mother blamed not being able to live her own life on reader and it shows with a need for validation and praise, extremely touch-starved yet touch-repulsed due to how foreign it feels?

Touch

I have mommy issues. I'm projecting <3

Contains mentions of parental abuse, mommy issues!r

The first time Ambessa Medarda laid a hand on you, you flinched. It was barely a touch—just the back of her fingers ghosting over your jaw as she tilted your face upward—but your whole body locked up, breath halting like an animal caught in a snare.

Ambessa withdrew immediately, her golden eyes sharp and assessing, but she made no comment. Instead, her fingers drifted away as if she hadn’t noticed the way the you had recoiled from something so simple.

She knew better than that.

She noticed everything.

Ambessa was not a woman who pried. She was patient—not in a way that was gentle, but in the way a predator knew when to bide its time. She let the you orbit around her, let you take the space you needed. She did not demand. Did not push.

It was infuriating.

Because that was all you had ever wanted. Space. Permission. Someone who didn’t see you as a burden, a weight shackled to their ankles, keeping them from flight.

Your mother had always made sure she knew.

"You ruined my life."

"I could have been something if it weren’t for you."

"Do you know what I sacrificed?"

It hit hard.

You grew up knowing you were an obligation, not a daughter. That your presence was something to endure, not cherish. And it showed in the way you sought approval like a starving thing, the way you craved warmth and shrank from it in the same breath.

It made no sense.

Or maybe it did.

You had learned that love was something conditional, something that had to be earned with good behavior, with silence, with obedience.

And touch… touch had been nothing but a means to an end. A slap to silence you.

A hand squeezing her wrist too tightly when you stepped out of line. A perfunctory pat on the head when your mother remembered she was supposed to pretend.

Nothing about it had ever meant comfort.

So why was it different with Ambessa?

Why did it burn through you like an ember catching dry wood, leaving you both raw and wanting?

"You hold yourself like you are bracing for war," Ambessa observed one night, her voice low, considering.

You were in the privacy of her chambers, where the rest of the world could not reach. Ambessa sat in her chair, legs spread comfortably, a glass of wine held and tilted between thick fingers.

She was relaxed, but there was something in her gaze—something that pinned you to the spot like a blade to the throat.

You exhaled slowly, a forced breath. "That’s just how I am."

Ambessa hummed, unconvinced. "No. It is how you were made to be."

You stiffened. Looked away. Ambessa did not press.

Instead, she set her glass down, pushed to her feet, and approached slowly, deliberately. She always moved like this around you—never sudden, never careless. It made something inside you clench.

When she stopped in front of you, she didn’t touch. She simply looked down at you, a titan made of flesh and steel, war-hardened and unshakable.

"Tell me," Ambessa said, voice quieter now. "What would happen if I touched you?"

Your throat went dry. Your hands curled into fists.

"I don’t know."

Ambessa’s brow lifted, but she nodded. "Then let’s find out."

She raised a hand, slow and open, giving you every opportunity to step away. When you didn’t, Ambessa’s palm came to rest against her cheek, warm and solid. But it wasn't a slap.

It was soft, caressing.

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your instinct was to pull back, to flee—but you didn’t. You stood frozen beneath the weight of Ambessa’s touch, overwhelmed by how foreign it felt. There was no demand in it. No expectation. No hidden blade beneath the surface.

Just warmth.

Your lips trembled. Ambessa’s thumb brushed over your cheekbone, barely there, and you shuddered.

"You are touch-starved," Ambessa murmured, more statement than question.

You girl bit your bottom lip. Swallowed hard. "It feels—" your voice faded.

Ambessa’s hand did not leave your face. "Unfamiliar things are not always bad."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to shove the touch away before it dug too deep, before it uncovered the ache you had spent years trying to bury.

But you didn’t.

Not this time.

[yzzart]

✶⋆.˚ DID A DEMON EAT YOUR TONGUE? ── VERGIL

୭˚. ᵎᵎ summary: during your pregnancy, your husband only wants to make you feel good.

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F!reader, reader is pregnant, established relationship/marriage, 18+, fingering, praise kink, teases, explicit words, explicit content.

“Carry on, my wife.”

The voice, so unperturbed and balanced, instructed your ears, exerting unalterable control over the words; a drastic calm, which also bothered you. — It burned, deeply, and increasingly, your skin.

Your husband, unusually, would never stop teaching you to be patient, to remain impassive — such words were ironic, like a joke about his past — even if it might take longer than expected.

“Vergil, i don’t…” — Your words, if they could be considered, slipped, incoherently, and not maintaining harmony of meaning, it was ridiculous, humiliating; you were starting to become blind, incapable of any shit in your head.

The half-demon, your lovely husband, kept you, in pure and complete comfort, between his thighs; pleasing a position where your belly, which was gestating your firstborn, would fit. — Firstborn, it was such a beautiful word, wasn't it? — The bed amplified the comfort, the fine and satiny sheets that blended together.

Oh, it wasn't just that. — Worried, perhaps, a little complacent, and austere with your complaints, which were not few, of contractions, discomfort and a thirst for need, Vergil didn't worry about a solution; his lover always knew what, in fact, to do. — Or rather, his fingers knew what to do.

“Can’t you tell me how your day was?” — He breathed, feigning disappointment, against the back of your neck, leaving a small kiss on the warm skin; at the same time, moving his middle finger inside you. — “I’m so curious.”

Your hand snaked down Vergil's strong arm, pressed so tightly against your body, lightly scraping your nails and feeling him shiver faintly. — The damned man laughed, seeing your despair and delight, which was so adorable, he followed his lips to your reddened cheek, kissing. — Such an affectionate gesture.

Vergil rested his back against the headboard, made of pure and resistant wood, in front of your body that rubbed desperately against his legs; with your hip, you tried to intensify the pleasure, wanting more while, with the other hand, you supported yourself on your belly. — A stunning scene for him.

“My wife,” — He claimed softly in his voice, breathing deeply and inhaling your scent; something that left him distracted, addicted as a demon is thirsty for blood. — “I have the right to know if you felt any pain or dissatisfaction.” — During the small reprimand, Vergil increased the speed of his finger, exuding a wet noise between your thighs. — “I would hate to know that my child is causing you so much mercy.” — The speech sounded sweet with a touch of predominance.

Gods, upon learning that he had impregnated you, after countless mating sessions, — such animalistic vocabulary, which came out of his scrupulous and brave mouth, causing a burning sensation between your legs — Vergil severely held you in his claws.

Not that this is an objection, ever.

The long finger provided a slow, disgusting “come and go” against all the agony that burned in your chest, wanting to delight and release that trapped pressure. — But it was so delicious, delirious, hellish.

“V-Vergil..!” — Tears began to threaten your eyes, the selfish and power-hungry man pushed, deepened, his finger, touching and feeling your velvety walls; locked and inside your pussy, he stimulated, moved his finger. — “My husband, my husband..” — You repeated it countless times.

“Yes, my darling?” — That damned demon, and he was still the father of your child, drove her crazy and, formidably, fucked you up. — “Tell me.” — The sky-blue eyes, which always contemplated you, in every detail that could exist in you, traveled to his hand; including his head, enhancing his vision, he observed the silver shine on his ring finger, his wedding ring.

The proof of your union, commitment to the faithful and pure passion bond between you and him. — The pact, the promise that would never be broken in any life.

“I felt nothing.” — Finally, you spoke, and you weren’t lying; even though it was extremely difficult to format words or be fair to your lover. — “I swear to you, i swear..”

Your head turned, along with a few strands of hais standing out against the eldest's chest, and those dilated, trembling and, in the midst of voluptuousness, ecstatic eyes met Vergil's face. — You were so charming, apollonian; you always were.

“I just missed you, my love.” — Your voice pleaded, whimpering through the teary vision; Sparda smiled delicately, dedicating human tenderness. — “Please,” — Tears began to roll.

“My beautiful wife,” — Vergil kissed your forehead, feeling a salty taste on his lips, removing one hand that prevented you from closing your legs completely, and resting it on top of yours, which was on your belly. — “the lovely mother of my child.” — The words warmed your heart, entering into fascination.

When he finished speaking, Vergil returned to investing small, quick and flexible thrusts with the same finger, smiling when he heard your needy and melodic meows. — And nodding his head in agreement with anything that came out of your cute little mouth.

[raven-dor]

come back to me

In which gwayne hightower leaves his wife asleep before the battle, and she worries over his return

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: allusions to nsfw, angst, old friends, hurt/comfort, arguing (not actual arguing, just reader letting out her worry), fluffy ending

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

🎶 : old money - lana del rey

Her emerald green dress flowed with the wind as she stood on their shared balcony, staring at the town below. He always admired her from afar, she was angelic, Gwayne had come to realize over the years. He walked behind her, his arms snaking around her waist, a gentle touch that spoke volumes as to how much he treasured her. “Come to bed, my love.” 

She hummed, leaning her head back into his chest. “If I come to bed, this night will end, and that will mean you are leaving.” She shook her head, her resistance palpable in the air. “So I will not.” 

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Will you deny your lord husband the pleasure of your company before he goes into battle?” 

She laughed, twisting in his hold. “Is this a request or a demand?” 

“It is a plea.” He leaned down, inches away from her lips. “I do not wish to leave on bad terms. This battle will be one for the histories.” He shivered, pulling her closer. “Indulge me.” 

She leaned forward, cruelly teasing him. Quickly, she pulled back, escaping his hold easily. She walked past him, smirking. “If we must.” 

He grabbed her wrist, spinning her back to him. She gasped, her knees weakening under his piercing gaze. Gwayne had always had a hold on her, even long before they were promised to each other, and she was just the Dowager Queen’s childhood friend. He was a good man; he always had been. “You know I would never force myself on you, my lady. But I must confess…” He leaned down, whispering. “If I do not kiss you, I will surely die.”

She giggled, reaching for his lips. “We cannot have that, can we?” 

He collided her lips with his, groaning. “My darling girl…” 

“Take me to bed, Gwayne.” She murmured, linking her lips with his once more. “Please.” 

“Whatever you wish, my love.” He grabbed her thighs, wrapping her legs around him with ease. “Whatever you wish.” 

The sun peaked through their wide-open curtains, stirring her from her otherwise peaceful sleep. She rolled over, reaching out for her husband. Her reach came up empty, his side of the bed still warm. She gasped, realizing what he had done. She sat up quickly, calling for her maid. “Help me dress.” 

The young girl nodded. “Which dress would you-” 

“It does not matter!” She snapped. “I am sorry, truly. Any dress, just do it quickly.” 

The maid threw on her frock, a simple green velvet slip that she typically wore when exploring the woods surrounding Old Town. Smiling gratefully, she raced through the halls, not caring for the looks that followed her. The doors to the courtyard burst open, and she scanned quickly for her husband. The Dowager Queen stood alone in the center, staring at the gate. Gathering herself, she approached, curtsying. “My Queen.” 

Alicent smiled lightly. “No need for such formalities. We were once friends, Y/N.” 

She ignored the request. “Has your brother-” 

The queen nodded knowingly. “He just left, I’m afraid.” She put a comforting hand on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “He did not want to wake you.” 

“I-” Tears began to well, and she coughed. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Y/N, wait!” 

She had already dashed up the stairs, her tears now fully streaming down her cheeks. 

It had been over a month before she’d received word that the battle was over and the surviving soldiers would be returning home. In that month, not one letter from Gwayne had graced her room or, more accurately, her cell. The Red Keep was a prison now, though if Gwayne came back, she would not tell him. He loved his family dearly, especially his sister and learning of his wife’s distaste for them would surely cause a rift.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what had only been twenty years ago, when she, Alicent, and Rhaenyra would sit in the gardens, jesting about tutors and gossiping about knights of the realm. When Alicent left to attend to her father, Rhaenyra would look over at Y/N, teasing her about her budding crush on Alicent’s brother. 

