#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 💗

[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

[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.” 

[imsofreakingtired]

barges through the wall like the kool-aid man

Buy Sevika flowers.

Please. Please she probably never received a beautiful bouquet before and I desperately yearn for soft hours with Sevika

SHE SO DESERVES FLOWERS I AGREE I AGREE

i will take good care of you

content warning(s): none

"and all the quiet nights you bear seal them up with care no one needs to know they're there for i will hold them for you."

~~~

** set post canon, Councilor!Sevika x reader. because oh my god i cannot accept that she’s all alone in there **

~~~

You stand in the doorway. Sevika hasn’t seen you yet. 

She is at her desk, the way she is every night. The desk of rich Noxian wood, inlaid with swirling patterns of gold. The desk came with the apartment, which came with the seat at the Council, which came with a new kind of fight that you had to watch Sevika go through day after day. 

The battles were won, the losses counted, the blood spilled and cities destroyed and rebuilt. Ambessa was dead. Hextech destroyed. The sister cities were forced to reconcile in the face of the realization that they had come very, very close to the end of the world. 

Piltover is quiet at night. Nothing like the undercity, where you would hear fights breaking out on the streets every hour of the day, drunks wailing from filthy doorsteps, dogs howling in the alleyways. No; Piltover was like a slumbering golden beast. 

And your Sevika, the new leader of the underdogs, the voice of the city the two of you had grown up in—the city that never slept. If Piltover was the idle lion, Zaun was the hungry wolf. You see the hunger still in your wife’s eyes. You see how she charges into every debate, every argument at the Council Table the same way she charged into battle years ago. Every reform, every proposal she makes, is met with a near unanimous opposition. A mandate that would have taken half a day to pass from a Piltover Counselor took weeks when it came from the Zaunite Counselor. 

Sevika has hung up the arm Jinx had made for her on the wall behind her desk, and it gleams in the lamplight like a trophy. Still she hasn’t noticed you—she is poring over the files on her desk, the endless paperwork awaiting her every night seeming to have no end. 

You want to take her in your hands tenderly, you want to crush the burdens she carries into an insignificant ball. You want to tell her to rest. But you've learned Sevika didn't like words that have no meaning: she cannot rest, and you and Sevika both know this. 

So you show it through actions. 

You walk up to her, standing behind her. She glances up briefly. 

“How was the academy today?” 

“Fine,” you say. “The pupils learn fast.”

“Hm.” She is preoccupied with the paperwork. You rest your hands on her shoulders and find them tight with tension. Your fingers knead her muscles, their strength making her groan involuntarily. 

“You work too hard.” 

She laughs dryly. Her prosthetic arm is off—the new one she bought from the Piltover mechanic, a simple and elegant arm of light gold, no weaponry assets. She’s still wearing the formal cape, and from where you’re standing she looks smaller and wearier than you remember. 

“Come to bed,” you say, massaging the tension out of her neck. You feel her relax at your touch, the muscles softening beneath her warm skin. 

“In a minute.” 

“Not in a minute. Now.” 

“You go ahead, baby.” She sighs. “I have to get this done.” 

You never feel so helpless as in moments like these, when she seemed to be trapped between one duty and another, when it felt like the world expected your wife to be everywhere at once, doing everything at the same time. 

You don’t know how to ease her load. There just seemed to be no end to it. You try to think of the last time you saw her smile, really smile, and find you can’t remember. 

You look around her office. The walls are plain, devoid of paintings. Besides Jinx’s mechanical arm on the wall, there isn’t much to relieve the somber atmosphere. 

“Sevika,” you say suddenly, “what are your favorite flowers?”

“Flowers?” she repeats in an absent tone, looking over a text on trade policy. “I don’t know. I don’t think much about flowers.” 

A pause, and she looks up at you, as if surprised to see your question was serious. 

“I remember picking moonflowers when I was small,” she says. 

“Moonflowers?”

“Yeah, the pale blue ones that grew near the mines. The only things that could survive in that air. More weeds than anything.” She shrugs. “I remember picking one a day to give to my mom when she came back from work. She never threw them away, even after they wilted. Then one day she didn’t come home at all.”

You squeeze her shoulder. Her mother had died in a cave-in at the mines when she was young. You had lost your own parents to the same kind of accident. 

Sevika looks at you, amusement in her eyes. “I don’t remember the last time we ever talked about something like flowers.” 

~~~

The next day you ask your academy supervisor permission to take off work early. Since you have no afternoon classes anyway, the permission is granted. You walk briskly down to the marketplace and go into the florist’s shop. 

When you ask the leopard vastaya man at the counter for a bouquet of moonflowers, he shakes his head. “Those are just weeds from the undercity. I don’t sell them in bouquets. You can buy a full bouquet including them as decoration.” 

“I want only the moonflowers. You can take them out of every bouquet and gather them together, I’ll pay however much it costs.”

He looks at you as if you’re crazy, but he sets to work. You leave the shop fifteen minutes later with a bunch of moonflowers in gleaming wax paper tied with a ribbon. They are beautiful with notes of gray, and in flashes they hold the same color as Sevika’s eyes. They look like hope. They look like Zaun. 

When Sevika comes home that night you present them to her with a tentative smile. All day you’ve angled them this way and that in her office, changing the vase twice to try to find the right look. You’re not sure if she would even like the gift, or if she would find it painful. 

Sevika stares at you. “What’s this?” 

“Moonflowers,” you say dumbly. Both of you can clearly see that. You can’t read her expression, and you start to feel nervous. “I just wanted…I wanted to make you feel lighter.” 

Lighter. Happier. You want to give her the world. You want to give her the moon, the stars, the warmth of your very soul. You want to show her she is not alone in this fight. 

Sevika takes the flowers and buries her nose in them, eyes closed. Then she looks up at you. “They’re beautiful,” she says, her voice husky.

Sevika sees her childhood in their petals. She sees the hope in the heart of the little girl inside her. She sees the wrinkles of her mother’s tired smile. She sees the bright eyes of young Zaunite children. 

“Sevika,” you say, worried, “Sevika, are you crying?” 

She wipes roughly at her eyes, giving you a smile as genuine as sunlight. “No, darling. Thank you.”

~~~

note: ah...this was meant to be fluff but it turned out angstier than i intended... i can still call it fluff if it involves flowers right...?

thank you @demothers-empty-blog for the req :)

[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 :)

[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..

[yoursweetwife]

female!reader

Aventurine is a very faithful partner. If he truly loves, then other people, no matter how beautiful and influential they are, will not force Aventurine to give up his love. Because their motives are too obvious for someone as insightful as him.

At the same time, you allowed him to remember what it means to be loved, to feel sincere care. Your support helped him even in the worst days, when he thought that life had no meaning at all.

Aventurine lost almost everything, so he learned to appreciate what he has. And Aventurine knows that you love him, but often uncertainty takes over.

For a long time now he has not paid attention to what the young woman circling around him are talking about. Their attempts to get his attention seem somewhat pathetic, which makes the shadows on the floor look more interesting. Instead, he watches you laugh at the young gentleman's joke, making Aventurine's stomach twist with an unpleasant feeling.

He clearly sees the young man's interest in you; would he be a good partner if he interrupted the conversation? Would you be angry with him if he came up, kissed you in front of all these people, picked you up and carried you away?

You feel his gaze burning holes in the back of your head, and you meet his neon purple eyes. Aventurine's breathing stops for a moment as you smile sweetly at him, the unchanging smirk turning into a real smile meant just for you. (He sees that the man is looking at him with envy, and the ladies are hopelessly trying to turn his gaze on themselves.)

Aventurine leaves the crowd and imposingly walks to the place where you are patiently waiting for him, without looking away. His hand finds its rightful place on your thigh and you don’t miss the opportunity to rest your head on his chest, allowing Aventurine to feel the peace he’s been missing since you were taken away.

He good-naturedly tells your friend his name, as if mocking the man who knew exactly who he was dealing with.

"Do you mind if I take this beautiful lady from you?"

There is a hidden threat in his soft voice, and the young man simply nods, not wanting to meet the intense violet eyes.

"Wonderful."

As soon as you enter your room, Aventurine presses you against the cold wood and desperately kisses the soft lips that he has been secretly looking at for the last couple of hours.

It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders when your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, leaving almost no space. You've never met a person who loves touch as much as Aventurine. This always helped him get all his worries out of his head.

A hand runs through his golden hair, and Aventurine hums in satisfaction, enjoying your gentle touches.

The laughter leaves your lips while Aventurine continues to kiss your face.

"Did someone really miss me?"

