#not sure about Power yet. wrist maybe? idk.

[blueish-bird]

not good at drawing Steven Univers-type designs (yet) but sometimes I think about the concept of Aki and Angel both having gems on their backs — weapon storage for Aki/wings for Angel, vulnerable to betrayal, fighting at each others’ backs, etc — and I’m briefly abnormal about it.

[aixeko]

⋆ “ SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY ” ⋆

| Starring | Cowboy!Arlecchino x Aristocrat!Reader

| Setting | Wild west AU

| Scenario |  [ DRABBLE ] SMUT! Porn no plot. Arle has a cock and tongue piercing. Brat reader and brat tamer Arle. Power dynamic. Semi-public sex + Nearly getting caught. ROUGH sex. Penetration. Degradation. This is just filthy asf. Fully consensual of course. AFAB reader + Usage of feminine pet names and pronouns. OOC Arle? Idk.

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note]

× First time ever writing smut uhhh yeah, I’m so sorry this is so bad.. 2/4 drabble for Arle birthday. × I had to cut it short too due to having a busy schedule, maybe if this get enough attention then I can maybe expand on the ideas I had and have for it 😭

[ Word count: 1730 ] | Art credit: Stumkek_pics / 37396536718l on Twitter

The saloon storeroom erupts in chaos as Arlecchino slams you against its wooden wall, causing barrels to scatter across the floor in place of your body. Sweat rolls down your temple, followed by disorientation and breathlessness at the harsh act. Compared to her usual cool composure, this intense change in mannerism makes the very essence of your soul feel as though it has been ripped apart and exposed just for her predatory gaze to ravish in.

With a single, generously tattooed colossal hand, she grips both of your wrists, immobilizing them completely above your head. Helpless now, you are at her absolute wildest mercy, unable to move or resist the overwhelming force she exhibits.

Despite the large ferocity of power competency between the two of you, every ounce of your muscles can't help but race with oppressive lust behind tinted fears. Your breathing heightens as your eyes come within the proximity of hers; never have you seen eyes so infuriated with lecherousness. Just the mere sight of its savage sexual desire for you is enough to get your undergarments shamefully wet.

"Seducing me openly, then daring to snatch and wear my hat in the public eye, did you expect no repercussions?" Arlecchino leaned in dangerously close, her hot breath brushing against your ear as she continued. "How formalities work with your people is none of my business to pry into, but for a woman of nobility, especially a lady of your standing? Your etiquette is lacking greatly, sweetheart."

Somewhere in your dazedness, you still find enough courage to provoke the cowboy even further.

"For a cowboy hired to protect me, you are facile to prick."

The ghastly remark is pathetically laughable but unfazed; Arlecchino chooses to indulge in this little charade of yours, her confidence unshaken by your feeble act. With a free hand, she maneuvers her hand under your knee, lifting it up and wrapping it around her waist. Now, in between your legs, she presses her growing bulge against you, making sure to roll her hip for you to feel the full extent of it. At the feeling of the enormous monster, you cannot help but whimper.

"Talk about facile; look at yourself, princess. I barely touched you, and you're already this filthy for me. Not as almighty as you ought to be. Pathetic, aren't you, love?"

You turn away, eyes shutting; a hiss of pleasure escapes at the feeling of her against your throbbing, clothed clitoral. Releasing your knee, Arlecchino's hand finds your cheek, redirecting your face to meet hers once more.

"Look at me, darling."

Timidly, your eyelids lift. For a moment, you can see her hardened gaze soften ever so slightly.

"Safeword," Arlecchino commands, brooking no room for arguments.

The edge of your lip twitches upward in a smirk; in spite of her rough exterior, the cowboy's hidden tender nature still slips through in its own ways. You know she's itching to completely fuck you over, and yet the woman still has the attentiveness for your comfort.

"Such a puppy... Let's see—crimson eyes for stop."

An amused scoff releases from Arlecchino's lips; to dare act so cocky as to even insult her by calling her 'puppy' even with the clear disadvantage is praisable.

Arlecchino let go of your hands, which effectively left you in a confused state. You fully expected her to go rough with you again on the spot. You watched her intently, anxious for her next move. She inched away slightly and unbuckled her belt, her eyes trained on you as she did so.

"Hands out, doll."

The moment your hands are bound, the aggressiveness once present in the air returns in full force, leaving no room for adjustment. Her lips crash into yours, her pierced tongue darting between them in frantic motion, as if she has been forced into famishment for centuries. You gasp, unwittingly granting her entry with ease. The coldness of the metal-tipped tongue invading your warm mouth has your eyes rolling back in hungry pleasure. Meanwhile, her hands struggle in a battle against her zipper, showing how hastily she is moving.

"Hugh... wait—urgh," you slurred, struggling to speak with the little amount of room she was giving you. "Let..me help."

Fortunately, she caught your grasp amidst the mess of arousal, easing slightly away from you. You take rapid breaths, inhaling and exhaling the air that has been sucked lifelessly out of you by Arlecchino. Once you deem that your consciousness is stable enough, you slowly lower yourself to your knees. Your eyes gaze up at her, your tongue darting out as your mouth makes its way to her zipper. With your teeth, you pull it down, revealing the wet patch of her boxers. Arlecchino groans when your tongue makes contact with it, licking and sucking the outline. Your skillful navigation is enough to get her cock even harder and throbbing controllably; it is practically begging her to release it from confinement.

Arlecchino prides herself on being composed when faced with any situation, but something about you—something about the way your tongue dances against her rock-hard cock—the image of you sucking it and being filled with it has her imagination going beyond heaven's forgiveness.

She grips a handful of your hair and uses it to shove you down to the cold floor. Any clothing blocking her from your entrance is torn apart, leaving your bottom half completely bare for her to absolutely destroy and consume. Arlecchino pulls out her enormous size of a dick, instantly fisting it with a gratified exhale.

You stare in a brazen manner, drooling at the bulk leaking pre-cum and the mere thought of it trying to fit inside your smaller frame; no more do you care for your virtually nonexistent dignity. Arlecchino groans at your expression, fisting herself faster and making her way in between you. God, why does a rich brat like you have to be such a fucking sight to marvel at?

"What a slut," Arlecchino mumbles, her once-controlled speech, and movement losing to the affray of lust.

Her patience runs thin and evaporates into nothingness. In one swift motion, she bends your legs beside your head, folding you into a piledriver position as her arousal peaks at its fullness. Without warning, she thrusts forcefully, penetrating you with a single, ravenous stroke.

Your teeth sink into the flesh of your hand, stifling a loud moan. Tears well up and cascade as Arlecchino's relentless pounding intensifies without a sign of stopping. She bends you further, her pulsating member probing ever deeper. Your body shakes violently, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations. Your eyes find home at the back of your head in the intertwining of pleasure and pain, every thrust overstimulating your senses and sending shockwaves through the very core of your soul.

Arlecchino grumbled out incoherent words of satisfaction: The tightness of your gummy wall feels so goddamn good. How can she not lose herself in it?

Footsteps echo throughout the hallway of the saloon storeroom, shattering your erotic, fervent trance. Without delay, Arlecchino swiftly lifts you up, her member still heavily gaping at you all the while, as she hides both of you behind stacked barrels.

Your hearts race at the prospect of getting caught with her ball deep in you, in an aroused or frightened way you couldn't place your finger on it.

"Say, have you seen Father at all today?" A familiar young adult male voice comes through, one that you remember goes by the name of 'Lyney,' and decrypting from his questioning tone, he isn't alone.

"Mn... no, but... I think I saw her with that aristocrat earlier," another young, softer male voice answered the previous one's question.

Your breath hitches as you feel Arlecchino begin steadily dicking you again, building up the lost momentum without care. Arching upward, you clutch the back of Arlecchino's shirt, all the while biting into her neck to muffle the sound of your moans.

If at any given moment the boys decided to turn their backs, this little affair of yours would be easily exposed to their unfortunate sighting.

But you can't; you're so close—so, so close. You feel heaven in your eyes and your body as your head clouds with nothing more than blank whiteness.

Between gasps of inaudible, long, low sounds of sexual pleasure, you babble on about the closeness of your ecstasy. "I'm almost there," you breathe, her name half-forming: "Arle—"

Arlecchino suddenly withdraws, leaving only her tip to linger within you, tantalizing you by prolonging your climax. Then a formidable thrust from her hip surges forward. She plunges deep, her cock once more ball-deep, filling you completely. Her aim is precise and calculated because it strikes exactly at your g-spot, inflaming your core. With that perfect amount of force, your pent-up frustration unleashes in a paradisiacal orgasm.

"Huh, what is that sound?" Lyney's voice once again vibrated through the room.

Arlecchino seems indifferent to the fact that she could be caught fucking a noblewoman by her children. You share none of her collectiveness, cursing in panic after you calmed down slightly from your climax.

A young adult woman's call sounds through the corridor. "Lyney, Freminet? Where are you guys?" The boys' ears perk up, drawn to her searching voice. Their focus shifts from the strange sound that they heard to her distant one.