She had not seen Rhaenyra in years. Now, her nephew by law had usurped her throne, and there was nothing Y/N could do but watch. She had no dragon, no power of her own. Which she had been contempt of before her husband had been dragged into this whole mess. Thanks to her nephew, he might never return to her. All she could do now was count down the days until the horns blew, and she stood in the courtyard, raking over the faces in the crowd until she found Gwaynes. 

A knock rang through her chambers, her guard's voice coming through the door. “My lady, the Dowager Queen, would like to see you.” 

She sighed, taking a deep breath. “I will be out in a moment.” 

Alicent rarely called for her anymore. The last time had been when Viserys had died, a letter arrived to Old Town not for her brother, the Lord Paramount, but for you. For you to come.

You had not; after all, you had just given birth to your second child, and you were too frail to walk. Gwayne had refused to even let you entertain the notion, insisting that your health came before his sister, even if she was the queen. 

Her chamber doors were wide open, and Alicent sat at her table, tea and two glasses in front of her. The Queen smiled, waving away her servants and guard. “Leave us.” 

“But my lady…” 

“My sister-in-law is no threat, Sir Rickard.” The older man nodded, ushering the servants out of her chambers and closing the doors soundly behind him. “Are you well?” 

“As well as I can be, my lady.” Y/N smiled. “And yourself?” 

“As well as one can be, I suppose.” The two former friends sat in silence, sipping their tea. The fire crackled behind them, and Y/N began to wonder what exact moment had caused a rift in their friendship. 

“I must tell you something.” Alicent looked torn like she was fighting herself to stay silent. “You must not tell anyone, not even my brother.” 

“Of course.” She nodded quickly. “Of course, Alicent.” 

“I made a mistake.” Her face was ghostly white. “Aegon–” She gasped, a sob wrecking through her body. Y/N froze, unsure of what to do. “He was never supposed to be king. I misunderstood.” 

“Misunderstood?” 

“Viserys, he was spouting nonsense about Aegon the Conquerer, and I thought-” She scoffed. “I misunderstood.” 

Y/N sat back in her chair, staring at the fire. “You mean to tell me that this entire war started because of a misunderstanding?” Alicent remained silent. “Alicent, you must tell Rhaenyra. Before it’s too late.” 

The queen laughed. “It’s already too late. Her son is dead; my grandson was viciously murdered in his own bed. She would not see me. You remember how stubborn she is.” 

Y/N knelt in front of Alicent, taking her hands in hers. “Alicent, for the good of the realm, you must meet with Rhaenyra and come to an agreement. Atrocities have been dealt by both sides, but if you tell her this…” She shivered. “It would save thousands. It would save your brother, Helaena, your…guard.” She tightened her hold on her old friend's hands. “Please.” 

“I-” She nodded, not trusting her voice to stay collected. Y/N stood, dusting off her dress and sitting back down. 

“Have you heard any word of your brother?” 

“None.” It was Alicent’s turn to hold her hand. “He will return to you, I am sure. He is a great knight.” 

She nodded. “He is; that is what worries me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He would never leave his men behind. Even if that meant…” She trailed off, sighing. “You understand.” 

Alicent nodded, her heart at the bottom of her stomach. Her old friend had always been melancholy since childhood. Her parents had perished in a horrible accident, and she had been a ward of the crown ever since. She could not bear to be the cause of her further grief. 

“How are the children?” 

“Well. Daeron writes that Arthur is practically as talented at the sword as he. Emma is still just a babe, but she grows larger by the day.” She murmured. “As far as I’ve heard.” 

“You will be back with them soon; I promise you that.” Alicent smiled. “I understand what it is like to miss a child.” 

Y/N nodded, but she knew Alicent could never understand. How could she? She had never been forced to leave her children to come and serve a usurper of a king. 

The horns had blown midday only two days later. Y/N’s worry for her husband had turned into anger over the past months, anger that he did not say goodbye to her before he went off to war. She’d been sitting on her balcony when the deep sound blared through the city, rousing her out of her stupor. Even if she was angry with her husband, that did not mean her heart did not yearn to be in his arms, to be kissed like it was the last moment they would ever live. Her dress billowed behind her as she ran, again not bothering to acknowledge the prying eyes that followed. She slowed, and two guards opened the doors slowly, slower than she would have liked. 

Walking down the staircase gracefully, she tried to keep her composure when she could not find Gwayne in the crowd below. Her heart dropped, and she clenched her fists, nausea bubbling in her stomach. She was too young to be a widow, too young to raise two children on her own, too young to- 

“My lady.” She turned around, almost sobbing at the sight. There stood her lord husband, in all his glory. His hair was dirty, his skin broken, but all Y/N saw was her love before her and alive. 

She bowed, making no movement to embrace him. 

“Lord Husband. I am most grateful for your return.” 

His eyebrows raised, a smirk gracing his delicate face. “How formal of you, my dear.” 

She huffed, turning on her heels and walking back into the castle. Gwayne followed behind swiftly, entirely confused as to why he did not have her in his arms. They walked in silence to their chambers, servants stilling at the sight of Gwayne. “Leave us.” He ordered, not sparing a second glance. They scurried out, the doors shutting loudly.

He stared at her curiously. “My Love-” 

“Let me dress your wounds.” She sighed, walking over to their wardrobe. “It seems you have many.” 

He nodded but made no movement to sit or remove his armour. “Darling-” 

“Turn for me, my lord. I need to remove your armour.” 

He nodded once more, turning as requested. The tension was palpable, but neither of them made any effort to break it. She quickly removed his armour, setting it delicately on the table. “Sit.”

She stood in front of him, leaning down to dress his wounds. His hands ached to reach out and pull her into his lap, but he made no effort; he simply stared at her. “Was the battle difficult?” 

He nodded, hissing as she disinfected a cut. She mumbled apologies. “It was quite the scene. A dragon’s fight is something I hope you never witness.” Y/N simply hummed, concentrating on the cut. “Did you fare well while I was away?” 

She tensed, nodding quickly. “As well as one can do when their husband leaves without a word.” 

Ah. So that is why she had not jumped into his arms when he arrived. Gwayne had wondered why he had not been making his wife sigh and gasp from his tender touch. “I thought it was best if-” 

“You thought wrong.” She murmured, walking over to the bowl of clean water. He couldn’t fight it anymore, reaching out to grab her hips. She gasped but made no effort to look down. 

“Please forgive me.” He tightened his hold, dropping his head against her stomach. “I did not want to wake you.” 

“So I was told.” He looked up, and she sighed. “Your sister.” 

“You looked so peaceful; I did not wish to see you cry.” 

She laughed humourlessly. “Who said I would waste any tears on you?”

He sat back, clutching his chest playfully. “You wound me, wife.” 

She scoffed, squirming in his hold. “You cannot charm me into forgiving you.” 

“I made no such claim.” 

“Yes, well.” She sighed, pulling out of his arms and rinsing the rag. “You thought it. Of that, I am sure.” 

He smiled. Her spirit had always drawn him in. From the first day they had met, she had not withered at the sight of a lord. She held her ground, staying as strong as she was. “Withering is for flowers,” she told him. “I am no flower.” He laughed, placing a daisy behind her ear. “No. But you are as pretty as one.” That had made her blush. How he wished they could go back to then when everything was much simpler. When the thought of dragon fire didn’t threaten their very lives, their children’s lives. 

She stood back in front of him, but this time, he put his hands on her hips, pulling her into his lap. Her cheeks grew red, and she looked down at his neck, tending to a rather nasty bruise. “My love, please look at me.” 

“I can’t look at you.” She shook her head defiantly. “I am angry at you.” 

“Y/N-” He cupped her cheek with his hand, caressing it with his thumb.

“Don't!” She yelped like she’d been burned, jumping up. “You left me. I woke up, and you were gone. No note, no kiss goodbye. What if you had died?” She scoffed. “But no, ‘I looked too peaceful to wake.’ That is a horrid excuse. You’re a coward, Gwayne Hightower. A coward.” 

Gwayne stood up, his eyebrows furrowed. “Now, wait just a moment-” She hit his chest, tears streaming down her face. “How could you? Do you know how worried sick I was? Do you?” 

“Stop this.” 

She shook her head, continuing to beat at his chest. “Don’t ever do-” 

He grabbed her wrists delicately, stopping her. “Stop this madness.” His voice was gentle, not a trace of anger or annoyance found.

She sobbed. “You mongral. Let me-” 

“I understand that you are upset, my darling. But surely you realize this is not the solution.” He lowered his head, their lips inches apart. “I wanted to remember my happy girl. No tears.” 

“I wouldn’t have cried.” She murmured, still fighting against his hold. 

“As opposed to what you are doing now?” 

She glared at his chest. “You are without a doubt the most-” Releasing one of her wrists, he brought his hand to her chin, raising her head gently. When she still refused to look at him, he leaned down, kissing her nose, cheeks, and forehead until she finally gave in to his love.

“I have to admit, I was rather disappointed at the reception I received.” 

“If only you had left a note.” She mumbled. “Never do that to me again. Promise me, Gwayne.” 

He nodded, kissing each knuckle gently. “I swear to you.”

She wanted to take him to bed, admire his form, and thank the gods old and new that he was with her and not dead on a battlefield, but the reality was he still had many cuts that needed to be tended to, and he desperately needed get the stench of battle off his skin. 

“You need a bath.” 

“Are you insinuating that I smell?” Gwayne tilted his head, a jesting look on his face. She nodded, giggling. 

“Terribly.”

He groaned, letting her out of his hold. “Very well.” 

Y/N couldn’t help but wince as she watched him peeled off his shirt. “Let me help you.” 

“I can do it-” She glared, and he gave in immediately. “Fine, fine.” 

She nodded, carefully untying the top before lifting his shirt. Her cheeks grew bright red, his torso still as muscular as the day they were married. Throwing his shirt on the ground, her breath caught. His eyes were piercing hers once more, drawing her in. She smiled, kissing a cut on his chest gently. “Does this hurt?” 

It was his turn for his breath to catch. He shook his head, words failing. Another cut, another bruise; she followed the trail until it stopped at a cut on his lower lip. 

“My noble boy.” She kissed his lip lightly, sending shivers down the brave knight’s spine. This time, when he gave her that look, she couldn’t resist it. She placed her arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers. “I missed you so.” 

He groaned, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I’m so sorry, my darling. Please forgive me.” 

“There is nothing to forgive. I was acting a fool.” She sighed as he nipped down her neck. “Gwayne, the bath…”

“I promise you I will bathe, but if I do not have you this instant, I will simply combust.” 

They stumbled over to the door, locking it haphazardly. “Take me to bed.” 

“I will, I will, but first…” He turned her around, undoing her laces quickly. He groaned. “Good god, woman, how many laces can a dress have?” 

She laughed, throwing her head back. “Woman?” 

“Forgive me. My lady, light of my life, darling, love-” 

Now she was fully cackling, and turned around, smothering his face his affection. “Let us retire, please.” 

He nodded, the laces finally coming undone. She stumbled backward, drawing him in with her spell. He tapped his chin, tilting his head. “I was about to do something.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “I believe, lord husband, you were about to ravish me.” 

He grinned, stalking towards her. “Thank you, my lady, for reminding me.” 

[asce-of-hearts]

Hii omg i love your content SO much and i was wondering if you could write some nsfw headcanons for toby, masky and jeff with an inexperienced darling who’s all eager to please them :(

Eager

contents: NSFW Headcanons of yan!Ticci Toby, Yan!Masky and Yan!Jeff the Killer with an inexperienced darling who's eager to please them.

more content of Masky and Toby here

more content of Jeff here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: NON-CON/DUB-CON, YANDERE, KNIFE PLAY FOR JEFF, SORT OF GUN PLAY FOR MASKY, MENTIONS OF VIRGITINY FOR TOBY, NSFW.