Aventurine smiles softly and strokes your face with his thumb.

"Stronger than you think."

[charliemwrites]

Awooooooo!

Content: Voyeurism, Dog Urination, Implied Non-Con Touching

Your dog is weird. Just.. just weird. Like, all dogs are weird. They have their quirks and their oddities, silly babies in fluffy bodies.

Johnny though…

He snuggles up in your bed every night; you don’t even bother trying to kick him out. He’s presses up tight against you, head almost on your pillow. Have to start sleeping in a shirt because one too many unfortunately placed cold nose bumps…. Yeah. But that’s fine. The fuzzy space heater is worth it.

(So what if you sort of wake up sometimes and half-dream its skin you’re snuggled up to. If you imagine a more human rasp to the quiet snores by your ear. If the tongue on your cheek is softer and smaller than you’re used to….

Your dating life has been dry for some time.)

Johnny pees in every room of your house at least once, but that’s not entirely surprising - he’s an intact male, after all. (Something you’re trying to, heh, fix. Though the appointment mysteriously keeps getting moved or cancelled.) thankfully, though, once he’s “marked his territory” he starts asking to go outside.

And that’s where the weirdness begins.

The first time you let him out off leash, he shoots off into the woods and only returns once he’s done. You panic, feel so stupid and irresponsible, near tears by the time he gets back. When he sees you upset, say on the porch steps, he darts to your side and leans into you until you calm down.

You stop worrying so much about his little “trips”. Means you dont have to clean up after him to keep the yard tidy after all.

The first time he bounds off into the woods and doesn’t come back after a few minutes, you almost go searching. But.., but well he’s a good boy. An hour later he comes back, scratching at the door.

You’re not sure what he’s up to and it makes you anxious. Don’t like the idea of an “outdoor” dog. All of yours have been in-home pets kept in sight at all times. You’re scared Johnny’s going to get hurt or bitten or hit by a car.

But he always comes back healthy whole.

One hour turns into two, then three. Entire mornings, only returning in the evening to climb into bed. Eventually a whole day. You have someone install a doggy door big enough for Johnny to slip through so that he can come and go as he pleases.

You get used to having a pet that’s only around sometimes, though you sniffle that you miss him when he’s gone. As if understanding, he’ll always lick at you, comforting.

The other weird thing - he demands to climb into bed while you’re doing “self care”. Again, dogs don’t get human social boundaries. He’s allowed on the bed so why is it that he wouldn’t be allowed up even if it’s not bedtime? It’s understandable dog logic, even if you have to stop the first several times it happens.

Keeping him out isn’t an option. Even if you manage to shut the bedroom door on him before he wriggles inside, he makes such a ruckus. Barking, howling, knocking over the trash and scratching at the door. You almost step directly into a puddle of pee once.

You just keep the lights off, close your eyes, and try to ignore the odd brush of fur or gust of air from his nose. Pretend he’s not there at all; and not staring the way he tends to.

Not getting off just isn’t an option. You make your peace with your dog too dumb to even turn away.

(You also learn very quickly to wash your toys as soon as you’re done. Can’t even wait to catch your breath. Calling him nasty makes his tail wag. You know it’s not reasonable to think he’s doing it on purpose.)

“Johnny, drop it!”

Instead of doing that, he drops his front half low, a lacy black pair of underwear in his teeth. He snatched it right out of your laundry basket while you were trying to start the washer.

“I’m going to turn you into a pair of boots. Put those down!”

Chasing a giant wolf-dog for your panties is ill-advised but what are you gonna do? Let him shred your underwear?

“I wanted to wear those out tonight, you bastard!”

You’re supposed to have a date. At this rate, you won’t even be able to shower, never mind get ready. Johnny’s been a nuisance all day, ever since you got off the phone with your mom this morning, updating her about your life and plans for the evening.

Determined, you give up and go to finish the laundry - only to hear a crash and a yelp. Johnny’s knocked over the mirror and stepped in the glass.

“Oh, baby boy,” you groan. “Dammit, John-Bon.”

You text your date for a rain check, then call ahead for the emergency vet. Huh… your first aid kit is much better stocked than you remember.

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[dreaisgrayte]

Hannya Mist | Giyu Tomioka x demon fem!reader

Warnings: aphrodisiac (kind of?), touching, boobs, Giyu's first time seeing boobs (#I'm so proud of him), fight for control, first blow job, mentions of sexual fantasies, and mortal enemies kind of sexy for each other heheheh word count: 2.1k a/n: Giyu... my baby. Virgin just fits you so perfectly, but when you learn you LEARN.

Fireflies float through the air, the footprints left behind by the water hashira marking a path of determination. The evening air is muggy, nearly oppressive as Giyu comes across a strange hut. It’s a small building, barely bigger than a room at the water pillar’s manor. His aqua gaze searches for evidence of a nearby village. It was off to have a hut in such a dangerous part of the woods. Did anyone even live in it? If it were abandoned, he could rest up under its roof for the night.

As if answering his inquiry a light flicks on, illuminating the silhouette of a woman in the window. The mountains swallow the rest of the sunlight, a dim stillness settling in the clearing where Giyu stands stagnant. The water pillar is unaware of the mist swallowing him up. A deep purple fog coats the surrounding area, the tendrils from the mist seemingly beckoning him toward the hut. 

Come closer it almost whispers and against what better judgment he could form through the thick fog – coating his throat and sense of smell – he takes a heavy step forward. His heart is racing despite the calm breeze that rustles the leaves above his head. Dusk painted the sky an array of orange and pink. 

It was like he was on the brink of suffocating. What was with this air anyway? Had it always been this stifling? Giyu sucks in a steady breath, the purple mist filling his lungs. He feels a tingle in his lower abdomen and his brows furrow as it burns hot, making him take pause in his advance toward the hut. 

His limbs feel shaky as he brings a hand to his forehead. His other hand grips the hilt of his sword as if that would stop him from sinking to his knees. The slick magma grows, tying his muscles in a buzzing feeling that nearly makes him want to rip it out. He’s panting, the hand that was on his forehead dropping to his mouth as he bites down on a finger. 

Giyu Tomioka, the stoic and quiet water hashira, was unnervingly horny. He could feel himself grow stiff in his breeches. His throat bobs as he shakily shifts his legs apart to allow more room for his swelling cock. He’d never experienced such an overwhelming sense before, only hearing about it from the other hashira. Sex never interested him, it was a distraction from the ultimate goal of destroying all demons – but as his eyes flutter shut, all Giyu wants to do is find a wet warm cunt to plunge his aching cock into. 

Night has captured the clearing, dusting the ground with moonlight. With the way he felt now, it wouldn’t be safe for him to enter the hut. Not with a woman supposedly alone inside. This damn fog was making him crazy, but the damned door swings open, revealing you.

His hand releases the hilt of his blade.

You are in a blush pink yukata, hands folded in front of you, and a hannya mask covering your face. Your hair flutters around the mask, your head cocking to the right as you peer through the small eye holes at the encumbered water hashira. Beneath your lips pull tight into a smirk. 

Giyu had a string of thoughts enter his head, one specifically that he would surely spend the rest of his life wondering about. What did you look like under that mask? A mask crafted to take on the appearance of a female demon consumed by jealousy. Your mask is made out of wood, the bark left jagged and dangerous. Two pointed horns sprouted from the sides, weaving into your own hair. The brows are drawn together in protruding masses. Sharp teeth decorate the open mouth that’s under a large nose. 

The water pillar takes a tentative step forward, your presence calling him into your den. “Excuse me, miss, I don’t mean to intrude, but I’ve had a long journey.” He pauses, his head spinning with obvious reasons as to why he should not enter your hut. 

You step to the side, though, slowly righting your head. “You need a place to rest. To be safe from demons.” The mask muffles your voice, but Giyu revels in the way its melodic tone enters his ears.

Just for a little bit, he promises himself. The water hashira enters through the threshold of the hut. Inside is a raised wooden platform with a mat pushed into the corner – folded bedding placed on top neatly. Beside the mat is a small table with a candle and tray of steamed rice, vegetables, pork, and a cup of piping hot tea. A cushion rests directly in front of the table, a rug underneath that. In the middle of the dirt area is a cooking pot – storage closets lining the wall and a flickering orange lantern that lights up the whole room on a bench. 

His eyes flick to how you stand by the door – he only assumes you’re still watching him by the way the mask faces his general direction. “Have I interrupted your dinner?” His voice is soft and playful. 

You shake your head gently so as not to disturb the placement of your mask, then step toward him. “Dinner has just begun.” You reply, gesturing to the steaming food with your head. “Please, eat.” 