"In the storeroom! We're coming, Lynette!"

Hearing the sound of their retreating footsteps, you let out a breath of relief, the tension in your body loosing, or at least the most it can, before remembering that Arlecchino is still yet to finish her business with you.

Arlecchino forces you to stand upright; you may have reached your peak, but she has yet to have her ejaculation, and she is clearly frustrated, as evidenced by the way her eyebrows are furrowed, her darkened eyes, and the way her member is still pulsing with unsatisfied urgency. You brace yourself, knowing her restraint won't last long against the mounting pressure of her impending release.

"Lift your hip for me, sugar."

How you will cover up your messy appearance and the bruises and love marks she is going to leave on you is a problem for your future self to suffer through because right now the world is nothing more than a soundless void, and the only thing that matters right now is the way she feels around you.

[zorobff]

i bet on losing dogs. (opla!zoro x reader)

synopsis: zoro is defeated by mihawk and therefore unable to claim the title of the world’s greatest swordsman. you just want him to know that he’s still the greatest to you.

warnings: mentions of blood, some direct dialogue from opla, not much romance i literally just wanted someone to tell zoro he’s enough bc he deserves it <3

a/n: idk if this is any good i just wanted an excuse to write and one piece has been my fixation for like 2 months now so :P

you can’t move.

it seems as if every bone in your body is frozen in place despite your brain telling you to do something — anything. you stand there, eyes helplessly locked onto zoro’s weak and defeated body. your heart is racing and you’re unable to stop your mind from doing the same. after all, there was a certain unease that came with seeing someone like roronoa zoro be conquered. his dream of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman had been crushed within minutes. knowing zoro, that thought would be tougher to overcome than any physical wound.

you want to run to him. to be with him.

luffy beats you to it.

“zoro!” he shouts with such pain that you wonder if he’s somehow hurting more than the swordsman is.

the sight of your captain sprinting across the deck of the baratie manages to push you to action. the two of you rush to zoro’s side, trying and failing to look anywhere but the bright red gash across his torso. it’s even worse up close. with every heave of his chest, more blood oozes out.

the cut is impossibly deep and yet, you can’t help but feel grateful. you’d seen the size of mihawk’s sword. the thing could’ve split zoro in half with the flick of a wrist. just the thought of that sends a new wave of shivers down your spine. you thank every higher power that mihawk was feeling generous enough to spare your friend’s life.

“zoro?” you attempt to say his name calmly. “zoro, please talk to us.”

his eyelashes flutter as he attempts to keep conscious. you see the subtle wincing in his face, the clenching of his jaw. for a second you wish he would have passed out, at least then he wouldn’t have to endure all this agony. even though this was surely the worst hit anyone had landed on him during his extensive career, you could tell that wasn’t the hardest part for him.

his eyes stay glued to the skies, refusing to even acknowledge you or luffy. his irises gloss over and tears well up on his waterline. there could only be one thing on his mind, the one thing you knew he was truly passionate about; his promise. was he afraid he had let down that nameless person he always spoke of? that he had failed as a swordsman?

for some reason, you want to cry with him.

“you did good,” you whisper without a second thought. “just stay awake, okay?”

luffy nods in agreement, hand coming to grip zoro’s shoulder so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“monkey d. luffy,” calls mihawk, shifting everyone’s attention back to him. “what is your goal?”

your captain nearly growls. “i’m going to be the king of the pirates.”

luffy’s response could seem rehearsed. mechanical, even. but the truth is he just meant it that much. his conviction was unmatched in every possible way.

“king of the pirates, eh?” repeats mihawk. there’s a hint of amusement in his tone. however, he wasn’t mocking luffy, as many people tend to do when they hear of his dream. “that is a much more treacherous path than defeating even me.”

luffy whips around to fix mihawk with a stern glare. “i don’t care. it’s what i’m going to do.”

“maybe you will at that,” muses the bearded swordsman. “this world could use a few more wild cards.”

their odd exchange ends there, leaving an unnerving silence. the sound of your choked back sobs getting caught in your throat and waves splashing against the deck is all there is for a moment.

“why the tears, girl?” mihawk inquires.

you can’t bear to look at him, much less respond. not after what he’d done to zoro. your hands that once rested reassuringly on your crewmate’s stomach now ball into fists. how could he behave so nonchalantly when he had injured zoro within an inch of his life?

“seems like you aren’t as plucky as the rest of your crew, hm?” mihawk comments when his question is met with silence.

hot tears of frustration roll down your cheeks. “get lost. you’ve done enough damage, haven’t you?”

“that would be incorrect. i was tasked with retrieving your captain for the marines. as you can see, i have yet to do that.”

“i couldn’t care less about what you came here for,” you tell him between gritted teeth. “how do you have the nerve to stand there and talk down to us after what you did to him?”

mihawk’s head tilts to the side as he observes you. pensively, he murmurs, “you care for him.”

“of course we care for him, he’s our crewmate!” luffy shouts in response, clearly missing the true meaning behind the words.

on the other hand, you opt to stay silent, slightly embarrassed about how quickly mihawk was able to catch on to you. were your feelings really that easy to see through? almost as if confirming your concern, mihawk coughs out a dry chuckle before his face falls stoic once more.

“look after him.” his gaze lingers on you when he says that. “it is too soon for him to die. roronoa zoro, grow strong and come find me. i’ll be waiting.”

with that, mihawk makes his exit. once the coast is clear, usopp and nami finally come scurrying over. the marksman kneels down on zoro’s left while the latter stays standing, almost too afraid to get close.

“he’s losing so much blood,” usopp notes, voice unsteady.

luffy is quick to shut down the true implication behind those words. “he’s going to be okay.”

a strangled groan escapes the green-haired swordsman in question. the four of you freeze. the moment feels eerily similar to when you watched him collapse after mihawk had struck him down. for the second time in a day, zoro has all of you holding your breath in anticipation.

“if i—” he swallows hard, eyes still shiny and looking upward. “—fail to become the world’s greatest swordsman... you’ll be disappointed. right?”

luffy’s gaze softens. “you could never fail me.”

however, your captain’s sincere words don’t seem to be enough. zoro finally rips his gaze away from the clouds, head lolling to the side to face you instead. those wide eyes of his always held so much intensity, so much emotion. now is no different as he meets your stare, seemingly in search of your reassurance as well.

it wasn’t that you were unsure of what to say but how to say it. you didn’t trust yourself to speak your mind and say what you truly thought of zoro. the last thing you needed was your feelings for him slipping out at a time like this. you decide to play it safe and just nod. “you know i feel the same way. we all do.”

“i need… to hear you say it,” he replies, voice cracking.

your heartbeat gets caught in your throat at the utter desperation in zoro’s voice. it sounded as if he truly needed your approval if he was going to survive this. it was unlike him to get hung up on something so trivial such as someone’s opinion of him. he never seemed to care what other people thought, why was he starting now? and with you, of all people?

before you can question it any further, zoro hisses. the pain causes his entire body to tense and his wound spurts fresh crimson. without thinking, your hand comes up to rest reassuringly on his cheek. automatically, your thumb begins rubbing soothing circles on the skin. he’s hot to the touch and slick with sweat but you don’t mind it. the way his body relaxes itself is all you care about. well, that and the way he leans into your touch. for someone who rejected physical contact at every given chance, this was new but very, very welcome.

the emotion of it all causes you to lose any concern you’d previously had over voicing your thoughts about zoro. you can’t help but give him the response he was begging for, regardless of how smitten you sounded.

“zoro, you’re the best i’ve seen. and i don’t just mean with your swords. no defeat could ever take away what you have, you know that right? almost everyday i ask myself what the hell i’m doing on the same crew as someone like you. you don’t understand how much it pains me knowing that you feel the need to prove your worth when clearly you’re the greatest there is. in every way. so, how could i ever be disappointed in you?”

there’s a few moments of silence. this time, you truly don’t hear a thing. not the waves, not the birds in the sky, not even the thumping of your own heartbeat. your brain has blocked out everything that isn’t zoro. the same zoro who’s breaking down into tears right in front of you. it’s an unbelievable sight, watching them stream down his face as he takes in everything you’d just said.

using what little strength he has left, zoro lifts a shaky hand to rest atop yours. you pause your ministrations on his cheek and let him intertwine his fingers with yours. he squeezes your hand so tightly that you’re positive it takes everything in him to do so.

“never… again,” he chokes out, tearful eyes meeting yours. “from now, until i beat him.” he uses his left hand to unsheathe his sword. he lifts it to the sky with purpose, as if to solidify this vow. “will i ever give you a reason to be disappointed in me. i, roronoa zoro, will never lose again!”

his grip becomes unsteady, causing his sword to fall from his grasp and clatter on the ground. his arm falls back to his side and he’s able to give you one last look before he’s out cold.