Jeffrey Woods - Jeff the Killer

Jeff likes it because it makes him feel in control, and also because in his eyes that gives him permission to do anything he wants with you.

He likes that despite your trembling and whimpering, at how you're crying and trying your hardest not to flinch away from his cruel and bruising touch, you're still eager. Like a kicked puppy, you still look at him with those wide adoring eyes, asking for more even when you don't want to.

Trying your best to stay still as he draws blood out of you with his knife, its the best thing ever. He can cut and carve and mince as much of you as he wants and you won't complain, won't put up a fight.

And if you ever refuse he just has to manipulate and coerce you into agreeing, into thinking your refusal and dismissal of his desires its equivalent to murdering him in cold blood.

He's always very rough and harsh, very mean, very cruel. Not minding when you plead for him to slow down in the softest, meekest voice. He doesn't care, as long as he's getting his pleasure you come in second place.

Doesn't mean he's not grateful. He just doesn't care enough about it to say it. But he loves the way you behave, he loves the way you try.

You're the perfect victim.

Timothy Wright - Masky

Tim is relieved. Saves him the god awful job of having to force you. Not because it would make him guilty, but because having to fuck you while pinning you down or pointing a gun at you seems just so troublesome.

Even if he won't say it out-loud, it's cute, it's cute how you try. How your legs always end up trembling because he makes you ride him and you just want to bounce up and down over his cock faster, or how you gag as you try your best to not choke around his fat cock, or how you tear up as he forces you in the most strange and uncomfortable positions. All in the name of pleasure.

And he's... nice about it. Calling you a useless whore only the first couple of times you're unable to put less than half his dick inside your mouth. Degrading names morph into words of condescending praise whispered at you as he grins and pulls your hair, using you however he pleases.

He's not the best teacher, but not the worst entirely. He takes his time, wanting you to enjoy yourself at least a little bit.

Also because when he tried to shove his cock inside you for the first time without any prep you were so tight he felt like he was fucking a hydraulic press. Mmm-hmm, not the most pleasurable experience for either of you.

He's happy to have you willing to learn what he likes or needs.

Tobias Rogers - Ticci Toby

You're eager? Ha! He's eager!

His heart beats so fast when he sees you naked, he feels like he's going to burst when you kiss him. Too much tongue, and teeth and drool between the both of you, from both parts. You're equally as virginal and inexperienced.

A time of experimentation, even with the pains and embarrassments that come with it. Sessions that can last hour after hour, condom after condom, bed broken after bed broken. Some of those end up without either of you able to cum, others with both of you so overstimulated you feel like you'll die if you have another orgasm.

Very sweet, always mindful of doing his best to make you feel good. Definitely a very reciprocal scenario. He wants to please and you want to please, win-win.

His tics make it hard at times, sometimes you're about to cum and he just has to have a spasm that throws his rhythm off. Or accidentally shoving his cock inside your mouth too fast and too hard due to a tic that seemingly came out of nowhere. As long as you're able to overlook it or laugh it off with him, there should be no bigger issues with that.

hope you enjoyed this!!!!!!

have a great day/night

Like my works? Join the TAG LIST! (please write your @ correctly or else the tag won't work)

TAGGING:

For Jeff: @nenekusanagi @mxqiia @yukimutsu @mamachu @justmare

@artist-in-training-wheels @eroscastle @dollywonyoung @hbk99450 @stranger00001

@kitzusune @lakxcpsta @stardustdreamersisi @coolnekochan9961 @gammysblog 

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For Masky: @nenekusanagi @yukimutsu @mamachu @justmare @eroscastle

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For Toby: @nenekusanagi @yukimutsu @mamachu @justmare @eroscastle

@dollywonyoung @strawberries-fluff @hbk99450 @stranger00001 @kitzusune

@lakxcpsta @amber8393 @gammysblog  @oliviathatgirl

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part one part one cw: clothes stealing, forced transformation, coercion, familial abandonment, non-consensual touching/manhandling, restraints, masturbation mention, forced marriage forthcoming cw: dubcon, forced marriage, blood, mild injury a/n: reader is a swan shapeshifter. she retains some feathers as a human. based off this request, obvs influenced by swan-maidens, swan lake.

The first time he touches you, it's your wrist. A firm grip, just below the joint. Testing. Feeling the few feathers that sprout there, thumbing over the delicate, individual rachis.

You don't move. Don't speak. Torn between the instinct to flee and the paralyzing fear that you cannot. You watch his face. The thick brows, the kempt beard. The wrinkles that pull at his forehead when he frowns.

He is older than you—older than you look, at least. His arms are burly, heavy with muscle and hair, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows like he means to get his hands dirty at any moment. Willing to. Blue eyes, your favorite color until this second, framed by crow's feet and speak to experience.

He looks at you with expectations you wish you didn't understand.

"Can't leave without this, can you?"

Your dress, spun from feathers and thread, drapes over his shoulder like a pelt. As if it were a thing he hunted, caught, claimed—that he did not simply steal it from the lakeshore when you were distracted. It doesn't belong there. It doesn't belong anywhere but on you.

"Come along. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Your sisters are gone. Fled, shrieking into the oncoming sunrise. You do not blame them. But it hurts. 

The lake is still. Empty.

He lets the silence stretch, patient. He has all the time in the world. You don't.

You've watched human men before, from a safe distance, tucked among the reeds with your sisters. You've seen what they do when they think no one is watching. The way their faces shift at the sight of a woman. The way their hands reach, take, ruin.

You are a flightless bird, exposed. Not much of a swan. A sitting duck.

What choice do you have?

You follow.

You learn his name is John. That he has lived in this cabin for almost a year. That he built it himself. That he traps and skins, chops wood, salts fish, keeps a gun out of reach, hidden like your dress.

He tells you these things in pieces, the same way he feeds you. A bowl of soup set down in front of you with no ceremony. A tin cup of well water. A torn hunk of bread.

He talks a little, asks a little.

"Never seen anything like you," he says on the second night while you cower behind his chair by the fire. Where you slept after tearing out of his arms and screaming yourself hoarse. "Wish you'd talk to me. Awfully shy, aren't you?"

It galls you. Shy. As if he is not keeping you here, naked. Vulnerable. You ache for your wings. The sky.

You say nothing.

He exhales through his nose, it sounds like a laugh. "I suppose it's not an easy thing, coming from a life like yours."

You want to ask him what he thinks your life was. But you don't want to know what he would say.

He keeps the dress in a chest under his bed.

You desperately search and find it while he is outside splitting wood. The latch is loose. Stupidly unlocked. You lift the lid and your breath catches. There it is. Your feathers, your escape, the lifeline that made you you.

Your fingers graze the fabric. It should be soft, but it feels wrong, foreign and unfamiliar under your hands. You wonder if it is altered. If it will still fit. If it's too late, tainted by his handling.

"Looking for something?"

You slam the lid shut.

John stands in the doorway, hands on his hips. Forehead slick with sweat. The axe is outside, leaning against the chopping block, but his knife is at his belt.

He'd hurt you if you tried to run, maybe kill you. You are not so sure you want to die.

You don't answer.

He crosses the room. He doesn't look angry. He looks—wry. Pleased. Like he had been waiting for this.

He kneels beside you, one arm resting on his knee, and tilts his head. Reeking of pine and tobacco smoke. "That's not for you anymore, darling."

You swallow. This is the closest you've been since he entrapped you. "It is mine."

He nods, as if conceding the point. "And what would you do with it?" he asks. "Go back? To what?"

He reaches out, wiping away a single, hot tear. The fireplace pops, and you feel the warmth of his skin before you feel the roughness of his fingers. You hate it.

"The lake is still empty. They've not come back."

You think of your sisters. You think of the wind under your wings and streaming over your back, the open sky. You think of the sound of John reviving the hearth in the morning, how he dropped a blanket over you the first night, and said, You'll freeze like that.

Of course, he thinks nothing of the fact that he's the reason why you're naked. Blind to it or willfully ignorant.

"It's just you and me now. I'll take care of you, Shy."

Shy. That isn't your name. But you'll be dead before you give your real one to him. At least something will remain yours.

You look at him. He is a big man. Broad shoulders and palms. Thick, hairy arms and a barrel chest. You've seen the thing between his legs—he's made no efforts to hide himself or alter his routine with you hiding in the corner. He touches himself in the dark when he thinks you're sleeping.

He could break you easily. But he hasn't.

Not yet.

He brushes his knuckles over your cheek.

"Can't believe I found you," he says. "A pretty wife, fished from the lake. Or the sky, I suppose." He smiles, chuckling as if you're both in on the joke. "Mm. Wife." He presses his thumb to your bottom lip. "Yeah, like the sound of that. I'll make you a proper wife."

The way he says it is careful. Thoughtful. It is a promise, or a threat. You cannot tell which. 

You look at the chest.

You look at John.

And you do not answer.

John returns at dusk, the door creaking wide to let in the last slant of daylight, and finds you trussed up where he left you. Your wrists are raw, delicate skin rubbed angry beneath the ropes that tightened with your struggling. 

His shadow spills over you, and a sigh slips from him, edged with disappointment. He crouches. Fingers press into your skin, prodding where the rope bit deepest.

"Damn near hurt yourself, honey," he scolds, massaging the worst of the raw spots. He touches you in the way you've seen him care for his axe. Slow, reverent, making sure nothing is too damaged. Unusable. 

A hand settles over the soft, feathery patch above your rump, fingers carding through it appreciatively, lingering before he unravels the last knot. He ignores your hissing.

The moment you're free, you scramble away, body aching. You tuck yourself behind his chair, peeking out with sharp, distrustful eyes. He lets you go, lets you think you've won some small mercy. 

Then he turns his back, shaking out his coat, unpacking the sack he carried in, setting out each item on the table. Dull, practical offerings—salt, flour, needles, twine. Things for a life you don't want. Things for a home you will never call yours. And last, draped over his forearm, a dress. Mundane. Plain, homespun, the color of stone.

But you are distracted. Staring at the chest.

He only addresses your fixation when he's finished, and hauls it out from under the bed. 

"Take a look."

You do. You don't want to, but you do. Your gaze flicks to him first, wary, waiting for the trap. You open it, and your stomach drops.

Your head snaps up, stuttering, eyes glossing over with hot, helpless rage. 

His smile stretches, knowing. Then, he produces the last item from his trip and draws a bundle from the sack.

He explains it's the reason why he's later than expected. A special order that took hours and a bit of coin, but was well worth it. The seamstress did fine work.

Isn't it pretty?

See the little wing pattern she stitched in?

They're the only wings you'll have now.

He holds it out, delicate feathers and lace draping over his hand, the ruined remnants of your freedom reshaped into something grotesque. A wedding veil.

"Try it on for me, darling," he murmurs, offering it with one hand and adjusting himself with the other. "Let me see my bride."

part two | masterlist

[reobsessed]

Unfamiliar Waters

Pairing: Tav X Astarion, Reader X Astarion. Gender neutral. Content: Bathing, kissing, hair washing, fluff, comfort, slight conflict that gets resolved immediately, no sex, minor mention of torture. 1500 Words. Summary: You were in dire need of a bath after a harrowing fight outside the inn you were staying at. Unfortunately you find the tub already occupied by Astarion. In an attempt to bond with and get him out of there, you offer to wash his hair. Another short Astarion fic I started a while ago. Wanted to do something fluffy and intimate without any sex. Thanks again to Suri for edits and help with lines and the title!

You flung open the wooden doors, uncaring as wood chipped against lavender painted walls. Just as you were halfway through discarding your shirt, an indignant cry caught you off guard.

“What in the sweet hells, do you mind?!” The towel and toiletries fell from your hands. You’d never been very perceptive and today was no exception. Already fully submerged in the tub was Astarion; chest bare slumped over the side, a dripping copy of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette in hand.

“Astarion?! I haven’t seen you in hours, is this where you’ve been?” You spluttered. “We really could have used your help. There was a fight right outside the inn. There’s absolutely no way you didn’t hear the commotion.”