The ravenette’s mind is fuzzy as he sets his nichirin sword against the far wall. Then, slipping out of his zori, he steps onto the wooden platform. He’s surprised by how comfortable the cushion is under his knees. The food looks delicious, but he stiffens when you come to kneel next to him. Your body was mostly hidden by the yukata, but the hashira imagines how exactly he would lavish you – if he knew how. 

He’s stricken with shame – for having such thoughts with you next to him and for his lack of knowledge about sexual experiences. He was disciplined in how the body functioned, training for years on how to perfect muscle density and stances. He clears his thoughts of the wicked images, picking up the chopsticks that are next to the bowl of rice. “Thank you for the food,” He takes a mouthful of rice, humming in satisfaction at the warm consistency. Giyu peers at you while chewing away on the food. “If you do not mind me asking, why do you wear such a mask?” He was genuinely curious, but then again, he was curious why you had to be clothed as well. 

You tilt your head. “To hide my identity. Safety.” You answer and as Giyu swallows another mouthful of rice he feels that sickening feeling return. This time it feels like it’s coursing through his very bloodstream. He sets the chopsticks down and you lean forward, raising your hand to pull your mask down. “Are you okay my Lord? That is what they call you right?” Vibrant eyes narrow at him and fangs accompany the twisted smile on your face. 

Giyu is panting, clutching his throat as it burns with sensations foreign to him. “D-demon,” He begins, lips curling in disgust. “What did you,” He hacks up spit and winces at the fire in his esophagus. “Do to me?” 

Your lips curl in a smirk, crawling closer to him. Giyu can’t move back as you slither toward him, placing your clawed hand on his thigh. “Mmm, well I’m not the one lusting after a stranger.” You tip your head to the side curiously as you graze the indent of his bulge. The ravenette hisses at the way he shifts into your touch. This earns a delighted laugh from you. “I am a demon, the thing you promise to eradicate from this plane of existence, yet you yearn for my touch. It’s…adorable.” Your fingers press firmly into his erection now, Giyu’s eyes squeezing shut. 

His body feels like it’s being electrified as you trace the imprint of his cock. “You-You did this to me,” he grunts out. The fog must’ve had some sort of aphrodisiac in it. He’s full of rage and disgust, but also lust. 

You giggle, meeting his heated gaze – the blue in his eyes darkening to almost black. “Yeah? Doesn’t look like you want me to stop,” Your fingers reach for the hem of his breeches. “You smell like you’re on the verge of cumming. Are you pure?” Giyu’s heart thumps wildly in his ribcage as you drag your nose up his neck, your tongue darting out to taste the line of his jaw. You return to his line of sight with a wide grin. 

The water hashira’s cheeks warm with the acknowledgment. “Please, help me.” You almost want to take pity on the whimpering man in front of you, but who’s to say once your mist fades away that he won’t drive that pretty katana through your heart? He was… exceptionally fit and had withheld this much torture. 

You start to peel off your yukata, edging the sleeves down your shoulders. “If you don’t satisfy me, I’ll kill you.” Giyu’s skin itches to be warmed by yours as the yukata billows to the floor. He’s never seen a demon become shy, but that could be a result of him gawking at your large breasts. The way they rest on your chest brings his gaze down to your navel, then dips to your thighs that press together. 

After a beat of him staring, you grab his hand and place it on your chest. His brows furrow as the skin molds around his thick fingers. Your own brows knit together as a stained moan escapes your lips. “Barely started and you’re already a mess,” Giyu quips, growing more comfortable with the way your nipple brushes against his palm as he squishes your breast. 

You huff, positioning yourself closer. “It’s just been a while.” The hashira tuts as his fingers find your nipple, rolling it between the pads of his thumb and pointer finger. You throw your head back and groan. “Fuck,” 

He was growing confident and he hadn’t even gotten to the finale yet. You reach out to stroke his thigh, a smirk twitching on your lips. His ministrations halt, moving his arms out of the way so you’ll have more room. Your ears pound as you gaze upon the sheer size of his cock and some of it was hidden underneath the cloth of his breeches. He gets up on his knees, working them off his hips. Hard pelvis lines lead to the star of the show – the untouched cock of the formidable water hashira. It is fucking beautiful. A pale pink head that’s leaking precum and a hungry look in his eyes. 

Though the very thought of having a demon’s mouth around his cock should seem like a very bad idea, Giyu runs his hand through your hair, fisting around it. “You’re gonna wrap that pretty mouth of yours around my cock. Got that, demon whore?” 

To you, that should sound like a threat. You should kill this hashira and reap the rewards, but you allow him to push your head down to his stiff length. For someone who was supposedly pure, he acted like he’d done this before. 

The moment your hand wraps around him, his eyes roll back in his head. It’s glorious, the feeling of your palm against his length, pumping up and down. He goes wild when you graze the slit of his tip, rubbing the pre along his cock. Without warning you dip your mouth onto his tip, using the flat of your tongue to swipe at the vein running up the underside. He groans, shoving your head further down. 

Hearing you sputter and choke on his cock is damn near hell sent. Spit drips from your mouth and warmth radiates from you trying to breathe. He’s hitting the back of your throat, your fangs dragging along the side of length. Giyu shivers, the feeling painfully pleasurable mixed into a bowl of fucking salvation. 

“M’so close,” There’s a fire located in the pit of his abdomen and maybe this is where demons are born – in this hell of angelic desire flooding to one place. That one place happens to be your mouth as Giyu jerks his hips up into your mouth, cumming hard. Spittle and his creamy mess mix as he pulls your mouth off him. 

Of course, you lick your lips and swallow what you can with a swollen smirk, but that falters when you realize he’s orgasmed. The one thing to break your mist is to feed into the desire. That would mean Giyu is clear of mind and probably going to cut your head from your-

His hand wraps around your throat, shoving you to the ground. He hovers over your naked body, panting crazily. “My tricks seem to have run dry,” You garble out. 

Giyu clicks his tongue, gazing down at your plush skin, regarding the view. “Ah, but I’m not finished yet, demon.” 

[theonottsbxtch]

HAUNTED - OP81

an: i went and visited the notre dame of reims not too long ago and was listening to power by isak danielson and had this idea pop into mind, obviously heavy religous themes so be warned! this is not for everyone!

wc: 5.3k

The cathedral loomed against the dark sky, its spires clawing upward as though trying to reach something infinite. Oscar stared at it from across the snow-dusted square, his breath a pale cloud in the cold night. He shouldn’t be here. He hadn’t stepped into a church since moving to the city, hadn’t prayed properly in months, and yet his feet carried him forward as if tethered by some unseen force.

Inside, the air was heavy with stillness, thick with incense and the faint echoes of the choir that had long since gone home. He walked past empty pews, his steps faltering as he approached the altar. Candles burned low in their holders, their flickering light casting long shadows on the vaulted ceiling above.

He sank to his knees, the cold stone biting through his trousers, and clasped his hands together. For a moment, he said nothing. He only closed his eyes, his pulse loud in his ears.

“God,” he finally whispered, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if you’re even… there. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard, but…” He trailed off, swallowing back the knot in his throat. “I can’t feel it anymore. Not like I used to.”

He thought back to his childhood, to Sunday mornings spent in stiff pews with his family. Back then, faith had felt easy, like breathing. Now it felt like dragging himself through quicksand. Ever since coming to university, he’d found it harder to reconcile the things he’d learned—the questions about the universe, about suffering, about people—with the quiet certainty he used to have.

He leaned forward, his forehead almost touching the altar, and whispered, “If you’re listening, show me something. Anything. Please.”

The silence pressed down on him, thick and unyielding. For a long time, there was nothing—just the distant creak of old wood and the faint rustle of wind outside. And then—

A voice.

“You don’t sound so sure about that.”

Oscar froze. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes snapped open. The words hadn’t come from his head; they had echoed, faint but clear, around the cavernous space.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice unsteady.

Nothing.

He turned his head, scanning the shadows that stretched along the cathedral’s walls. No one was there.

“You’re not really expecting an answer, are you?”

It was the same voice, low and feminine, almost teasing. It came from nowhere and everywhere all at once, threading through the silence like smoke.

Oscar’s pulse raced. He pushed himself to his feet, his knees trembling. “Who’s there?” he demanded, though his voice wavered.

“Funny,” the voice said, light with amusement. “Shouldn’t you already know? Isn’t that the whole point of all this?”

Oscar clenched his fists. “What—what do you mean?”

“You came here looking for God,” the voice continued, ignoring his question. “You kneeled at his altar. You asked him to answer you. And yet, you doubt the second you hear a voice. Typical.”