“zoro?” luffy calls, leaning forward. “zoro?!”

you suck in a shaky breath at the feeling of his hand going limp. you’re grateful he’s still breathing at the very least but it’s clear he needs medical attention fast.

“let’s get him inside,” nami commands. it’s the first thing she’s worked up the courage to say.

luffy and usopp waste no time shifting zoro’s arms over their shoulders while you and nami take his legs. despite your joint efforts, the four of you struggle to drag zoro off the baratie; you blame his rigorous training that had made him all muscle. usually you wouldn’t complain but it sure made carrying him aboard the going merry a difficult task. at last, he’s dumped onto the table in your makeshift kitchen.

“get the first aid kit,” nami demands, opening zoro’s shirt to inspect the severity of his wound.

“do we even have one?” usopp replies as he shifts around every cupboard and drawer on the ship.

“zoro… can you hear me?” luffy’s quiet voice gets lost in the commotion your two other crew mates are creating. but you take notice.

“he’s going to be alright,” you tell him. whether you say it for luffy or yourself, you aren’t certain.

“someone needs to go back to baratie,” nami sighs, running a hand through her ginger locks. “maybe one of the customers is a ship’s doctor.”

the devil fruit user blinks a couple times. “right. a doctor. we need a doctor.” he sprints out of the kitchen, presumably in search of one.

once your captain’s gone, nami aids usopp in scouring the kitchen, in search of anything that could potentially help your crew mate until he’s able to receive the proper medical attention.

you decide to stay right by zoro’s side. not once do you leave him.

[alisblackgf]

YO ZAC WELCOME BACKKKKK,

But yk I got a request 🤞🏽

Earth-42!Miles with fem!spider-reader

Like reader was from 1610!miles universe but when he went to earth-42 she went with him and maybe like there was a prowler!reader in 42!miles universe but she died and hes like “look at the power you had here…with me”

(The rest up to you…yk how I like it zacy 😏)

YEAH OFC <3

𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: earth-42!miles x fem!spider!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst(?)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in his universe, you’re dead. it’s not fair that some inferior version of him gets to have you alive and well while he’s stuck grieving you. he makes it his number one priority to show you what you could have with him. what you had.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: inhales exhales i don’t like this and idk if i did him justice but HOPEFULLY I DID. it’s a little messy idk if i did this right HELO i hope you like it anyway (shout out to rae for helping me with the spanish 🫶)

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: hermosa - beautiful; tú eras mi vida y mi mundo - you were my life and my world; mi amor - my love

you woke up in a daze.

your surroundings were dark with only a little illumination coming from a small window. you tried to get up, but you were quickly dragged back down to notice you were tied to a pole. the more you pulled against it (to no avail), the more you lost hope.

you took a shaky breath and looked around the room to find miles tied up on a punching bag. he didn’t look conscious. his head is hung low and you could barely see his closed eyes. your heart dropped and made it your mission to get his attention.

“miles? miles!”

then, your spidey-sense goes off.

you hear footsteps drawing closer and closer to you, and you desperately try to break free from the pole.

“i wouldn’t wake him just yet, hermosa.”

your eyes widened as you looked back at miles, who was still knocked out. you were extremely confused at who was talking to you. they sounded just like your miles, but it wasn’t. you were about to speak, but then the mystery person came out of the shadows and kneeled down to see you.

it was..miles? but not your miles for sure. this miles had braids, and judging from the term of endearment he called you earlier, he could for sure roll his r’s. he gently took your face in his hands and scanned you for any sign of injury. when he makes sure you’re fine, he smiles at you.

“you’re just as beautiful as i remember,” he says.

“i’m sorry?” you ask, seeing as you’ve never met him in your life.

he sighed at your words and untied you from the pole. when your hands are free, you rub your wrists in an attempt to ease the soreness that enveloped them. you tried to shoot a web, but you soon notice that your web-shooters are gone.

“c’mon, mami, you don’t think i’m dumb, do you?” he chuckles at your attempt before untying your feet, and you stretched your legs in response. once he’s up, he holds out his hand to you. you hesitantly accept. he helps pull you up from the floor and you dust yourself off.

he looks at you before asking, “i’m assuming your name is (y/n)?”

you nod in response, looking a little concerned before saying, “how’d you know?”

“because that’s what my girl’s name was, and you look and sound just like her.”

“your girl?” you ask curiously. he nods and shows you a polaroid picture of him and a girl. he was right, she looked exactly like you. “why isn’t she here?”

his facial expression went from relaxed to serious. he sighed before speaking, “she’s dead.”

your eyes widen. you know you’re not his (y/n), but hearing that a version of you is dead sends shivers down your spine.

“tú eras mi vida y mi mundo, (y/n). you were taken from me for the same reason you save people now.”

“and what’s that?”

“your compassion,” he says with a slight bitterness to his tone. “you cared so much for people. too much. i shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.”

you listened eagerly. even if she wasn’t you necessarily, you were still curious to hear how a variant of you died.

you put your hand on his shoulder and nodded, and he took it as a sign to continue.

“we were handling business. two guys had crossed us. i was taking care of one, you were with the other. he was begging for his life, and you showed him kindness and spared him. then, he..”

you could hear his breathing getting shaky, and you began to rub his shoulder.

“you don’t have to finish, i— i get the gist of it,” you assure him.

he nods and pulls you into a hug. you hesitantly hug him back, feeling bad for him. once you wrap your arms around him, he whispers to you, “i’m never letting you out of my sight again, mi amor.”

your breath hitches and your eyes widen.

“i’m so, so sorry for your loss, miles. but i’m not her. i don’t belong here,” you try to reason. you hear shuffling on the punching bag and you can see miles—your miles—stirring awake.

“miles! you’re okay!” you gently move the other miles off of you and run to your miles.

“for the most part,” he tries to joke.

“i don’t think you get it,” earth-42 miles begins to speak. you turn away from your miles to look at the other one. “you had so much power with me, (y/n).”

“what’s this dude on about?” earth-1610 miles whisper-asks you, but all you can do is shrug in response to him.

“look, i’m sorry that your girlfriend died, but i’m not her, and i never will be,” you spat, getting annoyed.

“i’ll give you two options,” the other miles begins. “you can die with bug-boy here, or you can come rule the streets with me.”

your eyes widen as he walks over to you guys, now in a prowler suit. he puts his gauntlet on and shoves you out of the way, putting his hand around your miles’ neck, choking him.

“pick your poison, mami. let’s hope you make the right choice.”

I REALLY HOPE I DID HIM JUSTICE OMG

tags: @pr0wlerpunk

[leonkennedynendoroid]

NSFW/GN READER. idk what this is sorry if it doesn’t make sense at any point(s) i just kept pressing keys until words appeared on the screen….i need to have es E. ex with leon :P

grrrrr i need my sweet little bf leon losing his mind the first couple of times he has sex. i’m talking about him biting his knuckles with every inch he slides in deeper, groaning low in his throat when he drops his head forward to watch the movement with wide eyes and— fuck, no more. that’s a lot. he needs to look away, somewhere- anywhere else if he wants to hold back.

his eyes travel up your body quickly, chewing on his bottom lip in desperate concentration as his gaze lands on your face. it feels as if he’s walked straight into a trap; your eyes on his, although unfocused, every open-mouthed breath, even the gentle rise and fall of your chest makes heat pool low in his stomach… he needs to cut himself short, again. he can’t catch a break, so caught up in you he’s nearly embarrassing himself. you deserve so much better, he thinks with a rough swallow. in an attempt to pull himself together, he opts to quickly shut his eyes. just for a second.

it’s always the first thrust- slow and controlled that makes him hiss through his teeth, knees going weak when he sinks back in. he has to fight to keep his eyes open now, repeating the movement with a long, shaky sigh. if you had the cognitive capability at this very moment in time, you’d be able to notice the prominent strain of his abdominals present each time he plunges into you. it’s still so new for him, yet addictive enough to have his body screaming more. a kind of pleasure that runs up his core and spreads down his thighs.

only momentarily is he aware of his grip tightening on the back of your thighs, sweaty palms and thick fingers digging into your skin acknowledged in but a passing thought. it’s getting harder, so much harder to keep his pace gentle and sweet like he believes you deserve, leaning forward and dropping a little more of his weight on top of you to plant a chaste kiss on your head in apology, eager hips meeting yours in a syrupy grind he could revel in for hours. it’s a rhythm he could get lost in and deliciously impatient with, his dick throbs at the idea. he’ll need to find another time to explore it.

knowing you’d probably kill him— maybe not kill, just a slap to his shoulder, calling out his name in a harsh complaint of embarrassment— if he confessed to taking it easy on you melts the guilt right out of his system as his body continues to perspire. the shift in angle has you crying out as he begins hitting even deeper now. seeing, hearing, and feeling you like this has an airy moan leaving his lips, shuddering against you hard in unison.

leon absolutely does not have it in him to stop now- the intensity of the ache in his pelvis growing impossibly difficult to ignore with every sloppy, wet thrust. seeing you arch underneath him with a whine, feeling your fingers encircling his wrists tightly as he pumps into you, is dizzying. he’s growling with it, the power behind his hips sending hot licks of pleasure right up your spine. god, he never wants this to end.

the state of you right now- and the sight too, he thinks, is the closest he’ll get to heaven. to feeling heaven. it makes his strong hips stutter, rhythm faltering as he begins to give in. it makes his whole body jostle above you, his eyes clenching shut with a long drawn-out whine, and it makes him cum. it makes him cum, over and over, and over again. how has he gone most of his life without this? without you? he thinks deliriously, collapsing against your thighs still lifted and folded at your chest as he ruts into you insistently a few more times, in hopes of prolonging his orgasm. greedy.

he did better this time, with holding off and all. leon’s sure of it. he definitely lasted longer than last time, right? he opens his eyes back up with a content sigh to scan your face, looking for reassurance and a confirmation on that thought. he’s immediately met with the sight of a stupid grin plastered on your face instead, lips trembling gently as if you’re biting back a hard laugh. ugh, was he that far off? he must’ve gotten ahead of himself. maybe next time.

who is he kidding? this is going to take a lot of practice.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

I'm here to voluntarily admit myself to horny jail.