“Some of us take pride in our appearances and besides, I needed time away from that festering group of ingrates.” As if to emphasise his point he shuddered. “You know, you could all learn a lot from me, starting with regular bathing.”

“And how exactly are any of us meant to bathe when you’re in the bathroom four hours every day?”

“Oh I don’t know, Baldur’s Gate has plenty of scenic rivers and lakes. I’m sure the bear has no problem leading each of you to nature’s finest bathhouse.”

You rubbed your temples with a freehand. As much as you loved this man, he could really start to grate on your nerves after a while. You scooped up your belongings and made your way over to him, arranging your towel neatly on the floor beside you.

He looked up from the paper disinterestedly. “As much as I love your company, dear, I hope you’re not planning on joining me. I hardly think this,” he gestured disapprovingly at the tub, “can fit us both.”

“Astarion, if there’s anything I can do to cut this exceedingly long bath short, I would be more than happy to assist.”

His eyes widened momentarily. How stupid of you, you hadn’t considered the implications of what you’d said. 

“No, no, that's quite alright. I’ve still got my hair to wash and that’ll take at least another half an hour.”

Perching yourself on the edge of the tub beside him, you began rolling up your sleeves.

“Then allow me.” You smirked.

He flung the sodden paper to the floor and stared at you dumbfounded. “You mean you- wash my hair. I’m sitting here naked, dripping and gorgeous and all you want to do is ‘wash my hair’?”

“Couples do things for each other. Things outside of sex and combat, I might add,” you sniped back. Using your fingers, you began combing through his dampened locks.

“Without the sex, I suppose that leaves only the one thing we do together then.”

“That’s true.” His body tensed. “No, no wait- '' Flustered, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed your forehead against the back of his head. A feeble gesture, intended to soothe him and buy you enough time to explain.

“Just kidding,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, but you knew it wasn’t genuine.

“I like doing other things with you,” you mumbled into his curls. “I don’t care about the sex.” You relaxed your hold, allowing him to turn around to face you. Delicately, you reached out and wiped a stray piece of hair from his forehead. As you did so, his unnaturally pale cheeks took on a darker hue, perhaps from the heat or from your touch, you weren’t sure.

He cleared his throat and turned away again. “I see then. Well, this is as good a time as any to try something new.” 

“Really?!” your head perked up. “I’m so excited, haven’t washed anyone else's hair since I left home.” You began swirling a hand in the tepid water, carefully choosing a spot faraway from where Astarion sat. “Did you and your siblings ever do this for each other? Like my family did,” you asked without thinking.

He shot you an incredulous glare, which soon contorted into sarcastic glee. “Oh, of course we did! And then in between our torture sessions we’d paint each others’ nails! What good fun it was.” His smile dropped and he fell backwards into the bath, splashing you in the process.

You scratched the back of your head. “Sorry I-”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Leave it, my love. No use dwelling on all that now.” You nodded your head in agreement, not that he could see you. “Come now, we don’t have all day.” 

You hummed in agreement, looking over the various bottles that sat on a shelf beside the bath. Astarion was a very particular man and you didn’t wish to upset him by, god’s forbid, using the wrong fragrance. You gestured towards the selection of shampoo. “What’s your poison?”

“Hmm, I think today I‘m in the mood for jasmine- no wait- night orchid and ginseng- actually, that honey shampoo sounds positively delicious.”

“Might net you some unwanted attention from our camp bear,” you joked, hands sifting through the knots in his hair.

“Fair point. Alright then, I think I’d like to try that raspberry one, the one you got from that dear little market stall.” 

The same one you liked to use.

With a gentle firmness you cupped the sides of his head. You hoped it was enough to stop him from turning around and seeing the pure glee etched onto your face.

“Alright, I need to get it wet, lean back,” you instructed, as you scooped up a handful of water.

He did as he was told and reclined backwards, eyes closed and squinted, anticipating the stream of water. Doing this for your brothers and sisters had been easy. Hells, you could get away with lobbing them in the river and they’d be just fine. Astarion, on the other hand, required a more delicate touch (even if he’d never admit to it) and you were more than happy to cater towards him.

With slow precision you poured the cooling water over his scalp, immediately pushing back any stray drops that threatened to drip down into his eyes. 

Gods, how was it possible for such a man to be so beautiful and how was it that such a man had chosen you as his partner? Your hands stopped and your gaze lingered, as you took in his picturesque features.

An eyelash heavy with steam peeled open, giving you an inquisitive look.

“Enjoying the show, darling?” A thick, humid heat bloomed across your cheeks. “By all means, keep admiring me.”

“Shut up and close your eyes!” You grabbed the bottle from the side and began lathering it in your hands. The familiar fragrance filled your nostrils and despite having grown accustomed to having it as your own scent, you were looking forward to how it smelt on him.

You rubbed the foam through your fingers, fully enveloping his hair in a thick mousse. As your nails dragged across his scalp you heard him moan. 

“That feels positively wonderful.”

“Oh yeah, like this?” you asked, repeating the same motions as before. He mmm-ed softly, sinking further into your hold. You paused for a second, this might be the most satisfied sound you’d ever heard coming from his lips, not a bad thing of course, given his past experiences. 

His eyes were open again, staring up at you, face awash with bliss. 

“Itching for a taste are we?” he goaded lightly.

There was no use dignifying that with a response. You brought your lips down upon his, his head still clasped in your hands. It was brief and sweet, reminiscent of those first kisses you’d once shared with young lovers. Unthinkable that such innocent yearning could be reclaimed so late in life. 

Reluctantly you broke the kiss and pulled away.

“I do rather like that, you know…”

“I know and so do I.” You beamed. “Okay now can you please hurry up so I can have a bath,” you pleaded, peppering his mouth with more kisses.

“Always so demanding,” came his curt reply (the audacity). Nonetheless, he complied and finished up. 

A deep sigh of relief escaped your lips after finally lowering yourself into freshly ran water. About halfway through wetting your hair, a freezing pair of hands on your shoulders caught you off guard.

“Astarion!” you shrieked. The little rogue had snuck up behind you.

“Oh, do be quiet, and don’t splash me. Wouldn’t do to get me wet again.” You watched as he rifled through the shampoo bottles disapprovingly. “We must go to the market together again soon, darling, just the two of us. I know just the product that’s perfect for your hair type, might do something about that helmet musk too.”

You opted to ignore that last dig, instead choosing to relish in the satisfaction of a warm bath and your lover threading his fingers through your hair. “I’d like that,” you hummed happily. 

A contented silence descended over the room. You felt at peace and when you saw him hovering above you with that serene grin on his face, you knew he felt the same.

[starkeyisthelastname]

how would trailerpark!rafe act of he caught reader talking to a boy her own age?

he doesn’t like it.. which leads to some dirty sex to make you remember he’s the only one you need to be talking to. 💦

You’d be doing one of your normal cookie runs around the trailer park, little white basket in hand as you skipped along as happy as can be. The boy would live a few trailers down from yours, and he was about the same age as you. Your mind was constantly on Rafe, as you didn’t know any better but to be attached to him. Meaning you were oblivious to the boy’s flirting, just wanting to show him the treats you made. You were naturally a happy person, your pretty smile always flashing and thick lashes batting.

Rafe’s beat up pickup came to a screeching halt in front of the boy’s trailer as he saw you standing there, that punk’s hand practically about to grab your ass. He had ran around the corner to get a pack of cigarettes, and he pulls up to this shit. You were his, didn’t he make that clear? “Get in the truck now.” He called out to you without any emotion on his face, cigarette hanging between his lips.

You saw Rafe, meaning an excited smile lit up your face not knowing he was mad. You waved goodbye to the boy after setting a few cookies down for him and ran over to the truck to get in. Rafe zoomed off without another second, head turning to you for a brief moment before you could even speak. “Hey listen to me real good, yeah? No more givin’ your sweets and shit away around here. Got it?” He said, voice rough.

You heard him and immediately pouted, something you didn’t do very often but couldn’t help it as you didn’t understand. “But, why?” You asked, looking at him now as he focused on pulling into his trailer. He didn’t say a word, instead getting out of the truck and making his way up the crooked steps. Like the lost puppy you were, you scrambled out of the vehicle and followed him inside. “I’m talking to you!” You whined, stomping your feet a little as you walked behind him.

Rafe didn’t like attitudes and you learned that quickly along with why you weren’t aloud to talk to that boy or any boys for that matter anymore. “You are gonna cop a fuckin’ tone with me, after lettin’ that punk try and put his dick in you.” He spat, his massive hand coming down to spank your ass cheek as he pushed himself in. That was the furthest thing from what you were even thinking about when showing off your basket of cookies, he knew that. You were just so naive though and he couldn’t let that limp dick 20 year old even come close to touching your precious self. It was his job to ruin you and make you his little cookie baking trailer park house wife.

You squeaked as he slammed into from behind, your face down into the messy kitchen table. “This sweet cunt is mine. Remember that babydoll?” He gritted out, rough hands yanking head back as he fisted your hair. He began thrusting deeper into your tight hole, picking up his pace as the old wood began to creak beneath you. “You just go dumb on the dick, don’t you sugar? Can’t even fuckin’ speak after a few seconds.” He laughed breathlessly as he watched your beautiful face change.

Your delicate hands held onto the edge of the table, scalp burning as he continued to force your head back to meet his darkened blue eyes. Your mouth fell open, just to let out a gasp as he was so big and you couldn’t do anything but take it. He always made your tummy feel funny, even if you didn’t understand why. You just wanted to be around him all the time and do whatever he said.

“From now on, you don’t fuckin’ question me. If I don’t want you prancin’ around in skank skirts, battin’ your pretty eyelashes so that boys like your little neighbor you got over there thinkin’ they got a chance with you..” He rasped out, watching your eyes roll back as felt you start to clench around him. “Then you fuckin’ listen to me. The only person you bake your goddamn cookies for from now on is me slut.” His words filthy to throw you over the edge.

[ruewrote]

𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒.

PAIRING: josh washington x fem!reader WARNINGS: reunion, no use of y/n GENRE: angsty fluff SONG INSPIRATION: little bit by lykke li WORD COUNT: 1.4k REQUESTED: yes

navigation | ask | josh washington masterlist

the mountain had changed you.

the person you were a year ago, carefree and full of warmth, had died alongside hannah on that cold, snowy night. but instead of a clean death, you’d been forced to keep breathing, keep fighting, as the mountain swallowed you whole. the stranger had found you in the woods, broken and lost, but not beyond repair.

he patched you up, told you the truth about the wendigos, about the curse that haunted these mountains. 

then he taught you to fight. 

at first, you resisted. the idea of hunting those monsters, the creatures who had once been human, sickened you. but soon, survival became everything. you had no choice. so, you learned how to track them, how to trap them, how to kill them. you learned how to handle the heavy flamethrower, how to stay calm even when your heart wanted to race out of control. the wendigos were fast, stronger than anything you had ever faced, but you became stronger too. the stranger showed you where to strike, how to stay one step ahead, how to use the terrain to your advantage. 

the first time you killed one, it shook you to your core. but over time, you grew harder. the terror became familiar, and the blood on your hands just another part of who you were now.

the scars you bore told the story of every battle. your skin was littered with them—long, jagged ones where claws had grazed you, puckered burns from close encounters with the fire. your muscles had grown lean and tough, your reflexes sharper than they’d ever been. the girl you once were was long gone, replaced by someone stronger, someone who could face the horrors of the mountain and live to tell the tale. but even after all that, there was one thing you hadn’t faced.

josh.

that’s why you were here now, standing at the edge of the tree line, watching the lodge from the shadows. the firelight flickered through the windows, casting warmth over the faces of people you once called friends. they laughed, talked, acted like everything was normal. sam, chris, mike—none of them knew the truth about the mountain. none of them understood what they had unleashed when they pranked hannah that night. but you did.

and then, you saw him.

he stood apart from the others, staring blankly into the fire, his face gaunt and his eyes hollow. the sight of him made your chest tighten with a strange mix of longing and dread. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. you’d imagined this moment a thousand times over the past year, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of it. 

you didn’t mean to make a sound, but the branch snapped underfoot, loud in the quiet night.

josh’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours through the dark. his brow furrowed, confusion clouding his features as he squinted into the trees. “who’s there?”

your heart pounded in your chest, your breath freezing in your lungs. this was it. there was no turning back now. 

you stepped out from the shadows, your body tense with a mixture of fear and hope. “josh…”

his body went rigid, disbelief flashing across his face. “no,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. “no, you… you’re not real.”

you took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “i’m real, josh. i’m right here.”

he stumbled forward, his eyes wide with shock as he closed the distance between you. his hands trembled as they reached out to touch you, as if he was afraid you would vanish into thin air. when his fingers brushed against your skin, the dam broke. josh pulled you into his arms with a desperate force, his body shaking as he clung to you like a lifeline.