“I—I don’t…” He faltered, his throat dry. His heart pounded as he searched the shadows, but no figure emerged, no source revealed itself. He felt dizzy, his mind torn between disbelief and something he couldn’t name.

“Maybe,” the voice mused, growing softer now, “the problem isn’t that you can’t hear him. Maybe it’s that you don’t want to.”

Oscar stumbled back, his hands gripping the edge of a pew for support. “This isn’t real,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m imagining this. I have to be.”

The voice laughed, a sound both soft and sharp, like silk sliding over broken glass. “Oh, you poor thing. You’re not imagining me. But don’t worry—I’ll be here. After all, you came to me, didn’t you?”

The air grew still again. The weight that had settled over him lifted, leaving behind a suffocating silence. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring into the dark corners of the cathedral, his body trembling with unease.

And yet, as he finally turned to leave, the voice lingered in his mind, curling around his thoughts like smoke.

Oscar told himself he wouldn’t go back.

For three days, he avoided the cathedral, telling himself it had all been a fluke, a trick of his exhausted mind. Exams, late nights, too much coffee—surely that was all it had been. But the voice lingered, curling around his thoughts, a ghost that wouldn’t let go.

“Maybe the problem isn’t that you can’t hear him. Maybe it’s that you don’t want to.”

Her words played on repeat, eroding what little resolve he had. By the fourth night, he found himself standing in front of the cathedral again, his breath fogging in the cold air. The weight of the day had followed him here, the questions he didn’t have answers for pressing down on his shoulders.

He stepped inside.

The same heavy stillness greeted him, the faint scent of candle wax and incense wrapping around him like a shroud. His footsteps echoed, the sound almost too loud in the empty space. He made his way to the altar again, his heart thudding in time with each step.

When he knelt, he hesitated. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “Are you there?”

Silence.

He closed his eyes, his hands tightening into fists. “If you’re real, if you’re not just… something in my head, talk to me. Please.”

“Back so soon?”

His eyes snapped open, his heart seizing at the sound. The voice was richer this time, less distant, and carried a hint of mockery.

“You’ve been thinking about me,” she said. “Haven’t you?”

Oscar’s breath quickened. He stood abruptly, looking around, his eyes darting to every corner of the cathedral. “Where are you?”

“Right here,” she said, but there was no source—just her voice, echoing faintly. “Though you don’t really need to see me, do you? You came for my words, not my face.”

“Why do you keep… doing this?” His voice cracked, frustration creeping in. “Why won’t you just tell me who you are?”

“Why does it matter?” Her tone was light, almost playful. “You’re not here for me. You’re here because you’re lost. You’ve been lost for a while, haven’t you?”

He opened his mouth to protest but couldn’t find the words.

“Look at you,” she continued, her voice softening. “You don’t even know what you believe anymore. You ask for answers, but you don’t really want them. You pray, but only when it’s convenient. And when you don’t get what you want, you turn your back on the one you claim to worship. Isn’t that what’s been happening?”

“That’s not fair,” Oscar said through gritted teeth.

“No?” She laughed quietly, the sound low and smooth, filling the space like smoke. “You’re angry because I’m right. You don’t need God—you need someone to blame. You always have.”

Oscar staggered back, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. “That’s not true,” he muttered. “I—I’ve tried.”

“Tried?” Her voice hardened, the edge of a sneer creeping in. “Tried to what? To follow rules you don’t even believe in? To pretend that the rituals mean anything to you anymore?”

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “Stop it.”

“But it’s the truth,” she pressed, unrelenting. “You don’t feel God anymore. You don’t even know if he’s there. And deep down, doesn’t that make you wonder—doesn’t that make you furious? What kind of God would leave you like this, empty and doubting?”

Oscar stumbled back to a pew and sat down heavily, burying his face in his hands. He wanted to scream, to shout her down, but her words had opened something raw and vulnerable inside him.

“I just want to believe again,” he said finally, his voice breaking.

The silence stretched. He thought she might have gone, but then her voice returned, softer this time.

“Belief isn’t enough,” she said. “It’s never been enough. You’re chasing something that doesn’t exist anymore—not for you. The question isn’t whether you can believe. The question is, what will you do now that you can’t?”

Her words wrapped around him like a noose, pulling tighter with each syllable. He wanted to argue, to say something, but all he could do was sit there, staring at the altar, the flicker of candlelight reflected in his wide, unblinking eyes.

And then she was gone.

The air felt heavier in her absence, the weight of her words lingering long after the sound of her voice faded.

Oscar sat there for hours, the cold seeping into his skin, until finally, he stood and walked out into the night.

But he knew he would come back.

The next evening Oscar’s heart raced in his chest as he made his way back to the cathedral. The questions, the doubt, the unbearable weight of it all had settled into his bones. He hadn’t felt so lost, so unmoored in years. Every time he closed his eyes, her voice echoed in his mind—taunting, coaxing, pulling him deeper into something he didn’t fully understand.

“You’re not here for answers,” she had said. “You’re here because you’re lost.”

And she was right. He didn’t want to pray. He didn’t want faith. He wanted the answers she promised, the ones that could make everything clear again, the ones that would release him from this suffocating uncertainty.

The cathedral was empty again when he entered, the cold marble floor stretching endlessly beneath his feet. He walked down the aisle, each step heavier than the last. He couldn’t fight the urge to kneel again. It was like he was drawn here against his will, but not by God—by her.

“Please,” he whispered into the quiet. “Just… tell me what to do. I’m begging you.”

Silence.

He felt ridiculous. He’d prayed to an absent God and now he was pleading with a voice that wasn’t even real. Or was it? Was he losing his mind? Was he hearing things?

And then, just as before, a voice slithered into the silence, its warmth familiar now, like the touch of an old lover.

“You’re so desperate, Oscar.”

Her words slithered under his skin. He clenched his fists, his pulse quickening.

“You keep asking for a sign,” she continued, the voice low, coaxing. “But what if the sign is right in front of you? What if all you need to do is stop pretending that you care about what’s right and wrong, that you care about what they told you to believe?”

His stomach churned. “What do you want from me?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” The voice was near now, a breath against his ear. “You’re asking for freedom, Oscar. Freedom to choose. To feel something, anything, other than this hollow ache.”

He turned sharply, but there was no one. Nothing but empty pews and the altar bathed in candlelight.

“I don’t know anymore. I just… I don’t know what to believe,” he confessed, his voice faltering. His hands tightened into fists, knuckles white. “I can’t do this. I can’t live this way.”

“You can,” she purred. “You already are. You just haven’t accepted it yet. You’re not some saint. You’ve been waiting for sin, Oscar. You’ve been craving it.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head violently. “That’s not true. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to hold on. I don’t want to let go.”

“Why?” The voice was full of dark amusement. “Why not? What are you so afraid of? The truth? That you’re already lost?”

Her words gnawed at him, scraping at the edges of everything he believed, everything he had held on to. It was like the air itself had thickened, turning oppressive with the weight of his own thoughts, his own doubts.

“Please…” His voice cracked, barely audible. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what’s real. Please…”

And that’s when it happened.

A rustle of fabric. A step.

And then, from the shadows of the altar, she emerged.

Oscar’s breath caught in his throat. She was real. She was there.

Her feet were bare, the cold stone floor seeming to do nothing to her as she moved effortlessly, gliding toward him. Her dress was tattered, torn at the hem, the fabric clinging to her like it had once been something much more whole, now undone. Her hair was tangled, falling in waves around her face, but her eyes—they burned into him.

Her smile was a slow curve of satisfaction. She was the embodiment of temptation, of sin. Every movement was deliberate, seductively graceful, and Oscar couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

She stood before him, just out of reach. Her eyes flickered over him, a knowing glint in them, as though she could see right through the fragile walls he’d built around himself.

If there had to be an embodiment of sin Oscar thought, his mind awash with overwhelming clarity and an unsettling recognition, it was her.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “I thought you were…”

“A figment of your imagination?” She laughed softly, the sound like music in his ears. “Oh no, Oscar. I’m very real.” She took a step closer, her bare feet making no sound on the cold floor. “And so are you. You’re real in a way they told you not to be. But it’s okay, you’re safe here with me. Don’t you want that?”

Oscar’s breath hitched, the raw frustration spilling over as his heart raced. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

She reached out, just a fingertip’s distance from his face, and her touch was like fire. Her eyes locked on his, never wavering. “Stop fighting it. You know what you want. You don’t have to be afraid of it. You don’t have to keep pretending.”