Idk if you write THIS spicy but here goes: Dom top villain bottoms for the first time...

I'm sorry

The hero grinned when they felt the hand around their throat.

It was pitch black in the hero’s bedroom — it had to be or else the hero couldn’t even close their eyes. Often they felt like a trained animal, a lab rat that had been drilled to only fall asleep when there was no light. A silly thought but they believed their wounds could heal better in the darkness. Maybe that was just them trying to deal with the physical trauma.

Deep sleep was a rarity for them anyway.

“You shouldn’t leave your window open.” The villain’s warm breath hit the hero’s lips and for a second, the hero debated if they should just go in for a kiss. But, no.

“You shouldn’t try to assassinate me all the time,” the hero whispered. They knew the villain wasn’t that far away. “Especially with your bare hands. It does things to me.”

God, the villain could be such a little pest. At this point, this was beyond obsession, this was beyond the little cat-and-mouse-games, this was beyond a work relationship. Being close to the villain was like breathing in the thick air of fog, lingering, begging to be noticed, heavy somehow and above all drenching the hero.

It drove the hero insane. The villain was a tease, for sure, and a mean one at that.

Flirting hard enough for the hero to be close to losing their balance. No one had ever dared to question the hero, no one had ever dared to be on their level and yet, the villain was clever and dangerous.

A month ago, they had broken the hero’s arm without hesitation and right now, they could squeeze and squeeze until the hero’s neck cracked. It was thrilling, it was a challenge and power was exactly what the hero was thirsty for.

“All of your assassination attempts end poorly. Time for another job?” the hero added. They had the tiny suspicion that the villain was hesitating — just like them — when it came to the fulfilment of their true desires.

“Do you want me to break your bones again?” the villain asked. “I don’t think you liked that.”

Oh, how wrong they were about that.

“Then end this.”

“As if I didn’t notice the dagger.” The villain shifted and the hero was truly impressed. Without seeing it, the villain was aware of it. Relying on their senses that well…The villain’s free hand found the hero’s wrist and they closed around it, leaning into the blade as if to demonstrate how little they cared about it.

They leaned over, lips against the hero’s neck.

“I usually kill my targets on my first try. But you’ve survived for months now…” They felt the villain’s smirk against their neck and the grip around the hero’s throat softened. The hero’s dagger stayed where it was. “You’re truly remarkable.”

“Oh, darling,” the hero answered, “you’re not supposed to say those things to me.”

“Who else is gonna say this?” And then, the villain’s lips were on the hero’s neck, warm and wet as their tongue followed. The hero closed their eyes and tried to get their self-control back. Hell, the other hand was still around the hero’s, going up and down their forearm.

The villain was — surprisingly — a little shy. They hesitated, were slow and careful, not even paying any attention to the dagger.

“Take your clothes off,” the hero said. Their voice was low and controlled, as if they were giving a command at work. “Now.”

“Shit…” The hero felt them move, felt the absence of their body and loathed it. They discarded their dagger on the nightstand, in case they needed it.

“Wait.” The hero grabbed blindly into the dark and caught fabric. They pulled the villain — who groaned — down and searched for the zipper of their suit. “Let me help you.”

They found it quickly and pulled it down until there was resistance.

“God, you’re a menace,” the villain laughed.

“Oh, you have no idea.” The hero knew exactly where to pull and where to push and their knowledge was, in fact, very useful as they turned the villain around. They seated themselves on top and finally decided to turn on the light on the nightstand.

All they could think was holy fuck when they saw the villain under them. Because the villain was strong and determined. They were smart and stubborn.

And they were under the hero right now, basically drooling.

Their suit was pulled down until right above their hips.

“I have neighbours,” the hero said, as if that wasn’t obvious. “So, you better be quiet.”

“I’m never quiet.” The hero pushed their hips deeper into the villain’s, making the other gasp.

“I’ll gag you if I have to.” The hero drew a line from the villain’s chin, all the way over their chest and down to their hips. The villain squirmed a little.

However, the hero realised as soon as they kissed their enemy how cocky the other was. They truly were a pain in the hero’s ass: letting out high-pitched moans just to tease them.

Unfortunately, the hero couldn’t think of anything that could work as a gag to silence the villain.

Fortunately, as the night progressed and they got more frustrated, they pushed their fingers into the mouth of the (surprised, yet oddly satisfied) villain. Watching their eyes roll back into their head gave the hero a random burst of energy and they knew being rough was the only option.

They had no choice but to be mean.

[tree-obsession]

HSR and Scars+other physical trauma marks HCs

I haven't seen anyone do this yet, but lmk plz if someone has!

Minor spoilers for main plot

Arlan- scars in a lot of places, implied that he could fight as a child and was poor, canonically has a prosthetic arm (at least I think, but works as hc too) and scars on his arm and nose at least. likely has more, esp on arms since using a greatsword doesnt give great defensibility and his moveset involves cutting HP(judging by the animation, using electricity, so electricity scars too? are those called lichtenberg scars?). he's short, and again the childhood implications mean he was probably malnourished.

Asta- probably minor things from working with untested equipment, and has likely burned her hands with her own powers- but, since she's a noble, she's likely expected to be neat, so idk. I like the burn idea tho.

Bailu- she's a healer, so I think what she does get she can get rid of too. But maybe her dragon tail has unhealed bits from failed assassination attempts, or smth?

Blade- canonically has scars basically everywhere. literally got tortured for a really long time, had home planet destroyed as a child and likely didn't get out unscathed (we NEED to talk abt that more), was a forge worker (burns) and did fight on occasion as Yingxing, and then was on the run for about 1000 years or something, and canonically died even more during that time. also has a skillset that involves cutting his own hp. likely doesn't have to eat, but he's unhealthily skinny because of it anyway. chronic pain. somebody give this guy a hug please.

Bronya- she's a soldier, so callouses, blade scars, bullet scars, emergency first-aid scars, and probably desensitized to cold more than the average human bc belobog. really high disregard for pain that concerns seele on a regular basis.

Clara- her. her feet. are they ok. but also some scars from working with mechs and being in the cold, but svarog made sure nothing too major happened while she was in his care. before, though... likely got beat up for being a "pushover" (im crying plz).

dan heng-... chain scars. we NEED to talk about the fact he spent most of his life chained up in prison with guards and people who hated him (minus jing yuan). probably none of the guards would have stopped some of the more violent ones from getting physical- how else would he tear his clothes that much? probably wasn't fed enough or allowed to exercise much. and the chains- listen, i know we joke about the light cone a lot(honestly why was that specifically made into the light cone) but that was really how he lived for a long time. the desc even said he "writhed" and "gasped for breath". he definitely has huge scars from rubbing skin raw around his wrists, ankles, stomach, and maybe his neck? his arms are definitely majorly scarred over and stuff from this, and probably his ankles+legs too. also his eyesight is probably shit from the dark, unless Vidyadhara magic somehow helped that.

bonus: there is a fic on ao3 called "you're looking into their eyes (and find you're looking into your own)" by robyndoesntlikeyou that deals with dan heng having scars that i only found after drafting this post. plz rec any more fics you have on this...

Fu Xuan- i really don't know for her. probably small ones that wouldn't have scarred, but she saw them as unimportant and didn't treat them...

Gepard- similar to Bronya, but maybe not as many since he's a shielder, but more of the lack of cold sensitivity? he's on the front lines lots

Guinaifen- burn scars on forearm and hands. probably can't feel much on her hands too. idk her lore but she's a street performer, so probably not always enough money for food.

Herta- we basically know nothing about her! seriously, she's so mysterious, and her character stories are vague about her past. i can't think of anything, but maybe there were some more dangerous experiments?