“i thought you were dead,” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion. “i thought i lost you.”

you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “i thought i lost you too.”

for a long moment, you stayed like that, holding each other in the cold. but even in his embrace, you couldn’t shake the heaviness pressing down on you. the past year had changed both of you, twisted you into different versions of the people you used to be. you’d fought monsters, bled, and survived things no one should have to survive. and he… you could see the darkness in his eyes, the madness gnawing at him from the inside.

you pulled back slightly, searching his face. “why are you here, josh? what are you doing?”

josh met your eyes, his face twisted with grief and anger. “they left them. they left hannah and beth to die out there. we both know it.”

you bit your lip, the words caught in your throat. he didn’t know. he didn’t understand what had really happened to the twins. what had happened to you. he wasn’t just angry, he was drowning in his own guilt, and he was blind to the truth.

“josh… there’s something i need to tell you,” you said softly, stepping back, reaching for the sleeve of your jacket.

his brow furrowed in confusion, but he watched as you tug the fabric up, revealing the long, jagged scars that ran along your arm. his breath caught in his throat as his eyes moved over the raised lines of flesh, the burns and cuts that told the story of your survival.

“what… what is this?” his voice was barely a whisper, his fingers ghosting over the marks on your skin.

“these are from the things that live up here, josh,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth you were about to share. “they’re not just legends. there’s something on this mountain, something old, something hungry. they’re called wendigos.”

his face paled, and he took a shaky step back. “wendigos? what are you talking about?”

you took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “hannah didn’t just die, josh. after the fall… she turned into one. i’ve been hunting them with a stranger i've met here. we’ve been fighting to stop them, but the wendigos… they’re relentless. they’re what’s out there, in the woods. they’re why i survived.”

josh stared at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. “no… no, that’s not possible. that can’t be…”

“it is, josh. i know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.” you lifted your other sleeve, revealing more scars, more proof of the battles you had fought. “this is what happened to me while i was out there. i didn’t just survive, i fought. i killed them. i’ve been living with this nightmare for the past year.”

his hands shook as he ran them through his hair, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “hannah… became one of them?” his voice cracked, the words almost too much for him to say.

you nodded, tears stinging at your eyes. “she didn’t mean to. it’s the curse, josh. the mountain… it’s cursed. when you resort to cannibalism, you turn. that’s what happened to her. she tried to survive, just like i did, but it… changed her.”

for a moment, he was silent, the weight of the truth crashing down on him. you watched as the pain twisted his face, as the horror of it all settled deep in his bones.

“i brought them here… to punish them,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “but it was never them, was it? it was the mountain.”

“it’s the wendigos,” you said softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “but that doesn’t mean you have to go through with this. we can stop it, josh. together.”

he looked up at you, his eyes filled with anguish. “i didn’t know. i didn’t know any of this.”

“i know,” you whispered, gently squeezing his arm. “but now you do. and we can fix this. we can fight back. you don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.”

for the first time in what felt like forever, josh’s body seemed to relax. the tension in his shoulders eased, and the wild look in his eyes began to fade. he didn’t have all the answers, and neither did you. but in that moment, standing together on the cursed mountain that had torn your lives apart, you knew one thing for certain.

you weren’t alone anymore.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

© ruewrote 2024.

@writing-fanics changed the ending hope this was okay :)

[daryltwdixon]

Chapter 4

Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled.

|| angst & fluff, Pre-Boston QZ, Stockholm Syndrome, Pre-Boston QZ, slow burn, raider!joel, captor!joel, a little bit of dark!joel, homestead, kidnapping, dark themes, morally gray comfort, slow burn, referenced abusive family, joel says things he doesn't mean, fmc is going thru some shit so her emotions are pretty volatile, implied age gap ||

a/n: your honor I love them so much

The next morning was pale and gray, the kind of cold that clung to the floorboards and curled beneath the edges of your sleeves. Joel had brought you more clothes from his run into town—sweaters, thick socks, some long johns that looked like they belonged to a man twice your size. None of it fit. Everything still hung off you like it didn’t want to stay. But it was warm, and that was the only part you couldn’t bring yourself to resent.

You hadn’t slept well. It was hard to, curling yourself into a tight ball above the covers every night on the opposite side of his bed. You were cold, angry, mostly stubborn. But you’d never admit it out loud. And since Joel didn’t say anything about it, you figured maybe he was just grateful you still shared the bed at all.

Your body felt strange that morning. Not sore, not exactly, just… off. Like you’d been holding too much for too long and now your limbs didn’t know how to carry it. There was a weight in your chest that pressed, unnameable, and no matter how tightly you crossed your arms over it, it wouldn’t go away.

When you walked into the main room of the cabin, Joel was already there. Sitting in his usual armchair, poking at the fire he’d just rekindled. The air still carried the scent of smoke and ash from the night before, mixing with something faintly earthy—wet wood and cold stone.

He looked up when you entered, eyes skimming over you with that same quiet, unreadable expression he always wore when he didn’t know what to say. Or maybe he just didn’t want to say anything.

He just nodded once in greeting, then nodded again—to the floor in front of his chair.

Samson noticed you too, his head lifting from his paws at the sound of your footsteps. His ears perked, eyes blinking slowly as he watched you from his spot beside Joel’s feet. He looked at home already, like he’d been here forever. You wondered if it would ever feel that easy for you.

You stood there for a moment too long, frozen in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over your chest.

Not because you were afraid. Not exactly.

But because you weren’t sure what it meant anymore, to sit there. To kneel in front of him, to let him touch you, to go through the motions of this quiet ritual that had started as rough, and sometimes even painful, that now was turning into something you didn’t know how to define. You weren’t sure what message you were sending by giving in to it now.

But your feet still moved. You crossed the room, slow and hesitant, and sank to your knees in front of his chair, spine straight, chin lifted. Your hands folded stiffly in your lap. The floor was cold under your legs, the fire warming just one side of your face.

Joel leaned forward with a grunt, the old chair creaking beneath him as he reached for the drawer beside him. You heard the soft rustle of the brush, the creak of the worn wooden handle in his palm.

When his fingers touched your hair, you flinched–just a flicker, barely a breath. But he felt it.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, voice low and careful.

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure if you believed him. Not because he’d been cruel—not lately—but because something in you still held the memory of it. Still wore the shape of that first day like a bruise under the surface.

The first pass of the brush was slow. He started at the ends, working up like he’d learned to. The bristles tugged lightly, but they didn’t snag, and he didn’t rush. It was methodical and gentle, his hands following muscle memory now. He didn’t say anything, and neither did you.

The brush moved again. And again.

You hated how easily your body responded to it. How your shoulders slackened without permission. How your breath came deeper, slower. You hated the flutter behind your ribs when his knuckles brushed the back of your neck, the heat in your chest when you let your eyes shut for too long.

You didn’t want to enjoy it.

When he was finished, he tied the leather strip around the end of your braid, hands gentle, firm. You could feel the tension in his fingertips, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Like he was waiting for yours.

You moved to stand, but you were stopped by the sound of his voice.

“Almost forgot—” he grunted, twisting to reach for his pack on the other side of him. He winced slightly, then rummaged through it, pulling out a few supplies before his hand closed around something bulkier. Something heavy by the way his arm flexed with the weight of it.

“Found this at the shops. Think it still has a few shots left.”

You blinked up at it. A camera. A beat-up old Polaroid—boxy and worn, duct tape along one edge, the light of the flash cracked. But it was still intact, still holding something of the old world. His hand hovered in the space between you, offering it gently.

“Figured… Well, spring gets real pretty ‘round here,” he said, voice a little softer now. “Might be nice to take some pictures.”

Your eyes lifted slowly from the camera to his face, and for a second, you could see it: the hope behind the gesture. The earnestness, as warped and clumsy as it was.

And it burned something sharp and twisted in your chest, something red and sick and furious. Before you could even think, you shoved his hand away, the camera jostling in his grip, almost slipping from his fingers.

“I don’t want pictures,” you snapped, rising so fast your head rushed as you stood. “I don’t want souvenirs of this place. Of you.”

His jaw flexed hard as he looked up at you, expression hardening. “Was just tryin’ to—”

“To what?” Your voice cracked, high and raw as you stood to your feet, looking down at him. “Make me feel at home? Make it easier to forget that I didn’t choose this? That I didn’t choose you? I don’t want to be here, Joel!”

His jaw clenched, and something behind his eyes went cold.

“You act like I pulled you outta some goddamn fairytale, girl.” he growled. “Like you weren’t half-dead when I found you. Covered in bruises. Lip split open and starvin’.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Remember how long it took me to brush through that rat’s nest of hair? You cryin’ cause of the mats in it? That sure as shit wasn’t me who did that to you.” 

You mirrored his fury now, face twisting with it. At your feet, Samson moved to cower under the table in the kitchen at the sound of your voices rising.

“I gave you a bed,” Joel snapped. “I gave you food. I haven’t laid a fuckin’ hand on you. And you still act like I’m the monster for tryin’ to give you anything.”

Tears welled in your eyes, hot and fast and blinding. Your voice came out low and shaking.

“You are a monster.”

Joel’s face twisted. His lip curled, brows knitting like something buried deep had snapped free. But when he spoke, his voice didn’t rise. It stayed low. Cold. Tight with the kind of control that could snap at any second.

“You wanna call me a monster?” he stood so fast, so close to your face as his fury blazed. “Fine. But at least I ain’t the one who left a goddamn kid to starve under my roof.”

You flinched, but he wasn’t done.

“Your family didn’t give a damn about you,” he hissed, stepping closer. “They left you to rot. They let that low life of a man beat you. And you still talk about them like they were somethin’ worth runnin’ back to?”

Your breath hitched. The tears slipped free now, burning hot down your cheeks.

“They’re better off dead,” he growled. “And here I was, thinkin’ you were different. Thought you wanted to live.” He scoffed, bitter and ugly. “But if you’d rather run back to a fuckin’ grave—then maybe you’re better off in one too.”

The room went silent.

Even the fire stopped crackling.

The words just hung there—vile, bitter, final.

His face went pale, furrowed brow unknitting itself and eyes softening like even he regretted it the moment it passed his lips. But he didn’t take it back.

“Fuck you, Joel.” you breathed. Turning on your heel, you moved quickly, already halfway to the door.

He called your name—softly, pained.

The hinges groaned in protest as you yanked the door open. The cold wind hit your face like a slap, but you barely felt it.

The pulse in your ears was too loud, a scream wrapped in thunder, and your boots were already hitting the porch, the grass, the trees.

You didn’t know where you were going.

Didn’t care.

You just needed distance. From him. From that house. From the words you couldn’t unhear and the ones you wished you’d thrown back harder.

You didn’t get far.