His pulse thundered in his ears. Everything in him screamed to walk away, to turn his back, but his body betrayed him. He felt the pull of her presence like an anchor, holding him in place. He felt his walls crumbling, each word she spoke eating away at the last bit of resistance he had left.

“I’m not afraid of what I want,” he whispered hoarsely, staring at her trembling hand so close to his face. “I’m afraid of what you’re asking me to do.”

She smiled, that dark, knowing smile, and leaned in just enough for him to feel the heat of her breath.

“You already know,” she murmured. “You’ve been begging for me to show you the way. Now let go. You don’t need God to tell you what’s right or wrong. You already know what you want. You’ve always known.”

Oscar stared at her, a sick mixture of desire and fear building inside him. His breath came faster now, his hands shaking. “And if I do it… If I let go… What will happen?”

She gave him that smile again, the one that felt like a promise. “Everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Oscar’s hands hovered just short of touching her, the heat radiating from her skin a warning and an invitation all at once. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only watched him with that unshakable smile as if daring him to take the final step.

He pulled back at the last second, his breath trembling in his chest. “I—I can’t.”

Her laugh was soft, almost pitying. “Of course you can. You’ve already crossed the line, Oscar.” She tilted her head, her hair catching the dim light like a halo twisted in shadow. “You’re not here for salvation. You came back because you want this.”

He stumbled backward, his hands falling to his sides. His heart pounded as he turned his gaze to the altar, the flickering candles, the cold stone beneath his feet. This isn’t who I am, he thought, but the words rang hollow even in his own mind.

“You’re still clinging to the idea of being good,” she said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward him. “But why? Look at where that’s gotten you.” Her voice softened, a whisper that seemed to seep into the marrow of his bones. “You’ve spent so long trying to be something you’re not, denying what you feel, what you want. And for what? To please a God who won’t answer you? To follow rules you don’t even believe in anymore?”

“Stop,” Oscar said weakly, his voice cracking.

She stepped closer, closing the space between them with agonizing patience. “You prayed to God, and I answered. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that why you keep coming back—to hear my voice?”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have an answer for her because the truth of her words was unbearable. She was right. He had come back for her, and the realisation was like a dagger twisting in his chest.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Nothing you didn’t already want,” she replied, her voice velvet smooth. She reached out and traced a finger down his arm, the contact electric, sending shivers through him. “You’re not fighting me, Oscar. You’re fighting yourself. But you don’t have to anymore. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Oscar closed his eyes tightly, as though shutting her out could silence the turmoil inside him. But her voice was still there, pressing against his thoughts, filling every crevice of his doubt.

“I don’t want this,” he said, though the words felt empty, forced.

Her laughter was soft, haunting. “Don’t you?”

Oscar turned away from her, his hands gripping the back of a pew for support. The air felt thick, suffocating, and the weight of her presence pressed down on him. He thought of his childhood, the simplicity of belief, the comfort of prayers whispered in the dark. He thought of his family, the faith they carried like a torch in the darkness, the certainty they seemed to possess. And then he thought of her—the way her words cut through him, the way her presence made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years.

“I just want it to make sense,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I just want to understand why everything feels so empty. Why nothing I do is ever enough.”

She stepped beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body. “Because you’re searching for something that doesn’t exist. The world isn’t black and white, Oscar. There’s no grand plan, no divine reward waiting for you at the end of all this suffering. There’s only the here and now, the choices you make, the things you take for yourself.”

He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers for something—an answer, a reason, anything to hold on to. But what he saw there was something untamable, something wild and free, and it terrified him as much as it drew him in.

“You make it sound so easy,” he said bitterly. “Just give in. Just forget everything I’ve ever believed in.”

She smiled, her lips curling in that maddening, knowing way. “It is easy. The hard part is letting go of the guilt.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But once you do, you’ll wonder why you ever held on to it in the first place.”

Oscar’s breath hitched as her words settled over him like a heavy fog. He felt himself unraveling, his carefully constructed walls crumbling with every moment he spent in her presence.

“What happens if I give in?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Her eyes glimmered, and her smile widened. “Then you’ll finally be free.”

He didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath his feet. He wanted to pull back, to retreat to the safety of everything he’d known, but the pull of her words, her presence, was impossible to resist.

Without thinking, he reached for her, his fingers brushing her wrist. Her skin was warm, impossibly so, and the contact sent a jolt through him.

“See?” she said softly, her voice carrying both triumph and tenderness. “It’s not so hard, is it?”

He wanted to answer, but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was stare at her, his mind a swirling chaos of fear and desire.

In that moment, he knew he was no longer asking for forgiveness. He was asking for damnation.

Oscar’s hand lingered against her wrist, the warmth of her skin pulling him closer even as a small voice in the back of his mind screamed for him to stop. But that voice was faint now, drowned out by the thrum of his heartbeat, by the way she looked at him—calm, confident, and utterly unrepentant.

He felt his resolve crumbling as she stepped closer, her breath mingling with his. “This is what you want, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice low and smooth, wrapping around him like a shroud. “Not what they told you to want. Not what the rules demand. Just this. Just us.”

He shook his head, though his fingers tightened around her wrist instead of letting go. “This isn’t right,” he said, but the words lacked conviction.

“‘Right.’” She said the word like it was a joke, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “You’ve spent your whole life chasing what’s ‘right.’ And where has it gotten you? Alone. Miserable. Doubting everything.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Isn’t it time to stop chasing something that doesn’t exist?”

Her other hand brushed against his chest, and he froze, every nerve in his body igniting at her touch. She tilted her head, her lips only a breath away from his. “You’re free now, Oscar. Don’t you feel it?”

He wanted to argue, to push her away, but Oscar didn’t have to think twice. With a broken, desperate cry, he closed the gap between them, his hands reaching tightening—longing for whatever she would offer him.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, and overwhelming. It wasn’t tender—it was consuming, like she was claiming him, drawing him deeper into her world with every second. Her hands slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, and his arms found their way around her waist, pulling her closer despite the warning bells ringing faintly in his mind.

“This isn’t happening,” he thought. But it was.

The kiss deepened, and with it, the last vestiges of his guilt began to dissolve. He wanted her—needed her—and the need drowned out everything else. The cold stone walls of the cathedral, the flicker of candles, even the faint ache of doubt faded into the background.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “You’ve wanted this for so long. Don’t deny it now.”

“I…” His voice broke, and she silenced him with another kiss, her fingers tightening in his hair.

They stumbled together toward the altar, his back hitting the edge of the marble as she pressed against him. Her torn dress shifted with her movements, and he caught glimpses of skin that made his breath hitch, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“This is freedom,” she murmured against his lips, her hands tugging at the fabric of his shirt. “This is what they never wanted you to have. To feel. To take.”

Her words blurred into the haze of sensation as he gave in completely. There was no thought, no hesitation now—only the press of her body against his, the taste of her lips, the warmth of her skin beneath his hands.

Time seemed to warp, the sacred space around them turning into something altogether different—no longer a place of prayer and penance but of raw, unrestrained passion. The flicker of candlelight cast their shadows against the walls, their movements slow and deliberate, each touch and kiss erasing another piece of the life Oscar had clung to for so long.

When they finally took a minute to breathe, the silence returned, thick and heavy, but it was no longer oppressive. It was a silence filled with her presence, her lingering warmth, and the faint scent of sweat and incense that clung to the air.

She sat beside him on the cold stone floor, her dress slipping off one shoulder, her bare skin glowing faintly in the candlelight. Her eyes gleamed as she watched him, her smile triumphant. “Now you understand,” she said softly, brushing her fingers against his jaw.

Oscar didn’t respond at first. He was staring at his hands, trembling slightly, the enormity of what he’d done crashing down on him.

“I—what have I done?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“You’ve finally done something for yourself,” she said, her voice full of satisfaction. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And it felt good, didn’t it? It felt right.”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, filled with a storm of guilt and confusion. “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t…” He trailed off, his voice faltering as the weight of her gaze pinned him in place.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said with a soft laugh, running her fingers through his hair. “Stop trying to fit this into their rules, their expectations. You’re free now, Oscar. You don’t have to answer to anyone—not God, not anyone. You finally took what you wanted. And doesn’t that feel better than all the empty prayers and hollow rituals?”

He wanted to deny it, to tell her she was wrong, but the words caught in his throat. Because she wasn’t wrong. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel empty. He didn’t feel numb. He felt alive, every nerve in his body humming with the memory of her touch, her kiss, her presence.

But beneath that, deep in the pit of his stomach, something else lingered—a quiet, gnawing fear.