Himeko- considering she rebuilt the Astral Express, there were probably dangerous components involved there somewhere... and her backstory still seems pretty mysterious

Hook- diggertron probs caused burns, and life in the underground is dangerous- plus, moles could apparently go to the fight club? which seems like an issue

Jing Yuan- he's a general- lots of war scars. and probs lighting burns because he summons that entire lightning lord/chronic pain.

Jingliu- she definitely has a lot- i'm pretty sure she's the oldest of the hcq, and also got mara-struck/ fought in wars and was on the run and exiled for a long while. canonically constantly in pain due to mara. also really, really needs a hug, except the only person she would probs let hug her is baiheng, who is dead! and also she isolated herself and tortured yingxing/blade. hcq enjoyers are in literally so much pain.

Kafka- would have a lot of callouses, but idk about where scars would be. she would probs cover them up to avoid drawing attention (as she is an assassin), but idrk where exactly. she seems really sneaky, and considering she has no fear there's no reason for her to hesitate in battle. maybe scars on arms from electricity or stray bullets?

Luka- canon that he has scars from wrestling and stuff.

luocha- again, he would probably just heal whatever scars he did get. i really don't know for him, sry ):.

lynx- most calloused hands ever and even more of a weird cold tolerance than others because she's an explorer. probably just doesn't have feeling in some places. and there are probs scars somewhere from when she ran into fragmentum beasts but she's also a healer so...

march 7th- from careless accidents, sure- dropping glasses and stuff, maybe from a few close fights. but her body was wiped like her memories, plus she's a shielder and archer, which is code for not in the thick of the fight and not taking much damage herself, although she has been careless a few times. also, bowstring burns.

natasha- again, she would heal it. but has chronic pain from lugging around that heavy gun and due to age- i think she's in 50s? she's a respected person, and raised seele in the orphanage, but i dont think there's an official age.

pela- cold resistance. maybe some scars from mechanical accidents? and also there were likely some attacks right after she was born since so many of her mother's coworkers were killed.

Qingque- she's clumsy, so accident scars- breaking glass, falling down too many stairs, etc.

sampo- cold res! and probably some close calls since he's such a rat and has enemies, so most scars are on his stomach.

seele- again, growing up in the underworld was tough, so fighting rings + orphanage scraps + street fights, plus some malnourishment since she often gave her food to smaller kids and ran all the errands. was always a fight-first person, but cares a lot and so would protect automatically. has scars all over- many knife ones, some bullet or burns, and electric ones from fixing up mechs.

serval- electric ones from when she was just starting to fight with the guitar. do i need to keep saying cold resistance for the Jarilo-vi ppl?

Silver Wolf- definitely got some, but can aether hacking erase them? either way i doubt she would actually care enough to try unless she was really bored. but also has terrible eyesight, even by punklorde standards. idrk where her scars would be, so spread out mby?

sushang- spent her entire life training and canonically is brawns over brains, so probs more than a few. also her sword is heavy so she probs had some accidents. mostly on her arms and stomach.

tingyun- probs some from people blowing up amicassador ships, since they want to interrupt peace talks and things- but she's fast and experienced.

topaz- had bad lungs, but had a surgery after getting promoted to fix them. some burns on her hands and her sense of smell is a bit screwed up, so numby is often her compass for that (i love numby SO MUCH)

trailblazer- massive scar from getting stabbed through. none from before game started, since apparently they're a puppet. i think they would heal faster, but messily because of that, so a bunch of smaller scars on their torso, face and forearms.

welt- lots and lots from soldier time, especially from debris and the honkai energy probably has some kind of physical drawback. hands are a bit screwed up too, and gets a lot of chronic pain.

yanqing- what the heck is his family history? will it become relevant later? kind of curious how that may affect these hcs, but hands are super calloused and while he often doesn't retain major injuries, he'll only care for them if jing yuan tells him to, so a bunch of smaller scars just from that. mostly on his arms and hands and neck (ppl probs try to stab there often...)

yukong- so many- was huge in the war, so lots of bullet scars and maybe even some that were previously mara-infected and made worse. hearing is shot, uses hearing aids in her fox ears. a bit irrelevant but she is totally awesome.

[tenderfxck]

just stumbled on your bottom haitham fic & loved it so much ahhh :') your writing's lovely! would you consider writing more bottom haitham? idk if you're alright with bondage, but I love the idea of tying him down and making him take it until he's a brainless mess... no touching allowed, he just has to lie there and be a good boy — should be simple enough for him, right? and yet he'd be such a brat about it <3

ty ; ; writing bottom haitham is my fav past time, and since im officially not in time out from tumblr anymore i can actually do just that.

haitham is no pushover. those muscles are there for a reason, no matter how much he stresses that he's just a "feeble scholar". he has a nasty habit of flipping the dynamic with those powerful arms, outplaying any scheme you may have dreamed up to trap him with the brute strength he happens to boast over you.

you're not sure if it's a small miracle or the folly of his certainty that he can still command you that ended with his hands tied fast to the bed frame. but you'll take these blessings when they're offered to you. besides, that self-assured smirk is taunting you to finally drop all pretenses and show him just exactly who is in charge here.

it started rough, all attempts to order him being met with snark, sharp replies, or just downright refusal. fighting every step of the way, al haitham didn't feel it pertinent to go along quietly.

not until his mouth was full of you, sitting on his face, silencing all of that back-talk you were staring to grow sick of.

he surprisingly still had a good amount of fight left in him afterwards, tugging harshly at his restraints. he had warned that you had better let him go, albeit in such a shaky, fucked-out voice escaping his messed lips.

it seems that shoving two fingers into him really did the trick though.

oh, he was so cute when you finally hit somewhere so sweet. how he arched and moaned so pretty for you as his brain finally shut off, floating off into the pillowy softness of subspace.

al haitham turned into such a good boy then, whimpering at each bit of praise you lavished upon his as he sunk further onto your length, fucking himself so eagerly upon you.

maybe, maybe if he begs good enough, pleads till there's tears escaping the confines of those pretty lashes will you finally remove the ropes from his aching hands.

(but don't tell him that it'll only be so you can hold his wrists as you fuck into him from behind, until he's sobbing and cumming hands free ;9)

[luxmaeastra]

Trystane sighed as Malwyn ran to greet him.

"Trystane!"

He stopped short finally seeing Remelle. He looked to Trystane.

"Is she a special friend?"

Trystane grinned and nodded crossing his arms.

"Yes."

At 10, Malwyn was shrewd for his age. Maybe that's why he was becoming a Alchemist. Malwyn titled his head taking her in again.

"Does Grandfather know?"

Trystane shrugged.

"Not yet. What do you want to keep you quiet?"

Malwyn stepped toward Remelle hissing as Trystane gripped his wrist and turned him toward him.

"From me boy. You do not talk to her."

Malwyn glared at him but pointed at his dagger.

"Bonelight."

Trystane sighed and took it off handing it over.

"Don't poke someone's eye out again."

Malwyn twirled the blade mouthing the runes silently to himself.

"It was alleged. Pa said no one could prove it anyway."

Trystane rolled his eyes, of course Lothar would say something like that. The bastard probably found a twisted sort of pride in it.

"Why do you have Bonelight?"

Trystane turned watching as Malwyn light up.

"Ramsay!"

Ramsay grinned ruffling his little brother's hair. He found Remelle easily. He slid his eyes to Trystane.

"You should have run Cousin, Rask is no place for her."

Trystane shrugged. He'd told her as much as he could. How he'd have to act till she was presented and accepted.

"She's mine for as long as she lasts. Why do you smell of blood?"

Malwyn ignored them looking up at his older brother in awe. He worshiped the ground Ramsey walked on. Trystane wondered if that made him immune to Ramsay's schemes.

"Did you come back from a Hunt?"

Ramsay differed to his brother as Trystane knew he would. He smirked but shook his head, his hand resting on his shoulder.

"No unfortunately. I haven't had the time this damn war is very annoying Malwyn. You should stay in your tower. Give me the dagger."

Malwyn shifted and pulled away. He barred his teeth swiping at the hand on his shoulder drawing blood.

Ramsay jerked back and hissed softly.

Trystane grinned. Looks like that answered that question. He wondered how long he'd live now.

"Don't enscroll me Ramsay. I want it, I have a score to settle then you can have it. A maid laughed at me."

Ramsay's annoyance morphed to rage.

"Who? Why?"

//idk for Remelle?? He finally takes her to Rask? Trystane is just trying to manage the family..but he does want to make sure she's ok//

Despite his warnings, she was not completely prepared for the welcome she was getting. Even if she was not from Rask, she could already tell that the young male before it was not as innocent and kind as her own siblings and cousins had been. There was a sharpness to him, something that told her to be weary even if he was a young boy who had an innocent face.

Remelle remained silent as she looked at the scene that was unfolding before her, they had already spoken about how she would be presented until they had gained approval from his grandfather. She knew her place until then, she knew her position until she was welcomed into the family. At that point she was still an outsider, a slight against his family at that point would have deadly consequences.