At this point, there was nowhere to go. No one who was waiting for you to return home anymore. And now, as the fight churned inside your chest, raw and aching, you found yourself drawn to the first thing that resembled shelter, anything to put space between you and him. There was an old tree out in the field, grown crooked and thick at the base, its roots gnarled and rising just above the earth like ribs. You crossed the grass without thinking, boots sinking into the damp ground, until you reached it.

You pressed your back against the bark, rough and cold, and let yourself slide down to the base, knees drawn to your chest. Your face was hot and swollen, wet with tears you hadn’t bothered to wipe away. Your hands covered your face like they might hold the sobs in.

But they came anyway.

Big, heaving sobs—ugly, gasping things that clawed their way out of your throat. You didn’t even know who you were crying for. Yourself. Your family. Him. All of it. None of it. You didn’t know anymore.

You didn’t hear anyone approaching until the soft wet pressure of a cold nose was pressed against your palm.

When you peeked through your fingers, the scruffy little mutt was right there in front of you, tail thumping softly against the grass.

“Samson,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Did you get all the way out here by yourself?”

He let out a soft whine, licking at your cheek, your jaw, your chin—lapping up the salt of your tears like he was trying to wash them away. His tongue tickled, warm and eager, and you couldn’t help but let your lips twitch at the corners.

His breath smelled sweet, something you hadn’t noticed before. Like the first bloom of spring. Earthy and new. You’d never smelled anything like it, not out here in this ruined world.

You curled into him, burying your face against his fur. He stayed still beneath your hands, soft and solid and warm.

“What are we gonna do, buddy?” you murmured, rubbing behind his ears, voice thick with grief. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

And then, like ice down your spine, there was a sound.

All wrong, throaty and wet. It was close enough that the hair on the back of your neck stood up. A rustle in the trees, just beyond the field that was too quick to be the wind, too concentrated in one bush, behind one large, grey rock. Your breath caught in your throat, and you scanned the woods ahead, eyes straining against the low sun that couldn't quite cut through the trees. But you couldn’t see anything beyond the shadows and brambles. Still—you heard it.

You’d only ever heard that sound a handful of times in your life, mostly spoken in tales your parents whispered when they didn’t think you or your sister were listening. That sound lived in nightmares, in the stories of what used to roam before your father cleared the area. Or so you thought he did.

Samson stiffened in your lap, his nose twitched. And then, he growled, low and warning, teeth baring at the trees. You pulled him tighter against you, blood thudding in your ears.

Adrenaline surged fast and heightened every sound, feeling, sight before you. Your knees dug into the dirt as you forced yourself to stand, eyes never leaving the darkened stretch of woods as you started to back away. 

Step by step, careful and controlled. Never turning your back. 

But then, not watching where you were going, your foot snags on a root jutting from the base of the gnarled tree. It caught your ankle just enough to throw your balance off, your arms flailing as you tried to right yourself.

Your eyes dropped for just a second to steady your footing.

And that moment, that lapse of your eyes leaving the trees, was when it happened.

A scream tore through the air. One that wasn’t coming from you, one that was pained and animalistic.

The body came out of nowhere, bursting from the brambles like it had been lying in wait, low and silent and deadly. 

Like it was stalking you.

All wiry limbs and rot, half-human, half-fungus, it had camouflaged itself perfectly in the shaded trees, patiently waiting for you to be distracted.

Samson fell from your arms as you tried to hold your hands out, to brace, to fight it off, but it was too fast, too heavy.

The two of you hit the ground hard.

The impact knocked the wind out of you, and for a second all you could hear was the thud of your back hitting the dirt and the dull ringing in your ears. Then it was on you—clawing, snarling, that half-jaw hanging open as its teeth gnashed toward your face. Tendrils of fungus had grown out from the skin of its face, its hair and neck, some brittle and flaking, others fresh and wet, pulsing like they were alive.

Its hands grabbed at your coat, your arms, its weight pinning you to the earth.

Samson is barking furiously, teeth snapping, his small body leaping against the infected’s side, trying to pull at the tattered clothing it still wore. But it didn’t budge. The thing didn’t even register him.

Your screams tore from your throat raw and high, your arms pushing, your legs kicking, but it was still too strong. Its weight bore down, pinning you to the ground. Its breath on your cheek–hot, wet, and reeking of rot—and its mouth too close, teeth gnashing as it let out a garbled, monstrous shriek.

You couldn't help but think: This is it.This was how you died. Alone. Stupid. Angry.

“No!” you sobbed, voice cracking open in panic, your eyes wide and wild as you fought with everything left in you. Your arms strained, muscles screaming, hands locked against the infected’s chest, trying to keep its snapping, fungal-covered face away from yours. Your legs were useless, caught beneath its weight. Your breath came shallow, useless, barely coming in at all.

You had always thought that in moments like this—when death was staring you in the face—you’d see something. Flashes of your life. Your happiest memories. The people you loved.

But there was nothing. Nothing but the bloodshot, ruined eyes of the thing on top of you. Nothing but the stink of decay and fungus and the mindless rage of something that used to be a person.

Maybe you should have prayed.

But when you tried, another thought came—unbidden, as they so often did in moments of clarity like this.

I’m sorry.I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Your arms were giving out, trembling from the effort, your hands slick with sweat and tears and dirt. You were losing. You knew you were losing. A sob ripped from your throat, full and animal, just as your strength collapsed.

And then, a blast thundered so loud it split the air wide open. Like a strike of lightning.

The stalker jerked sideways, a spray of red and black mist filling your vision as its head exploded just inches from your face. Bone and rot and muscle scattered across the grass, and the body collapsed off of you with a sickening thud.

You sucked in air like it might be your last. Your lungs didn’t work. Your chest was heaving, but nothing was steady. You were sobbing, choking, trying to pull in breath as you scrambled blindly through the dirt, arms slipping out from under you.

And then he was there.

Joel.

On his knees beside you, hands grabbing, hauling, pulling you up against his chest.

“Hey—hey, I got you.” His voice was rough, breathless, panicked. “I got you. It’s alright. You’re alright. It’s me.”

You barely even hesitated as your arms reached for him, fists twisting into the front of his coat like you’d die if you let go. Your face pressed into him, shaking, wet, your whole body trembling violently. You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t even speak. There was nothing but the sound of your gasping breath and his heartbeat pounding under your ear.

You didn’t care that it was him. You didn’t care about anything except the fact that he came.

He came. Again.He saved you. Again.

You kept whispering through your sobs, again and again, voice barely audible as it fell apart in his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you said through gasping breaths. “I’m so sorry.”

Joel pulled back just enough to see your face, his hands cupping your cheeks, calloused thumbs brushing blood and tears from your skin.

His eyes, lit faintly by the sun beginning to peer through the gray sky, were full of something so tender it made your stomach twist. The lines around his mouth were pulled down, frowning, pained.

“Look at me,” he whispered, ducking his head to meet your eyes, “You don’t gotta be. I’m sorry. I never should’ve said that to you. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t—” He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing just under your eye. “I was angry. But I never meant it.”

You nodded at him, but it was weak, trembling. The kind of nod that wasn’t agreement so much as a reflex. You weren’t even sure what you were nodding to.

His words? His apology? The fact that he was there and you weren’t dead?

You couldn’t untangle any of it. How many times now had you been separated from him, only to have a fate worse than anything he’d ever done to you? It was like everything was slotting into place as you looked at him now.

Your eyes stayed locked on his face, tracing the lines you’d gotten to know over these weeks together. The crease between his brows, the deep scar on his nose, the scruff of his jaw where the morning sun hit it in patches. You couldn’t stop looking at him. You didn’t want to, and you didn’t know why.

It was like you were memorizing him. Every inch, every quiet, steady part that had held onto you even when you were angry, when you pushed and clawed at him.

There was a surge in your chest, big and tight and unbearable. It wasn’t like before, when you’d wanted him just to take your mind off your unending thoughts. This was a need, something chemical you couldn’t explain anymore.

You weren’t thinking when you reached for him again, your fingers wrapping around the collar of his jacket. You weren’t weighing the consequences as you pulled him closer. You weren’t thinking of anything at all except that it was like surfacing after being underwater too long. Like he was the first breath after you thought you were drowning.

You pulled him forward, clumsy and quick, your pulse roaring in your ears for an entirely different reason now.

And then you pressed your mouth onto his.

It wasn’t delicate. Not like you might’ve planned for, if you’d ever let yourself plan for this. It wasn’t sweet or careful or romantic. It was desperate. Messy. It was full of everything you couldn’t say. You kissed him like you were still scared of never getting the chance to say you were sorry. Sorry for running. Sorry for every terrible thing you’d thrown at him. Sorry for being stubborn, for being mean, for being so full of your own anger you couldn’t see what he was trying to be for you. You kissed him like gratitude. Like relief. Like grief. Because somehow, despite all of it, he came back. He saved you. Again. And that meant something you couldn’t begin to hold in your chest.

Joel froze at first, stiff under your hands. But you held him there, fingers gripping at the collar of his coat, clutching like your life depended on it. Then slowly, his mouth began to move against yours. Hesitant at first. Then deeper, surer. His hand stayed at your cheek, holding you steady, his thumb brushing your wet, tear stained skin as if he couldn’t believe this was real—that you were really letting him in. That you wanted to.

He eased you back onto the ground, bracing his weight so he didn’t crush you, but still pressing close, warm and heavy, like he could anchor you to the earth. He smelled like woodsmoke and pine and something that didn’t have a name but belonged only to him. The kiss was slower now, not urgent anymore. It was patient, intentional. Like he’d been holding this moment in his hands for weeks and didn’t want to waste a single second of it.

Your hands were still curled in his jacket when something cold and wet smeared across your cheek, startling you both. You gasped as Joel jerked back, and suddenly there was a blur of fur and flailing paws between you.

Samson.

The puppy’s tongue dragged sloppily over Joel’s jaw, then yours, tail wagging wildly, whining with excitement like he’d just discovered you were trying to leave him out of something important.

Joel groaned, half laughing as he wiped a hand across his face. “Jesus, alright—alright, you little shit.”

You let out a sharp sound, surprised, caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

And then it came—real laughter.

It bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it, breathless and clumsy, cracking loose like a dam finally giving way. It felt strange in your chest—light, unburdened, unfamiliar. Like you didn’t quite remember how to do it, but your body was figuring it out anyway.

Joel looked at you then as he held the dog back with his hand, and something shifted in his face. A smile tugged at his mouth, soft and amazed, and he just... watched you. His expression full of quiet awe, as if he was seeing sunlight for the first time in weeks and didn’t dare move in case it disappeared.

He was memorizing it, like this version of you, the one that was laughing, alive with a sparkle in your eyes, was something rare, something holy. Like he couldn’t believe it came from him. From this.

And for the first time in so long you couldn’t even remember, your face felt sore in a way that had nothing to do with bruises, or cuts, or dried tears.

But from the unfamiliar stretch of smiling.

taglist: @orcasoul, @ilovetoomanymen, @niceforcum, @glaszdoll, @therewastherewas, @axionn, @aleariixx, @izzy698, @shivispunk

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Realizations

Dad!Simon Ghost Riley x Wife!Reader

Thank you guys so much for 1k, it means the whole world for me because now once did I expect to ever have my page grown this big and not once had I imagined that I would make these many friends here who happened to be so sweet. Also to @connorsui who has been most definitely been waiting the answer to this.

So in honor of 1k, I wrote this long awaited backstory for Ghost and Lovie (Ghostie's parents) that I hope you guys will enjoy since it so happens that our beloved @ave661 has posted another Dad!Ghost render. (Credits to her again for the renders in this post <3) (Sweetie, I love you but that tag on Soap with this render was unnecessary 😭🫶)

To the people who congratulated me, through replies, likes and reblogs, I owe y'all a fat kiss. Mwahhh <333

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @thesnowurzikdjinn @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @trepaika @starryylies @demidemon09

Warnings/Disclaimers: Stalking (not by Simon), Typical mentions of CoD violence?, Mentions of Simon's past abuse, Creepy guy?? (Not Simon), Mentions of violent and a bit gory descriptions on what wanted to do to the stalker, This is not proofread yet.