“Am I free?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

She smiled, her eyes glinting with something he couldn’t quite name. “Of course you are.”

But as she leaned in to kiss him again, the thought echoed in his mind, louder this time, impossible to ignore. Then why does it feel like I’ve just been chained?

Days passed, but Oscar couldn’t shake the heaviness that clung to him. It wasn’t guilt in the way he thought he might feel—it wasn’t clean, wasn’t purifying. It was sickening. His chest felt tight, his skin hot and clammy. He spent hours staring at the ceiling of his small dorm room, unable to sleep, haunted by the flicker of candlelight and her touch.

Every time he closed his eyes, she was there.

Her voice. Her smile. Her bare feet against the cold stone floor.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake the memory of her laughter echoing in his ears. He had stopped going to class. He barely ate. Nothing seemed to matter anymore—not the rules he had once clung to, not the promises he had made to himself, to God.

And yet, the weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating.

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. He needed to go back—not to her, but to the cathedral. Maybe the quiet would bring him peace. Maybe confession would bring him clarity. Maybe… something, anything, could make him feel clean again.

The cathedral was dim and cold when he entered, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. He glanced at the altar, his stomach twisting at the memory of what had happened there. He couldn’t even kneel. Instead, he turned toward the confessional, his legs shaking as he approached the wooden booth.

Sliding inside, he closed the door behind him, the faint creak of the hinges echoing in the silence. For a moment, he sat in the dark, his hands trembling as he pressed them together in prayer.

When the screen slid open, he startled, staring at the shadowed outline of the priest beyond the latticework.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Oscar whispered, his voice raw and shaky.

“How long has it been since your last confession?” the priest asked, his tone calm and steady.

Oscar hesitated, swallowing hard. “Months. Maybe longer.”

The priest nodded, waiting.

“I… I don’t even know where to begin,” Oscar admitted, his voice cracking. “I feel sick. I’ve done something terrible. Something unforgivable.”

“There is no sin that cannot be forgiven, my son,” the priest said gently. “God’s mercy is infinite.”

Oscar laughed bitterly, shaking his head even though the priest couldn’t see him. “I don’t think even God would forgive this.”

“Tell me,” the priest urged.

Oscar’s breathing grew uneven, and the words spilled out of him like water from a cracked dam. “I gave in to temptation. I let myself… I let myself fall. I’ve broken every promise I ever made to God, to myself. I sinned, Father. I sinned in the worst way.”

The priest was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, measured. “Do you repent? Do you seek absolution?”

“I don’t know,” Oscar whispered. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

The priest let out a soft sigh. “It is not unusual to feel lost, my son. To question your faith. But know this: sin does not define you. It is what you choose to do next that matters.”

Oscar opened his mouth to respond, but the priest slid the screen shut, his voice cutting off.

Moments later, Oscar heard the door on the priest’s side open and shut, the soft echo of his footsteps fading into the cathedral.

Oscar stayed in the booth, his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing.

And then he heard it.

Her voice.

Soft, lilting, and full of mockery. “Oscar. Did that make you feel better?”

His blood ran cold. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, no. You’re not real. You’re not here.”

Her laughter filled the booth, low and rich, curling around him like smoke. “Oh, I’m here, Oscar. I’ve always been here. You can’t run from me.”

He slammed his fists against the wooden walls, his voice breaking. “Stop it. Just stop. Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Leave you alone?” she repeated, feigning innocence. “You’re the one who came back here, remember? You’re the one who begged for my voice. For my touch. Don’t act like this isn’t what you wanted.”

He covered his ears, shaking his head. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be a sinner.”

Her voice softened, almost tender. “But you are, Oscar. You always were. You just needed someone to show you.”

His hands dropped, and he leaned forward, his voice raw with desperation. “You made me do this. You made me… You made me ruin everything. I’m a sinner because of you.”

She laughed again, light and airy, like he’d told her a joke. “I made you do this? Oh, Oscar, no.” Her voice turned sharp, cutting. “I never made you do anything. You’re the one who kissed me. You’re the one who touched me. You’re the one who begged for it.”

He clenched his fists, tears streaming down his face. “You lied to me. You said I’d feel free.”

“And don’t you?” she countered, her voice curling with amusement. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”

“No,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, I’m not free. I’m broken.”

“Broken,” she echoed, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “No, Oscar. You’re not broken. You’re finally whole. You just don’t know how to live with it yet.”

Her laughter faded into silence, leaving him alone in the darkness of the booth, shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He didn’t leave the confessional for a long time. When he finally stepped out, the cathedral was empty, the air cold and heavy. But he could still feel her there, lingering in the shadows, waiting for him.

And he knew—no matter how far he ran, no matter how many times he prayed—he would never escape her.

[syoddeye]

Seconds. Ghost x f!Reader.

Tidal disruption events occur when a star passes too close to a supermassive black hole, and is pulled apart by the black hole's tidal force. AT2018fyk is the name of a tidal disruption event in which a supermassive black hole devoured a star, then came back for seconds.

He doesn't believe in fate, but he believes people are creatures of habit.

And what luck, she is.

She slips into the pub quietly, her arrival swiftly overshadowed by the crowd. Rainwater trickles off her jacket, puddling on the wood beneath her as she keeps her hood drawn, hiding her face until she finds her usual corner. There, at the end of the bar where it bends into the wall, she sits, peeling off the outer layer to reveal the dark, muted clothing beneath. Barely a sliver of skin exposed. A mouse, just as skittish and meek as he remembers.

The glasses are new. Thin frames, like a librarian. His fingers twitch with the thought of plucking them off her face. The thing in his chest purrs.

He could move. Let her see him, watch the fear bloom on that soft face of hers in real-time. But no. He's not in a rush. He's had days to settle, to breathe. To cram himself back into the worn shell of Simon.

No more adrenaline coursing through his veins, no caffeine pills burning his insides. Just paracetamol and ibuprofen dulling the ache in his bones. But there's an ache deeper than that, which no pill or tablet can touch.

She isn't supposed to be here. Not again. He told her that when he pulled out and rolled her over.

If I see you again, it's for keeps.

The hunger pulls. 

Rears its ugly head at the sight of her and gnashes its teeth.

Inevitable, inescapable, it tears him apart in violent tides. His ribs press too tight around what wants her, threatening to snap open like a steel trap. It pulls his reason gossamer thin, then shreds it. Patience crumbling into dust.

This mercy he's giving her? Letting her have one round in peace? It's the most of what he'll be able to give her.

He thought he'd had his fill. Thought she'd be smart enough to heed his warning. He had ripped her apart, drank down the heat of her, and left nothing but the cooling remnants of a weepy girl who could barely get the words thank you out of her mouth.

He remembers how she burned, coming undone in his hands. Whined about too much and too big. And yet, she lived.

Clever thing, piecing herself together while he rinsed off, turning tail out of the dingy motel room. Hurtled right out of his reach. 

He never had the chance to track her down, shipping out the next day. Never the chance to change his mind.

He shrugged it off. He could live with it. He'd learned to live with a lot of things he wished were different.

But his hunger is a thing with memory. And as soon as he sees her, nursing a drink with her nose in a book—he knows he's not done.

Some things circle back whether they mean to or not.

[arcanarix]

anal, analingus

Yandere Birthday Boy Suguru Geto is the man of the hour. It’s his special day, and what better way to spend the occasion than with your face smushed into the pillow and your ass up in the air for him to feast on for hours?

You can’t wriggle your way out of his grasp. You have to bear it… after all, you can’t be let off without giving your present to him. The best for last, yeah? Besides whether you admit it to yourself or not, Geto knows you love the way his infuriatingly long tongue plugs up your ass and flicks over your spongy, gummy walls.

You have grown accustomed to the intrusion, sure. You have learned that you are quite adaptable since Geto stole you away. But that doesn’t mean—

“—don’t lie to me, filthy girl,” you’d hear him snarl between him plunging his tongue in and out of your hole. “You love this as much as when I fuck you here, don’t you?”

He twists the long muscle inside, and you practically squeal as you thrash about beneath him but something secures you in place. Two fingers rub your folds as more of your slick builds and builds. More and more swipes of his tongue against your crack and around your rim before he fucks the slimy muscle inside again and you’re crying, begging, but Suguru isn’t quite sold because you haven’t even come yet.

And who is to say he ever stops at one? Who is to stay he even plans to stop?