She remained just behind Trystane when Ramsey arrived, she barely made any reaction to his words or even statement for as long as she lasts. She had no intention of going anywhere soon, she would not be weak and disappoint her mate as she was sure others had done before her.

Gently she reached for their bond, tugging on it to pull his attention to her. Your cousins are horrifying in a cute way, though I feel there is a much deadlier pull of power here than I ever saw with my siblings.

[saym0-0]

the dudes like 30 and hes been doing the spiderman thing since he was 15ish hes real tired yk

hes probably just this regular ass highschool teacher with a husband and a kid outside of costume which is great because nobody expects their law & ethics teacher to be spiderman right

fuck ton of art and rambling about him under the cut :33

i think hizashi is kinda like a mix of the mj/love interest character and the ganke/ned/guy in the chair type character just because i think thats really funny lmao

i just have to decide how close to mha canon do i want it to be lmao- like do i want eri to just he Some Kid or do i want to give her some kinda mutation that the shie hassaikai used to maybe make some kind of drug- quirk erasing bullets would be kinda stupid bc most ppl dont have powers bc its spiderman but maybe i could build on the idea of trigger and have it be like an addictive drug that temporarily gives you powers and drives you kinda crazy,,,. idk man im just spitballin here

okay so design wise some parts i decided on right away like the black and white theme but other ones i rlly struggled with- in my original design (ill put that below) he had a full mask and the eyes had black slats over them to sorta mimic his goggles in canon but i just couldn't get it to look right at all. another thing about the original design was the scarf, i knew i wanted to incorporate it somehow but i just didn't know how to balance that out with the whole spider theme without just making it one or the other yk?

one thing i was sure of though was the pattern of the bodysuit itself- aside from the webs around the neck that were kinda there to emulate the capture scarf the pattern doesnt have much basis but i just think it looks neat

god im so bad at organising my thoughts lol i just have too many

also his webs!! his webs are so cool- they are biological but instead of coming out of his wrists they come out of his sorta collarbone area- immediately after they come out they wrap around each other to create a reinforced rope (i didn't steal that from the ultimate spiderman show shushush) and he kinda keeps it round his neck like his scarf

although he can use his webs separately and theyre just as strong as any other's he jyst prefers to do it this way bc its most convenient for him biologically

little known fact all spidermans have autism they told me

i think he probably tried to keep his

spiderness from his friends when he first got it but realised real quick after oboro died (he definitely revealed his piderman identity to him In The Moment before he died) that he cant logically keep that shit up so he decided naw man and told hizashi & nemuri (i dont know her place in the au yet but she Deserves To Know)

spoilers for atsv down here now srry

also i think if he was in across the spiderverse he would definitely punch miguel in the nose for trying to hurt miles

that is a child you emo ass piece of shit

calling every spider below the age of 25 (most of them i think) problem child

bringing eri along one time to meet mayday just for funsies

idk im so mentally ill about him you don't understand

i can't believe this i just said i had eraserweb content amd then did not post it my bad ill do that now

[yersina]

If you have the time, there’s this no powers soulmate AU idea that I have. In a regular world, where everyone has a red string around their finger, that connects to their soulmate at first contact, Han Yoojin has a pink string. Anyway, I think it’d be funny if regular construction worker hyj got stuck together to CEO/stupidly rich Sung Hyunjae by the hot pink string forcing them to be around each other, and all the fights and funny things that happen because of it. Neither of them can catch a break, and I think it’d be hilarious.

(I headcanon Han Yoohyun as aromantic, so in this AU he doesn’t have a string, but idk how relevant it it would be if you decided to write it)

Yoojin doesn’t actually figure out what the strings mean until he’s out of high school, because for a long time there doesn’t seem to be any pattern to them. His own dark blue string connects him to Yoohyun, but not all of the siblings in his classes have the same string. Sometimes, he sees a golden thread connecting a classmate with their parents, but neither he nor Yoohyun have any tying them to their own. He sees red strings most commonly, which sometimes connect parents or married couples, but sometimes the strings lead away from the person’s spouse. Not a single person who boasts that they’re dating in his class has a red string that connects them to their significant other of the week.

Yoojin hasn’t seen anyone with a bright pink string like his, either.

Despite the ambiguity, though, he does work out a few rules:

Strings that float off into nothingness and disappear a foot or two away from someone’s body means that they haven’t met the person on the other side yet. The entirety of Yoohyun’s string stays visible no matter how far away Yoohyun goes, but even when his end of the pink string bobs and moves, it never seems to point anywhere specific.

The whole string materializes when the people on the two ends touch. It doesn’t have to be skin-to-skin contact—as far as Yoojin can tell, it’s more about the symbolism of the meeting than the actual touch.

The color of the string is related to the relationship. Yoojin hasn’t worked out all of the colors yet, but he knows the blue string connecting him and Yoohyun has to be for siblings. Gold seems to be parental and red is romantic, but there are other, rarer colors that Yoojin still has yet to puzzle through.

For a while, Yoojin worries about Yoohyun’s lack of strings. Yoojin is already at the low end with only two, and Yoohyun has even less than him. But Yoohyun never seems to be worried about it, even when Yoojin tells him about the strings, and Yoojin gradually stops asking. Maybe Yoohyun is happiest with his one string, and whatever being is tying the strings between people got it right for him.

He does wonder, sometimes, what the pink string means for him. He doesn’t trust the red strings, not really, not when one tied his parents together and didn’t leave room for a single golden thread between them and him or Yoohyun. But the pink… Maybe it’s something better.

-

Yoojin boards the bus that’ll take him home, squeezing in between the people already on board until he finds a space around the middle of the bus, standing next to a row of seats.

He’s prepared to spend the ride staring out of the window like he usually does, watching the blur of buildings and trees pass by outside, but this time, when he lifts his head, his eyes catch on the strings tied to his pinky finger. More importantly, his eyes trace the pink one, which no longer drifts off into space like it used to.

Instead, it’s attached to the man in front of him.

What.

Yoojin stares in disbelief at the businessman sitting in the seat in front of him, pale hair slicked back perfectly and dressed in a neat and obviously expensive suit, even to Yoojin’s inexperienced eye. A leather briefcase is propped up in his lap and Yoojin is pretty sure that the watch he spies on the man’s wrist costs more than Yoojin’s monthly rent.

Their shoes are touching.

Yoojin has never seen a person that he is more convinced doesn’t belong in his life. How is Yoojin connected to this man? The whole idea seems absurd.

For the first time, Yoojin doubts the accuracy of the strings.

“Can I help you?” Yoojin winces. Apparently his staring has caught the attention of the man.

“I—” His breath catches in his throat as he abruptly becomes overwhelmingly aware that this is his chance to get to know the person on the other end of his string. This person, who wears uncomfortably expensive clothes, looks proper and put together in a way that Yoojin will never be able to manage, and looks like he hasn’t done a second of menial tasks in his life. “No, sorry. Excuse me.”

He dips his head hastily in apology and spends the rest of the bus ride staring out of one of the windows to his right, refusing to take a single glance at the man. He thinks he might feel a gaze on his face during the ride, but the man never speaks up, and Yoojin steps off the bus at his stop, convinced that he’ll never see the man ever again.

-

“No, you don’t understand, he was wearing a suit,” Yoojin emphasizes. “Can you imagine me with someone wearing a suit?”

“Hyung.” Yoohyun’s exasperation is loud even over the phone. “I wear suits.”

“Yeah, but that’s different.” Yoojin tests the ripeness of a tomato carefully. Hm. He sets that one down and picks another one up. “I look at you and all I see is the kid who used to pick his nose and wipe it on my shirt.”

“Hyung!”

“It’s true! My clothes went through the wash at least twice as often as yours did because of it.” Yoojin puts the third tomato in his basket and moves on to the green onions.

“Hyung, that’s not true.”

“You can’t tell me it’s not true because you never did the laundry.” Yoojin manages to browse through the selection of green onions and make his pick without a single word from Yoohyun. “See, you know I’m right so you’re not saying anything.”

“No, I’m speechless from how wrong you are.”

“You just won’t admit it—” Yoojin’s attention snags on the way his pink string suddenly jumps in the air, pulling taut just in time for the businessman to walk through the sliding doors of the grocery store.

“Hyung?”

Yoojin turns his back to the door, heart pounding. “He’s here,” he hisses.

“Who’s there?”

“The guy!”

“What guy?”

Yoojin groans. “I’ll call you back.”

Yoohyun hums a note of confused agreement. “Talk to you later, hyung.”

Yoojin ends the call right as the businessman joins him near the produce. The businessman is still dressed too formally—he isn’t wearing a suit jacket anymore, but Yoojin doesn’t know anyone who would wear a dress shirt and slacks to poke through the green peppers available at the nearest grocery store.

Whether it’s out of innocent or morbid curiosity, Yoojin stays rooted in his spot, watching the man pick up a cucumber and turn it in the fluorescent lighting like it’s a scientific specimen. “That’s not how you’re supposed to do it,” he can’t help but say when it looks like the man is about to put a bruised zucchini into his basket.