With the words of my mother and in true reputation style, Are you ready for it?

I think I need to say this on my account again, English is NOT my first language and all copyrights regarding the plot and some characters within the storyline belong to me. Edit: please help me y'all, I'm losing so much relevance in the span of less than a month, my recent works have gotten nothing and I'm scared that this post proves that. I think I've learned my lesson never to take breaks ever again 😭

Simon never imagined himself in this predicament, always thinking that he'd be out there somewhere, more likely drowning himself in a mission. Not even a home, he thought that if it hadn't for your persuasiveness to interact with him back then then he'd still be back in that shitty apartment complex.

Simon placed his duffle bag on the wood of the porch, the jingling of his keys while he looked for the correct one. He tried his best to make as little noise as possible, it was passed midnight, the last thing he would want was to disturb his wife and daughter from resting.

Hauling the duffle bag in and throwing it on the couch, Simon opt to see what his girls were up to. The giggling and commotion making him smile, you both were supposed to be asleep by now but you were unable to put her to rest because she's just too hyper, so that left you to entertain her by tossing her up and catching her.

"Dada..!" A squeal from the room came, the little one snapping her head to the opening of the door making you look as well, Simon took a peek from the half-way opened door.

Adorable little thing clapping her hands together, pleased that her dad is home while sitting on her mom. She got off, crawling near the edge of the bed with no sense of danger, fortunate for her that her dad is quick with catching her before you could.

You took a deep breath from the shock, looking at your husband and smiling sweetly at him. He asked you not to get off the bed as you were about to, laying next to you he snakes his arm underneath you on your waist and pulls you in.

"I missed my girls.." He said, voice deep and laced with exhaustion, despite that his hold and gaze was the warmest it could be.

"We missed you too Si, so much." You mumbled as your eyes flutter shut to enjoy his touch. You opened them to the sound of a kiss, he kissed the little one's forehead then yours.

Sometimes you vaguely remember the first time he and you met, how it even came to be, this life of domesticity. You, him and your little girl, family is a heavy word for Simon but it was just perfect. This was the family he wanted, the family that he thought he didn't deserve and never would have.

The feeling of coming home to all this started because you were so forgetful, who knew that would be the skill that brought you to him..?

• ──── ✦ ──── •

He emptied his pockets, to the lieutenant's dismay, the box of cigarettes only had one stick left. Since he was going out to smoke it anyway, he might as well get another box from the convenience store nearby. He took his keys from the kitchen counter and headed out, hearing a little commotion that peeked his interest.

Simon never paid much mind to whatever was going on within his apartment building despite the many gossips that were present within the building and the renters. So it happens that the old lady next to his place mentions how they'll be a new tenant in the other apartment next to his.

'Thank God' Simon thought, not that he was particularly religious but he'd been hoping for the longest time for the former renter to leave because let's be honest, who wants to live next to a frat boy with no sense of shame or consideration given that walls are thin? Little did he know he'd be blessed with the next one..

"Oh- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to.." Simon hears a voice from a little below him, he'd only register what had happened after the fact. Poor girl carrying this box bumped into him a little too hard, so much so that she stumbled back a bit.

You stared up to the 6'4 man blinking, he only shrugged it off to which you smiled to. You tried to make small talk since you were new and it wouldn't hurt to at least know one person right? After all, you were trying to step out a bit of your comfort zone.

"Hi.. I'm [Name].." He only stared at you for a while and replied, "Simon.." you gave him a warm smile before nodding and continuing to bring the boxes into your new apartment while your new neighbor entered the elevator.

You cut the boxes open to start unpacking, a few minutes in and you decided to go on a short break, you rummaged through the small box of food only to find that the recently bought box of tea was empty. You sighed at this, humming as you remembered the convenience store you passed by earlier on the way to the apartment.

Taking your keys and locking the door behind you, you made your way out the complex and walked a few blocks, you only started to notice how late it was with the streetlights coming on even though the sun is only about to set. That's something to get used to, hmm?

The cool breeze hits your skin as you enter, scent of faint instant coffee and many other kinds of foods and products made themselves known. You walked around for a while, checking on what other things you might need but then you tried to remind yourself that you were saving up and on a budget so you took a box of tea and walked up to the register.

You heard footsteps behind you falling in line, after placing the box on the counter, you searched your pockets for your wallet.

'Shit..!' you cursed yourself out mentally trying not to panic as Simon basically watches you frantically patting your pockets, you left your wallet back at the apartment. "You left your wallet-" Simon stated the obvious, "I'll cover it.." there wasn't even a time to argue with him, he just stepped next to you and placed the pack of cigarettes.

"I'll pay you back as soon as we get back to the apartment" You insisted to which Simon only shrugged and declined, it's just a box of tea and it's not like it'll make him go bankrupt, besides he liked your taste, the one you got happened to be his favorite brand.

Since you were headed in the same place anyway, you and Simon walked back together side by side, however one thing you did find odd was when he gently took you wrist and pulled you inward next to him, he was the one now closest to the road.

The walk back was silent, a comfortable silence. A few days after that encounter, you made sure to make an effort for him to know that you appreciated his gesture back at the convenience store. The lieutenant was alarmed by the knock on his door, opening it to find no person but a tupperware filled with buttery shortbread cookies.

He smiled at how tiny the plastic container looked in his hands, how he noticed the note attached "Thanks for the tea, this isn't that special but I hope you like it -[Name]" and the Sanrio themed stickers stuck onto the lid and on the top part of the tiny note. You ran out of sticky notes..

Simon found himself snacking on those cookies later on, oddly enough, they reminded him of his mom.. how she used to love baking back then, it was her way of escape whenever Simon's "father" wasn't home, as well as gardening.

For the first time in a while Simon "Ghost" Riley let out a smile that wasn't smug or a smirk but a genuine smile, one that had warmth to it, one that no matter how hard his mind tried to surppress it, his body refused to.

It didn't take long for you and Simon to get to know each other a bit, little by little it seemed like you two were becoming like friends rather than just neighbors. Let's be honest, who just randomly gives their neighbors weekly baked goods for the sole reason of "just because they wanted to"?

You found yourself always looking forward to the Friday nights chilling with him at the rooftop, mugs with hot tea on hand while he smoked and you read.

Listening to his stupid jokes and remarks that slowly turn into deep conversations and life things. Simon was just... far more open than he's ever been, sure he's talked about his day before to his comrades but never like this, not in a way where he's pouring his heart out, letting you in on how he feels about certain things.

He just got back from a mission, a rough one to be exact. Shoulders slumped from exhaustion as he walked the streets near the apartment complex, no space for his bike so he had to leave it somewhere private while he fidgeted with it's keys.

Simon swore that he almost jumped out of his own body, first instinct being to push you off but he recognized you. He gave you a questioning look, hands were shaking as you so desperately linked you arm around his.

"Hmm?" He hummed, hearing you mumbling something but it was incoherent to his ears.

"Behind us.. please Si, help..." Come to think if it, you never knew when Simon turned into Si. Best believe he knew and still remembers when perfectly.. not the time, there's a serious threat, he didn't look. He didn't need to, guessing by the heavy footsteps, some creep decided to follow you at this hour.

He slowly slipped his arm away from your grip and snaked it around your waist, pulling you in closer to his side while the two of you continued treading closer to the complex. You closed your eyes for a few seconds at a time hoping it would end.

• ──── ✦ A few days later ✦ ──── •

Knocking, frantic knocking was what Simon heard at his door. He wasn't expecting anyone, so why the sudden visit? He opened the door and saw you, Simon knew something was off from the look on your face, you looked pale as if you were sick to your stomach while trying so desperately to catch your breath.

"Can I please come in.. Simon..?" You asked in between breaths. You looked around you, especially behind you, body shivering a bit. He took notice of this and had no hesitation, he pulled you in by your arm. His grip firm but gentle, Simon closed the door behind him.

"Remember that guy who was creeping around when I asked for your help..?" You tried to explain but Simon already knew the moment your mouth opened. You had a stalker.. it was best to call the cops on shit like this.

Simon did his best even though not knowing much about how to comfort someone, he did well in making you feel safe without having to tell you that he'll do so, you just know it in your gut that he'd protect you even if it's just now.

Your breath picked up, slowly backing away from the door as you heard footsteps, clenching your fists and hoping that he didn't see you enter Simon's door. Simon wrapped his arms around you, keeping you in place and from further backing away from the door.

You felt his palm drag up and down your back, it was extremely warm, it stopped for a while. His arm wrapped around your waist, other hand in your hair pushing your head down a bit so it was buried in his chest while you gripped his shirt. Simon felt your trembling body against him slowly relax.

"Deep breaths, angel.." The nickname he whispered would've made you smile under any other circumstance but not right now, you needed to calm your nerves before you panic and make an impulsive decision that could hurt yourself. Like instructed, you followed along Simon's demonstration, pressing his forehead onto yours maybe just a bit too intimately.

You winced at the loud sound of banging on the door, you knew it too well. Simon shoved the handle of his combat knife in your hand, he told you that if anything were to happen, protect yourself with it.

As soon as the Lieutenant swung the door open, you could hear punches, things knocking over and among other things, your stalker's voice.

You'd never forget that, how pitchy it was. Nails on the chalkboard was the best way to describe it, how the man was cackling almost made you annoyed. Simon called on security and the man was dealt with, you came out from hiding and saw both fear and anger in Simon's eyes.

You would never know how much he wanted to tear that man's heart after skinning him alive for even bringing fear into your eyes.

Simon "I care too much for someone I just met" Riley finally saw how his knuckles and fingernails were caked with blood, went off to go wash it and himself.

Getting back to you after half an hour, you reached out for him only for him to withdraw, you looked at him confused and he looks at you with pure guilt..

Your eyes widened in realization, "Oh Simon.. I'm not scared.." you smiled at him. He reached out a shaky hand to you, hesitating before closing his hand back.

You took his hand in yours, bringing it up to your lips and giving it a small kiss, hoping it calms his nerves. Well it did the opposite, it even more overwhelming for him having you kiss his palm while you look up at him, watching you nudge your face into his palm so invitingly.

The way your lashes just sat perfectly atop your cheeks while you slowly blinked up at him. Pressing the same scarred and calloused hands that almost killed a man that night on your face and rubbing the back with you thumb.

Simon had never felt that much guilt before for hurting someone, only after he saw the look in your eyes, which in turn were not something he caused. For the first time in his life too, Simon was comforted by something or rather someone immensely..

[chiyobot]

Any thoughts on Lottie Matthews? I think her character development over season 3 especially is so interesting and would correspond with how she is during sex

so many thoughts on lottie matthews. she is abnormal. that being said, her abnormality is sexy. biased-take. if it's out of character it's because it was the right decision to make.

season 3 lottie x reader thoughts.

🔞 #𝐃𝐍𝐈; ／ minors. shameless smut.

🚩 #𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; ／drugging, lots of it, psychedelic abuse, dubcon if you squint, brief blood kink. tame compared to other thought blurbs.

she keeps a pouch of mushrooms sewn into her bra, crumbles them into your food when you’re not looking. by dessert, you’re begging to taste her, convinced her cunt’s the altar you’ll die on.

lottie finds you puking from bad berries, presses a makeshift tincture to your lips, pushing past swollen pink. “swallow,” she orders. when you do, she rides you raw against the bank, longgrass itching against your skins, chanting “la reine te voit” as you hallucinate her teeth sharpening into fangs.

her fingers dig into your pulse point, her breath hot on your neck as she whispers about visions: you’ll die tomorrow unless you fuck me tonight. it’s bullshit and you know it, but her nails are sharp, her smile oh, so convincing. “i’ll save you,” she promises, biting your collarbone as she guides your hand under her robes, fingers to her sopping cunt. “only me.”

she loves dosing you just enough to make the world tilt—then fucking you senseless while you hallucinate her eyes glowing gold. “tell me what you see,” she’ll growl, slamming into you from behind. you’ll babble about antlered shadows and dead girls watching. lottie will laugh breathlessly, bite your shoulder hard enough to scar. “good. they’re learning you.”