Not when you’re just the sweetest like this, drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth and dribbling down your chin, leaving a small pool on the sheets. Your face flushed such a brilliantly flattering shade of red that he has half a mind to snap a photo and make a polaroid of this moment. When you’re so utterly helpless, hapless, completely at his mercy. Nothing else you can do except beg or whine and babble completely incoherent things. His dick is so hard at the sight but he doesn’t even need to be touched. (Not right now anyway.)

“Suguru—!” you cry as you come, the hand on your cunt patting the sensitive skin. The lewd squelching of your slick makes you so embarrassed and you can’t even put it into words. You lose track of how long you're in this position; your body going numb until finally, finally he retracts his merciless tongue with a satisfied sigh.

But you're definitely not out of the woods yet; it's never that simple with Geto as he's patting the tip of his cock between your pretty cheeks.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he taunts, staring down at you with that heinous twinkle in his deep indigo eyes.

"H-happy birthday, Suguru..." you rasp before you choke on a gasp as he sinks his cock deep into you in one go.

[greenfiend]

Lonnie Byers

why he is far more significant in Stranger Things than we are led to believe...

“The scariest monsters are human beings and what we will do to each other.”

This post is very much inspired by @/kaypeace21's post on Lonnie from 2021. Just so you guys know, kaypeace21 theorized Byler LONG before most of us. She has a pretty good track record for predicting aspects of Stranger Things. This post will include some of her brilliant finds and will add even more evidence that was introduced to us in ST4 and TFS.

Warning: this post discusses some VERY dark and mature themes. I will allude to dark stuff at first but will leave the darkest stuff below the cut.

CW: Ab*se, CSA, substance use, DV...

The name Lonnie (nickname of Lawrence/Laurence) has two specific relevant meanings:

Lion and Oak tree. x

(Some symbolism examples: Nancy compares the Demogorgon (also titled: Deep Father) to a lion in ST1. In ST3, Holly notices trees (what looks like oak trees...) and looks frightened.)

For every mention of trees and predatory cats/lions I will add 🌳and 🦁 emojis respectively.

Keep both of these in mind as both predatory animals/cats and (creepy) trees are common occurrences within Stranger Things. I will touch on both of these throughout the post.

Anyway, lets start with the surface level stuff we know then I'll touch more on the darker subtext.

So, who is Lonnie Byers?

When we first hear the name Lonnie, he is brought up as a potential suspect by Hopper in Will's disappearance.

Joyce is quick to dismiss him as a suspect but does give us some important information about his character:

Lonnie "used to say [Will] was queer. Called him a fag." Whether or not he would say this to Will's face... he's obviously, not a great guy or father.

Joyce and Lonnie are divorced. She hadn't heard from him in about a year.

He doesn't like cops.

In The First Shadow, we actually learn that this is not the first time Lonnie is seen as a suspect in a case. (spoilers in next paragraph)

Lonnie was mistaken for Victor Creel and he was investigated for the animal murders by Hopper. This was not just a random choice, remember, Lonnie's name means Lion as in the predatory animal 🦁. Jonathan also told us that Lonnie made him hunt rabbits. This is a major hint! So, Victor Creel is innocent, and near the end of the play, Henry tells Joyce that she's so close yet so far from the truth (I'm paraphrasing). He's absolutely right though, the truth was right under her nose but unfortunately she doesn't see it (yet).

The fact that they made a very obvious comparison of Lonnie Byers to Victor Creel, the suspected murderer of his entire family... lets just say... it tells us A LOT.

Anyway, back to learning about Lonnie in season 1.

Joyce tries to reach out to Lonnie about Will, but is unsuccessful. He doesn't pick up the phone. His girlfriend does and says he's unavailable.

In a flashback, we hear Joyce and Lonnie argue about Lonnie not coming to play baseball with Will. She says she's "so sick of [his] excuses" which obviously means he has frequently made false promises/let Will down. He obviously does not prioritize Will.

To further prove that point, we later literally see him close Will off as he hammers wood right in the entry way for Will to return. The comic about Will's time in the UD gives a heartbreaking look into Will's POV. He cries to his father to not shut him out, but Lonnie ignores Will's cries...

Paralleling El's flashback to when Papa locked her in the dark room and ignored her cries... (the existence of that scene and many other flashbacks with El and Papa make me strongly believe that El's memories of Papa are altered version of Will's memories of Lonnie... I won't go into that much though in this post).

Just look at that obvious bright light in the closet behind Lonnie. Same light Will stared at prior to vanishing… That accompanied with El’s flashback of being locked in a room alone, paints a rather grin image. He’s trying to shut Will out.

Just from these clues so far, he’s not a good father.

To stay or to go…

(a bear (Will) vs. a tree branch 🌳)

If you pay close attention, you’ll see many references to this song within the show… and they even specifically made the association between a father and son when Steve called Dustin “dad”. Which father and son pair are the most associated with the song? Will and Lonnie… as that song first played in the scene where Lonnie tells Joyce he won’t be taking Will to baseball practice.

We can tell from these moments (and more) that dad wants Will to stay put and not go anywhere. We even have Dustin (the one symbolizing “dad”) telling Will to “get back here… I’m going to kill you.” Those were also the last words spoken to Will before he vanished. This is significant.

Suspicious Evidence...

When we see Jonathan visit Lonnie's looking for Will, there's a small bike behind him.

We know Will left his bike in the forest 🌳 when he vanished. Why does Lonnie have a child's bike?

Demogorgon also means "The Deep Father". I talk more about this here. Will is telling Mike in code that his father "got [him]".

Joyce is yelling at "Papa" that he took her son away.

The line of God (aka a father) taking "someone so young, so innocent" at Will's funeral with the focus on Lonnie.

In TFS (spoiler), Lonnie admits to stealing baby Jesus from the Nativity scene.

(GIF credit to @/kaypeace)

This specific shot tells us what we need to know. Lonnie is responsible for Will's disappearance. He is hammering the nail in the wall and it directly cuts to Mike representing the gate being opened with a pencil and paper. Lonnie is the reason the gate opened in the first place! Now, when I say that I don’t mean he literally opened the gate, I mean that the a*use he inflicted onto Will had caused all the monsters within the show and the creation of the Upside Down. Bold claim to make, I know… but bear with me here. As I will now go into the darker clues…

Lonnie's "Type"

Joyce refers to Lonnie's girlfriend as a "teenager". This is significant! Because (spoiler for TFS), Lonnie dated Joyce when he was 25 and she was 17!

This is a pattern for him. He not only preys on animals 🦁, he preys on teenagers... and it gets even worse.

Look, the implications here are, unfortunately, very clear. We see Lonnie look at Jonathan walking away, then he looks down at the photo of Will with the dialogue "He's kinda cute, hmm?"

"Maybe I'll trade you in for the younger model?" is said while Lonnie looks in Jonathan's direction.

Trading someone for someone younger. He likes them young.

He is a predator. You may not want to believe the truth here but as we know with this show... everything is intentional.

Let’s continue on with even more disturbing clues…

When Joyce and Hopper find Will in the UD, he is in a library (a place of archives, of documented history) And he appears like this...

He's being violated... by the vines. Vines, that grow on trees. 🌳Lonnie means oak tree... This is a representation of documented history that he had been se*ually assaulted by... the tree with vines... Lonnie. Also if you look into the full lyrics of “Should I Stay or Should I Go”… let’s just stay it’s disturbing how that song is associated with a young boy and his father…

Also... keep in mind that the vines are preventing Will from speaking. Will is being silenced as well.

Next season we see the MF force itself into Will. Again, another violation, this time by the MF (yes- the mother fucker, that is what Lonnie is after all). This was done on a field. A baseball field. We know Lonnie is associated with baseball.

And again, the MF (father) is silencing Will...

In this scene in ST3, we get yet another reference to Will being violated in the past. We are shown a flashback of the MF possessing Will, and we are given the comparison of non-consensual sex and the gate/door opening. We know this due to the term “penetration” being used in relation to opening the gate…

Murray states "the door had been opened once" while we are shown Joyce with a look of horror on her face. "It was still healing", as experiencing that does require a lot of healing.

“Larry the construction guy”. Larry is a nickname for Laurence. Lonnie is another nickname for Laurence. This line by Jonathan has multiple meanings.

Lonnie is in Will's head.

“Stuck up your nose”. Lonnie is, again, represented as violating Will.

When Jonathan confronts Lonnie we can see this Evil Dead poster behind them. Not only is it very visible but… Lonnie draws attention to it. This poster is significant! This woman is being attacked and choked by a tree. 🌳 The tree goes inside her… it violates her.