The man turns to him, eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

Yoojin, cursing himself all the while, reaches over and points at a scratch in the skin of the zucchini. “It’ll go bad more quickly if you choose one with scratches. Also, it’s better if you pick one with shinier skin.” Yoojin inspects the available zucchini quickly and picks one that he’d buy for himself. “See, this one is better.” He presents the zucchini to the man.

The businessman slowly puts the one in his hand back on the shelf and reaches out to take Yoojin’s. “Thank you,” he says. Yoojin feels the brush of the man’s fingers against his palm down to his bones.

“If you want to buy good cucumbers, you should choose the ones that are more firm,” he adds, not sure what else to say. He subtly shakes his hand out by his side, trying to rid himself of the lingering sensation of fingertips on his skin.

Thankfully, the smile growing on the man’s face pulls his attention away from his hand. It’s the kind of smile that people use when they’re trying to hide amusement, and Yoojin’s hackles automatically rise at the thought. “This fellow customer has been so helpful,” he says amicably, tucking the zucchini that Yoojin handed him into his basket. “Perhaps you’d be willing to help me with the rest of my groceries as well?”

Yoojin makes a face. “I have my own things to shop for.”

“Then we can accompany each other.”

“There’s no need—”

“Where do you suppose the aisle with noodles is?”

His pink string is, Yoojin finds, a complete asshole.

Unfortunately, Yoojin can’t figure out a proper excuse before the man begins herding him in the direction of the opposite side of the store, so he resigns himself to his fate. “You’re going in the wrong direction,” he says once they pass the noodle aisle.

The man hums with interest. “Am I?”

Yoojin revises his assessment. His pink string is actually insane.

The man ends up dragging him down the sauce aisle. Yoojin leaves him to stare blankly at the array of soy sauce while he grabs another container of gochujang and a bottle of rice syrup. Yoojin watches him stare at the shelves of bottles for a very amusing twenty seconds before reaching out and snagging the brand that he uses at home. “Here,” he says, pressing the bottle into the man’s hands. This time, it leaves less sparks. “Have you never cooked before?”

“Knowing how to cook and shopping for ingredients seem to be two different skills.”

Yoojin snorts before he can stop himself. “This ahjussi is good at talking around the topic. Whatever he means, he should say.”

The raised eyebrow is back. “And this customer isn’t very polite to his fellow customers.”

“The other customer was impolite first, so it seems both are at fault.”

The man rolls his shoulders in an aborted shrug, like it’s true but he can’t be bothered to acknowledge it. “What is this impolite customer’s name?” The interest in his expression feels genuine.

“If that’s what you want to know, then you should give your own.”

“I’m Sung Hyunjae,” the man says easily, though the way he looks expectantly at Yoojin afterwards makes Yoojin think that he should recognize the name.

“I’m Han Yoojin,” he says, despite the very Yoohyun-like voice inside him that says he shouldn’t give his name to strangers that he’s known for all of two minutes.

“Would Han Yoojin-ssi like to help me choose a bag of somyeon to buy as well?”

And Yoojin should say ‘no’ and continue with his own grocery shopping, but he feels the incorporeal weight of the string around his finger and finds himself saying, “Will Sung Hyunjae-ssi be able to choose without my assistance?” instead.

Sung Hyunjae smiles.

When they go to check out, Yoojin finds out that Sung Hyunjae already paid for his groceries when he goes to hand over his card. “That was unnecessary,” he protests once he’s caught up to Sung Hyunjae at the entrance.

Sung Hyunjae hardly even blinks. “What if I wanted to pay for Han Yoojin-ssi?”

“It’s still unnecessary.”

“Then see it as someone paying for their junior.”

Yoojin pauses. “Should I call you hyung, then?” he says, trying not to laugh. It feels unwieldy and informal in his mouth, and even without asking, he knows that Sung Hyunjae would agree.

“Let’s get closer first,” he says, as expected.

Yoojin chooses not to linger over the choice of words—when are they ever going to meet again?—and instead nods politely to Sung Hyunjae. “Thank you for your assistance today,” he says, even though he was the one to help Sung Hyunjae choose his items and having him pay for Yoojin’s groceries felt more like a favor to the other man than himself.

“It was my pleasure.”

Yoojin leaves Sung Hyunjae at his car and heads towards the bus stop, doing his best to convince himself not to look back as he walks away.

(He gives in eventually while he waits at the bus stop, watching the pink string bob and shift as Sung Hyunjae drives back to wherever he must live. It’s much more active than it ever had been before, and unfortunately just as attention-grabbing and annoying as the person it’s connected to.

Maybe that’s what the pink color stands for, Yoojin thinks wryly as he boards the bus. Annoyance.)

-

Yoojin really, really expects to never see Sung Hyunjae again. Seoul is a big city, and it looks like they run in completely different circles. Why would he ever meet the man again?

Unfortunately, Sung Hyungjae does not seem to have gotten this memo.

“Ah, Yoojin-gun,” Sung Hyunjae greets when he steps up to the counter. He’s wearing his full business suit again, and Yoojin has a brief flash of worry that his workplace is near this coffee shop. Will he have to see Sung Hyunjae all the time from now on?

Yoojin shoves this impending spiral to the side in favor of giving Sung Hyunjae a dry look. “If Sung Hyunjae-ssi will call me Yoojin-gun, then I will continue to call him ahjussi.”

Sung Hyunjae, the bastard, just smiles. “Would you prefer Yoojin-ah?”

Yoojin can’t help the shudder that runs down his spine, face twisting like he just took a bite of a lemon. Coupled with that expression… “Yoojin-gun is fine,” he says reluctantly. “What does ahjussi want to drink?”

Sung Hyunjae just orders a black coffee, which seems terribly in-character for him. “Does Sung Hyunjae-ssi not have a coffee maker to make coffee for himself at home?” Yoojin asks, handing Sung Hyunjae’s card back to him and beginning the incredibly arduous task of filling a travel cup with coffee that has already been brewed.

Sung Hyunjae follows him around the counter. “Either way, I’m here to see Yoojin-gun, of course.”

Yoojin frowns. Sung Hyunjae would’ve had no idea that Yoojin works here, if this is his first time visiting the coffee shop. Has Yoojin just not seen him?

He fits a lid over the cup and hands it over to Sung Hyunjae. “Have you been here before?” he asks curiously. It’s possible that he came in during a rush hour and Yoojin just didn’t have time to register who he was, though that seems unlikely.

Sung Hyunjae smiles and takes the coffee. “No. Thank you for the coffee, Yoojin-gun. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

Yoojin frowns at Sung Hyunjae’s retreating back. Surely he’s just imagining how foreboding that sounded.

-

“No.” Yoojin stops in his tracks and gapes.

Sung Hyungjae waves. “Hello, Yoojin-gun.”

“You—” Yoojin looks around wildly, not sure what he’s expecting to see, but it’s still just the walking path next to the Han River that he was strolling along before, and still just Sung Hyunjae sitting on a bench to the side of that path. “Are you stalking me?”

“Why would I stalk Yoojin-gun?”

“That’s the question I should ask my stalker.”

“I’ll wait here until you’ve contacted them.”

“Then I’ll ask again: why are you here, Sung Hyunjae-ssi?”

Sung Hyunjae just smiles. Yoojin wonders how he always manages to make the expression so that it perfectly gets on Yoojin’s nerves. “I’m just here to enjoy a walk along the river.” It’s a completely reasonable explanation, but somehow Yoojin doesn’t believe him. “It would be more enjoyable if I could join Yoojin-gun.”

Yoojin doesn’t even pause to think about it. “No.” He spins on his heel and heads back the way he came, never mind the fact that he really did come out here to take a walk.

Walks can happen any time. Avoiding Sung Hyunjae takes priority.

-

A week later, Yoojin spots Sung Hyunjae standing outside of a high-rise building, looking down at his phone.

Yoojin crosses to the other side of the road.

-

“No,” he whispers to himself, looking in through the window of the coffee shop he was prepared to step into, and resigns himself to going without caffeine for the morning.

-

“I cannot believe you.” Yoojin frowns at Sung Hyunjae.

They’re back on a bus.

He resolutely does not make conversation for the entire, twenty minute commute to the stop that he gets off at. He also resolutely does not look at Sung Hyunjae, who, based on what Yoojin can see out of the corner of his eye, spends that time smiling at Yoojin.

He does see a young woman sneaking peeks at the handsome businessman sitting a few seats down from her and wishes that he could live in her blissful ignorance.

-

“So you’ve never spoken?” Yoohyun frowns and puts a hand out for the bowl of cut potatoes that Yoojin passes to him for the pot of doenjang jjigae simmering on the stove.

“We spoke once,” Yoojin corrects. “Twice, if you count the coffee shop. Wait, three…?” But do any of those meetings really count as talking to Sung Hyunjae?

“And you know for certain that he’s the one who’s connected to you?”