“the wilderness is lonely,” she'll sigh one day, pressing your hand to her bare stomach. “it needs new life. don’t you want to help?” you’re not sure if she means a baby or a sacrifice (the former's impossible, given your ... peculiar equipment), but when she sinks onto your fingers, you stop thinking altogether.

she'll slip psilocybin into your tea, wait until the sky melts above you, then straddles you. "describe your transference," she orders, grinding down hard. when you babble about her thighs being salvation or something equally as stupid, she sighs. "reductive," she mutters, but her pupils blow wider.

lottie forces you to eat liberty cap mushrooms off her tongue, then grinds against you slow in the creek, water sloshing red with clay. when you protest, she'll yank your hair back. the shrooms twist the reflection—her face morphs into the antler queen, yours into a rotting stag. you cum screaming; she drinks the sound like wine.

the wilderness is her third wheel—she moans its name louder than yours, arches like it’s touching her too. probably is.

she ties antlers to the headboard of your hut's straw bed, smears ash on your chest, fucks you like it’s an offering, or more a sacrifice. “say it,” she demands, thrusts sharp enough to bruise. “i’m yours,” you gasp. she corrects you: “you’re its.”

"you want this," lottie'll insist, palm pressing your sternum as you hesitate. "your body knows." when you shake your head, she kisses you sickly-sweet, thumbs your nipples raw. "no, see?" she breathes. "physiological arousal." 

makes you peel her clothes off layer by layer. “the body is sacred,” she'll breathe, guiding your hands to her hips. when you hesitate, she tilts your chin up, eyes black as the pit she walked over. “don’t you want to meet the god inside me?”

lottie'll drag you into the woods barefoot, laughing when you stumble. “look,” she whispers, pointing to a rotting log. “they glow when you fuck me on top of them.” you do. they do.

she collects your blood—nicks your finger with her teeth post-sex, smears it on her forehead like war paint. “for the trees,” she explains, like it makes perfect sense, then kisses you like she’s starving.

[loserinahotway]

Hobbies - Will Solace

Will Solace is head doctor. Easily and often shortened to only doctor. So, he thinks, knowing there’s more snide than there needs to be, who would expect him to have hobbies? Apparently, there’s a phase of dating that relies on their existence. 

Nico and Will have only been dating for two weeks. Haven’t kissed yet, have been on a solid three in-camp dates. And Will, on the forest floor with his back to some poor tree, is breathing heavy with the crushing, rock-hard weight of that stupid, too deep question that just. Keeps. Coming. Back.

He’s not stupid. He can see. He knows, logically, rationally, that it’s a standard question. A good and easy icebreaker. An important thing to know about as a partner. Yeah. Totally. Mhm. What do you do in your free time? Solid stuff. Solid. Solid. Good. Solid.

Solid enough to fill his lungs with rocks.

“Shit, what did I- what’s wrong? Will? Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t- what did I do?”

In. Out. In. Out. In, in, in, in-

He wheezes, embarrassingly, and his forehead hits his knees. He can feel, lightly, that Nico’s hand is above his shoulder. Ghosting it. He’d make a joke if he wasn’t so nauseously panicked. It barely brushes him, hesitant in the anxious, heart-stopped way Will can’t afford to be. That’s a mean thing to think, he berates. You aren’t struggling more than he is. Don’t compare.

He thinks it anyway. I can’t afford that. I can’t have that.

Can’t have hobbies, either.

Will hates when he gets like this.

Nico, next to him and out of his sight, seems to have settled his own breathing. You win, Will thinks, and almost laughs. He doesn’t. “Hey, alright, do you-uhm, do you wanna do the breathing stuff you taught me?”

His hand finally drops to touch his back, and Will feels one finger trace an infinite square on his shoulder. He knows the rules. He’s said them to camper after camper. In for the first line, hold for the second, out for the third, hold for the fourth; in, hold, out, hold, in, hold, out, hold in. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes, but his breath does even out. 

And instantly, guilt. 

He shoots right up and turns to his date. Fuck, his date. A picnic in the woods at the edges of camp. What a lovely way to kill romance. With a pointless panic attack. “Fuck, fuck! I’m sorry, shit, Nico, you didn’t do-”

“Hey, hey,” Nico raises his hands, looking right into Will’s eyes. He looks panicked, like he’s not quite sure what to do. Will likes that, somehow. Not in a sadistic way. It’s calming to seem like he’s not the only one all messed up in the moment. Part of him still bites, why aren’t you fixing it. It sneers about his need to nurse everything back to health. Sometimes Will thinks he was born a contradiction. God and mortal swimming in his blood, with all sorts of emotional opposites moving after that. “We just got you breathing again. You don’t need to apologize to me, Will.”

Will just sort of keeps looking at him. He’s not sure how to respond. Not out of shock or anything, just a lack of words. Luckily enough, Nico continues. 

“I said something.” “You didn-”

“Will.” Nico furrows his brows with the name, and Will closes his mouth and cuts off the denial. He remembers, sometimes, that Nico is technically a prince. And the way he ties weights to words really does sound royal. “I’m not blaming myself, or beating myself up, or sad. I didn’t mean to do anything. I’ve got very little reason to get mad at myself. That won’t help. I’ve learned that, by now. I promise.” Lightly, he moves his hand to Wills. He slots their fingers together against the dirt. “But I care about you. A lot. So, if something I did hurt you, I want to know. I want to get at it and learn and- and be good to you. I want to be good to you, Will. Please. Let me?”

He blinks.

And blinks.

And, with tears in his eyes; “I can’t have hobbies.”

A beat. “What?”

And he just fucking bawls, after that. Crumpling impossibly smaller as Nico curses and reassures and gets closer to him, rubbing his shoulders and forearm. Gods. How fucking pathetic, he thinks. You’re supposed to be a doctor.

That line, that last line. It does do something to numb him. He quiets, after another little bit. And eventually he’s just sniffling and leaning half against the tree and half against the sweet, beautiful, surprisingly good with speeches boy he’s supposed to be on a date with. 

“‘M sorry,”

“I’m not mad, though.”

“Probably should be.”

He pauses for just a second. “I don’t think so, Will.”

Now, Will’s voice is monotone and devoid of anything in a way he’s a little sickly proud of. “I’m a freak.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. Will can’t see it, with his head on his shoulder, but he knows he does, because he knows Nico. “For what? Not filling your exceptionally limited free time with extra tasks?”

Will rolls his eyes. “That’s not what hobbies are.”

“Isn’t it?”

They both stop for just a little, sitting close and in silence. It's really quite nice. 

“Is there a reason this upsets you so much?” You know that feeling, where you’re asked a question, and your whole story just sort of unfolds backwards in your brain. You remember everything, see it all, but it’s behind things. It’s blurred and muffled by glass. That’s what happens to Will, there.

Everything Will Solace has read since he was nine has been in a medical textbook. Because godly gifts aside, he needs to know he’s getting things right. He needs to know how to treat the bleeding and coughing and crying children that are in his care. So the Star Wars novels he’d trek through as a kid are gone. Because he can’t read them without knowing that there’s something better he could be looking at. Something  more useful to get into his head. 

He is the son of the music god and a renowned country star. And he has not a drop of musical talent. Musical knowledge, sure. He can read any sheet music, he can tell you any fact about a piece by ear, he could probably even teach you to play any instrument with words. But for the fucking sake of him, he cannot  put anything that sounds good into the air. He gets stressed in low-stakes situations instead of high ones, like he was anxiously programmed backwards. His hands only shake when they’re presented with something that will distract him. Like a guitar. Like a microphone. Et cetera. There’s no instrument that will give him something he needs to have. So why play one?

When he writes, he subconsciously looks for the line he has to sign. The boxes to check. The space for notes. All he’s written in years has been hospital reports and records. Files upon files of them. How’s he supposed to write something without those little guides that have been leading him almost all his life? How would he pen a story, or characters, when all the ideas in his head are organized by urgency? 

Will hates closing his eyes, hates stopping to be with himself. Because then he sees it all. Every mistake. Every brother and sister. Every soaked-through bandage. Every failure. When he looks back into his head, those are the pictures. So what would he paint? Broken ribs? Dead family? Because those are the images he works so hard not to look at. He can’t paint, or draw, because that will bring them forwards.

His hands sewed the shrouds that burned over so many of his siblings. So many. They’ve sewn shut cuts and slices and wounds on almost everyone he lives in proximity to. How can he try sewing, when every needle he’s ever touched has been sticky with blood?

What hobby would you give to Will Solace? Because he really doesn’t see an option.

Still, He’s not really sure how to answer the question. 

“How are you gonna care about me,” He breathes, still internally settling on what he’s going to say. “If I don’t even fucking know me?”

Nico breathes something that sounds sort of like oh, and he pauses. Will sits in that silence, thick and dense, and hysterically, somehow, he’s fucking crying again. 

“Shit. Hey, no- I’m not, like, contemplating you, or being with you, or anything. You don’t need to worry about that. It’s not gonna change. I promise. ”

Will just laughs welty, still crying. Doctor. Doctor. 

The thought isn’t really working, this time. It sort of has a cooldown period. He’s all numb in that cooldown period. He’s good at switching emotions quick, isn’t he? Maybe that could be my hobby. He’s not really present enough to register whether that thought is a joke. 

“I’m just, wondering if that’s something people actually need from a partner. I guess that makes sense, when I think about it. but I never really did before now.”

“You’re the one who asked me. You knew, subconsciously, that it’s something people are supposed to have.”

“Well, maybe. But the questions i’m asking you-“ he breathes a laugh before continuing, “They’re because that’s a part of all the advice I’ve got. Ask him what he likes to eat, and do, and what his favourite colour is. That’s what everyone told me I was supposed to do. I don’t know what I’m doing, here. I’m learning. You’re learning, too. But I’m not learning how to, like, figure out your pastimes. I’m learning how to love you. I don’t need you to have a favourite colour for me to love you, Will.”

“Love me?”

His head is raised, suddenly. Eyes still teary and breathing still choppy. But he’s looking at Nico. His face goes red, but stony as ever, Nico doesn’t falter. “You’re my best friend, even if you’re my boyfriend, too. Of course I love you, Will.” 

Oh.

He’s still. Crying. And that really just makes him cry harder, dropping his head again, his lungs all full of something that won’t go through his blood. 

“Hey. Will. Hey, look at me. Look at me. You know what?”

He looks. 

“Neither do I.” Beat. Beat. Beat.

His heart feels like it’s about to burst. Like it’s full of light or tar.

“Huh?”

“I spent, just, so long. I spent so long seeking kiddie vengeance, and looking for some emotional band aid. I’ve been, like, nothing but angry, for years. I don’t do much, Will. I haven’t picked up many hobbies while feeling like that. So if you can’t be cared for, because you don’t know everything about yourself? then I’m just the same. And you tell me all the time I need to accept care. There’s nothing making you any different from me, Will. You deserve this, too. ”

And it’s light. 

Light.

It’s a stupid thing.

And he’s not fixed.

But it’s every fear in his body made just that little bit smaller, that little bit less loud.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you too.”

Nico grins. “I know.”

Will raises both of his eyebrows. “Was that a Star Wars reference?”

Nico laughs. “Gods, what have you made of me?”

Will laughs, too. “You do know me.”

His smile softens. “You know me, too. Hobbies or not.”

And they sit with that, for a bit. Will’s breathing is uneven, but not with panic. It’s a good feeling.

They sit next to each other, right until sundown, fingers entwined, and maybe. Just maybe. This is something Will  can have. Maybe, he’s not too beat down or busy for that. 

He’s one assurance closer to believing it.