Lonnie wants Jonathan to take down the poster. This is important. He wants Jonathan to stay silent. More on this later…

If this isn’t enough symbolism to convince you, check out kaypeace21’s post where she goes in even more depth around the music/musicians Jonathan references, and even more background details that add to this. They intentionally painted the picture of him being a s*xual a*user, as the existence of all these clues all add up to the same conclusion. A very uncomfortable truth.

Dad, you’re choking me

Speaking of being choked, ever notice how this is something that seems to occur frequently within the show?

That Mike and Ted moment in particular stands out because it occurs right after the Jonathan and Lonnie confrontation with that Evil Dead poster in the background (being choked by a tree 🌳)… so the “dad” doing the choking here is absolutely Lonnie.

Yet another case of being silenced as well...

The Trunk

Probably the most concerning moment to many on the surface. Remember how “dad” said “don’t go… anywhere” and the symbolism of him shutting Will out? Well, let’s just say that it’s not a stretch to think he put Will in a trunk before.

It’s also worth noting that when Billy opens the trunk to see a tied up Heather we get a flashback of him choking her. This William is likely replaying the ab*se Will went through… he was possessed by the MF (father) after all.

Also, remember in ST2 they tied Will up and he shouted several times “why am I tied up?” Yeah… Also all those being suffocated references…

Substance Use

While everyone can struggle with substance use and it doesn’t make them a bad person, the use of substances causes the lowering of inhibition. “Lowering inhibitions means reducing restraints against behaviors that might normally seem inappropriate, dangerous, or taboo.” x This is why people under the influence of alcohol, and harder drugs can become more aggressive and a*usive.

When we see Lonnie's house, we see many cans of beer. We also see him drinking while he visits Joyce. He also encourages Joyce to drink too to help her "think straight". Hmm... strange choice of words I must say.

Now, I don’t think Lonnie just has an alcohol problem, I think he also has a stimulant use disorder. Stimulant = drugs like cocaine and crystal meth.

Kaypeace21's post goes into the details of the possible crystal meth use and how when Will was possessed by the MF, he was showing symptoms of a child on this specific substance (sweating, trembling, seizures, etc).

Another stimulant use reference, but cocaine this time. Remember Larry = Laurence = Lonnie.

There are many subtle references to drug use throughout the entire show from Papa forcibly injecting Terry Ives, El, Henry etc, to Reefer Rick and Eddie and plenty more.

Although we don't have much information on this, I think it is implied that Lonnie is a drug user. Not only does this mean that his impulses were less inhibited, but this also puts into question the possibility of further neglect. The Byers are not rich by any means, and if Lonnie is so focused on obtaining substances... that leaves barely any money for anything else.

"He made me do it…"

So as Jonathan told us, Lonnie made him kill a rabbit. The lion 🦁 forcing his offsprings (lion cubs) to hunt and kill, just like him.

This is something we have seen quite frequently within the show:

El being forced to harm a cat by Papa

Henry being forced to harm a rabbit while influenced by the MF (father)

(In TFS) Henry being pressured to harm animals by Papa

Will saying "He made me do it" in reference to the monsters attacking (he being the MF = father)

Billy saying "He made me do it" (again he being the MF = father)

D'art killing Mews

What's interesting to note is the fact that many characters are associated with rabbits and/or other small animals.

This likely also connects with the reoccurring theme of survivor's guilt within the show. Specifically, of the survivor blaming themselves for the death of others.

Max blaming herself for Billy's death

Mike blaming himself for El's death

El blaming herself for the death of the lab kids

Nancy blaming herself for Barb’s death

Lonnie forced Will to cause harm and/or blamed Will for the harm caused. We know how Will is, he's incredibly sensitive. This absolutely would weigh on his conscience.

Where’s mom in all of this?

We know she has been working a lot, but there could also be something else going on here. Could the allusions to her mental health issues come into play here as well? It's possible...

During "the source" scene with Billy's memories, Billy cries out because his mother is gone. Keep in mind, Billy's memories parallel Will's A LOT (the baseball, father calling him a "pussy"... etc), and the song "William" plays during this whole sequence.

It is likely that Joyce was separated (or emotionally distant) from Will for some time in the past...

Domestic a*use

To make the assumption that Will had witnessed DV between his parents would not be a stretch. We have already seen Lonnie and Joyce fight and it was not pretty.

We also see Billy's father slap his mom hard in the face (like I said, Billy's memories parallel Will's memories...)

We also have seen Lonnie gaslight Joyce already, trying to make her think she's "crazy" and we've seen them fight about Will and finances. This was no stable household for a young child...

Fear of the Truth

It isn’t discussed enough, but there’s a reoccurring theme of the fear of telling the truth. And no this isn’t just about coming out of the closet.

This is especially true when it comes to telling mom the truth.

El repeatedly preventing the boys from telling Mike’s mom what’s going on… specifically about the “bad men”. She fears the repercussions (demonstrating a gun pointed to her head… implying a threat… “I’m gonna kill you!”).

Mike and Nancy unable to tell their own mother what’s going on with them.

Jonathan unable to tell Joyce about “what’s going on with [him]”.

Lonnie telling Jonathan to take down the poster showing a*use and telling him to “behave” for his mother’s sake… he’s trying to silence Jonathan…

Nancy telling Mike “no more secrets”

Joyce telling Will he needs to talk to her (about what happened with the MF)

Dustin hiding D’art from his mother/the kids in general hiding the supernatural stuff from their parents

Billy unable to explain to Karen what had happened to him

Max telling Billy he needs to talk in the sauna scene

and plenty more…

Will frequently communicates in a code. We see this several times:

"It was a seven, the demogorgon got me"

Communicating through the lights

Drawing pictures instead of talking/explaining

Morse code

"Sometimes it can be scary to open up like that. To say how you really feel. Especially to people you care about the most. Because what if... what if they don't like the truth?"

The painting itself

The painting speech... using "El" instead of himself

Usually a*use of a child is not immediately obvious. Parents often think that they will immediately know if their child has been a*used, but often, the signs stay hidden. Remember that most kids are a*used by adults they know. X

Some of the common reasons why child stay silent:

They worry about being blamed, or mistakenly believe they caused the abuse.

Their a*user has threatened them in some way.

They know and maybe even feel close to their a*user and don't want to hurt them.

They think no one will believe them or help them.

Babies and children under 5 years old—who make up nearly 40% of maltreated kids—may not have the words to explain what happened to them, making it difficult or even impossible for them to ask for help. X

This is just important information that everyone needs to know. Child a*use isn’t obvious, the kid may even seem alright with spending time with their a*user… this does not mean the a*use doesn’t exist. That is a very harmful claim to make.

When it comes to a*use, especially child a*use, we must be vigilant. Because the child likely won’t tell us but they will show us the signs.

Some signs to look out for:

Any sudden, continued change in behavior.

increased anxiety

unexplained injuries x

Repressed memories

I’m just going to outright say it: the NINA plot line is important because it tells us a lot about repressed traumatic memories.

“Our brains have a defence mechanism in place to protect it from bad memories. You buried these memories long ago.”

Then in the last episode of ST4, we learn something VERY telling about Will.

Remember… Larry = Laurence = Lonnie.

They basically told us that Will only vaguely remembers Lonnie. This is an incredibly important clue to what Will is going through. Will’s trauma was so intense that he has been repressing the memories of his own father.

In ST5, this is absolutely going to be an important aspect to his arc and to the story as a whole. Will must come face-to-face with his traumatic past. Unlocking those memories will be key to finally defeating the monsters for good.

The Destroyer of Worlds

So, I’ve mentioned this many times before, but Will is compared to “Little Boy” the first atomic bomb. (Click here and here for posts about it).

He is a bomb that went off on Nov 6, 1983, freezing time, and forever changing Hawkins. J. Robert Oppenheimer was the creator of the real atomic bomb, and he was known as the “Father of the Atomic Bomb.” He was also known as “The Destroyer of Worlds”. Because Will is “Little Boy” and Lonnie is his father…

Lonnie is The Destroyer of Worlds. A perfect term for someone who inflicted such horror onto an innocent child. Because trauma like this has an incredibly profound effect on a young mind, in more ways than you can imagine. His actions are the catalyst for the chain reaction of this entire show. He pushed over that very first domino.

Why is all of this evidence so hidden? Why do we barely know anything about Will’s past with Lonnie? Because… instead of telling us his past, they’ve been showing it to us through the horrors. You have to look very deeply into the show to see the truth start to add up like a puzzle. There are many themes that reoccur/are alluded to within the show for a reason. And it’s all from one single source.

Demogorgon is The Deep Father, MF is the mother fucker (father), Papa is father, and it was Vecna’s father who was convicted of the murders.

It was father this whole time.