Yoojin shakes his hand at Yoohyun even though he can’t see the string dangling from his pinky. “It’s hard to miss.” It’s actually rather eye-catching when Yoojin is standing next to Sung Hyunjae, since it contrasts so sharply with the man’s entire look.

Yoohyun shoves Yoojin’s hand out of his face with an exasperated look. “Fine, fine. I just thought I’d ask. Can you get the eggs from the fridge while I cut the mushrooms?”

Yoojin does as he asks, grabbing the container of gyeran jangjorim and bringing it over to the table where they’ll be eating. “Like I said, I see him around everywhere, but I don’t want to talk to someone I don’t know.”

“You don’t know anything about him, then?”

“He’s probably rich,” Yoojin says, wrinkling his nose. “He said that his name is Sung Hyunjae. He drinks his coffee black.”

Yoohyun stops in the middle of putting mushrooms in the pan to turn around and stare at him. “Sung Hyunjae?”

“Yes?”

“You’re sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Yoojin impatiently gestures for him to turn back to the stove. “Yah, Yoohyun-ah, if you have something to say, just say it.”

Yoohyun slowly turns back around and gives the mushrooms a few half-hearted swipes. “Hyung, if you’re right, the Sung Hyunjae that I’m thinking of might be one of the richest men in Korea. Top one hundred, at least.”

That can’t be right. “He rides the bus,” Yoojin points out reasonably.

Yoohyun gives him a look. “Rich people can’t ride the bus?”

“Why would they?” Sung Hyunjae does seem like the type to have a chauffeur drive him around everywhere. It fits his arrogant, handsome chaebol look.

“Hyung, can you…?” Yoohyun gestures vaguely to the pan before raising his phone. “I’ll see if I can pull up a picture of him.”

Yoojin sets his hands on his hips in indignation. “You’re asking your brother, the person who raised you, so rudely?”

“That only worked on me the first two times you did it,” Yoohyun says, raising an eyebrow. “Eventually you have to run out of ways to guilt me into doing things for you.” Yoojin keeps staring. Yoohyun sighs. “Hyung, could you please make sure the mushrooms don’t burn while I look up this person to help you?”

“Sure, Yoohyun-ah.”

Yoohyun snorts and steps to the side so Yoojin can take over at the stove. “Whoa, he has a lot of overseas investments, apparently,” he hears Yoohyun mutter after a few moments. “Mostly in technology—oh, here we go.” He tilts the phone in Yoojin’s direction. “Is this him?”

Yoojin’s not sure what he was expecting when he looks over at Yoohyun’s phone, but it’s still not a professional picture of the same man who may or may not have been stalking him for the past month. “Huh. Yes, that’s him.” He returns to cooking the beoseot bokkeum, but for some reason, the only thought that runs through his head at that moment is that the Sung Hyunjae he saw once in the grocery store, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and looking confusedly at the shelves of soy sauce, looks much better than the one that smirks at him through the screen of Yoohyun’s phone.

Yoohyun elbows him out of the way of the stove so he can begin adding seasonings to the pan. “You said that you’ve never seen a thread in the color that you’re connected with before?”

“Pretty much.” He has seen the pink before once or twice, but it’s hard to tell what it might mean when it connects two strangers. He catches Yoohyun’s concerned look and shoves him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it so much, Yoohyun-ah. Let’s focus on dinner, okay?”

If his current track record with Sung Hyunjae is any indication, he’ll be forced to figure it out soon anyway.

-

When Yoojin next spots Sung Hyunjae at a crosswalk intersection, the most he can muster is a deep sigh of resignation. “I’ve seen Sung Hyunjae-ssi more often than my own brother recently,” Yoojin says, waving to him in greeting. It’s somehow reassuring to see Sung Hyunjae look equally startled to see him this time, rather than infuriatingly smug. Of course, his version of startled is a delicate raise of both eyebrows rather than just one, but Yoojin takes it as a victory.

“Yoojin-gun,” he greets. Unfortunately, Yoojin has no other option than to join him at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “Yoojin-gun does seem like an older brother type.”

Yoojin eyes the man next to him and tries to imagine him with any siblings. Not any younger siblings, surely, but perhaps one that’s older? Though the thought of Sung Hyunjae calling anyone hyung or noona… “Sung Hyunjae-ssi is an only child,” he declares.

“Yoojin-gun seems very confident about this.”

Yoojin is, strangely. “Yes.”

“Hm,” Sung Hyunjae hums. “I have a sister who’s older by thirteen years.”

“Do you?”

“Certainly.”

Yoojin narrows his eyes at Sung Hyunjae’s guileless expression. “Sung Hyunjae-ssi doesn’t have any siblings,” he decides.

The light changes. “My sister will be so disappointed to hear this when I tell her,” Sung Hyunjae says mildly as they cross the street.

“Sung Hyunjae-ssi shouldn’t lie to strangers.”

“Yoojin-gun is so cold for calling me a stranger when he said himself that he sees me more often than his brother.”

“Don’t make up strange meanings to my words, ahjussi. I can always just look up the real answer on Naver.” Once they reach the other side of the crosswalk, Yoojin takes two steps before he realizes that no one is following him. “Oh, are you headed somewhere else, then?”

Sung Hyunjae’s pause lasts for another second before a corner of his lips lifts. “The best place for me to be is by Yoojin-gun’s side.” It’s a statement, but there’s a question buried beneath it as well.

Yoojin throws his hands up in surrender. Perhaps if he and Sung Hyunjae get sick of each other, the universe will grow tired of pushing them together. “Fine. Fine! If you do anything suspicious, I will call the police,” he threatens. “I’m going to go eat dinner at that restaurant over there. Come on.”

The dinner, surprisingly, goes no worse than any of their other interactions. Sung Hyunjae, in his collared shirt and slacks, should look out of place amongst the worn tables and chairs of the family restaurant that Yoojin and Yoohyun have been going to since they were children, but instead he looks… comfortable. Softer.

Yoojin glances down at his string once during the dinner, throat crawling with some thick, unnamed emotion. It’s still there, swaying gently in the air between them.

Maybe he can give Sung Hyunjae a chance. Maybe there’s something more to their chance meetings, a reason why the string connects them.

When he looks up again, there’s a there’s a split second where he’s convinced that Sung Hyunjae’s eyes are unerringly trained on the base of Yoojin’s pinky where the string is tied, but between one blink and the next, he has his infuriating smile plastered back in his face and Yoojin uneasily brushes it off as his own mistake or a trick of the light.

Strange.

“Ahjussi,” he says once they’ve finished their food. “You’ll be paying, right?”

“I should get something in return for paying for Yoojin-gun so often, shouldn’t I?” Despite his words, though, Sung Hyunjae puts down his card without waiting for a promise.

“Sung Hyunjae-ssi seems like he has the money to spare.”

“Is Yoojin-gun so confident that he’s what I prefer to spend my money on?”

“I trust that Sung Hyunjae-ssi is polite enough to pay for the person in need in front of him instead of waiting to purchase another unnecessary accessory.”

“Yoojin-gun should be my next accessory, then.”

Yoojin makes a face. “What nonsense is this ahjussi saying?” Is he just an item to this rich person? Thankfully, one of the restaurant employees interrupts to return Sung Hyunjae’s card and that line of conversation is dropped.

Yoojin takes a deep breath once they step out of the restaurant, feeling like there might be something different, something changed in the air. The sun is just starting to set on the horizon, and the rays of golden light reflecting off of metal and glass are equal parts warming and blinding.

“I’ll see Yoojin-gun again, hm?” Sung Hyunjae hums, turned away from the direction that Yoojin will be going. He still doesn’t know anything about Sung Hyunjae, much less have his contact information, but he believes it. He’ll have time to unravel all of this man’s mysteries in the future.

They’ll meet again.

“See you, Hyunjae-ssi.”

[yanderecandystore]

Could you please do a fanfic for a male version of Yandere! Lady Dimitrescu (from Resident Evil Village game) with the reader.

I really like the Resident Evil franchise but I'm too lazy to know what the hell is happening in the older games XD I'm so sorry about that-

I loved watching playthroughs of Resident Evil Village (can't buy the game ;-;), but I felt like it was a bit empty, idk- I felt like the lords weren't really explored enough.

Also the Duke is the best husbando in the whole game- Fight me! >:3

TW/Tags: GN = Gender Neutral, I normally forget to properly name it when it's gender neutral, most of the time I just say "reader" // maybe ooc // lazy genderbent, I'm terrible with names // size difference // servant reader // mentions of gore/cuts/bruises/blood and deaths (and torture- I'm so sorry-) // reader gets hurt // mentions of vomiting

It's Dinner Already [Yandere!M!Dimitrescu x GN!Reader - Short Fanfiction]

It's dinner time already, unfortunately for you, of course.

It feels almost like a routine at this point- Which in a way, it is! You always take care of your tasks during the day, while dreading the inevitable time for dinner to arrive again.

Everyday, at this exact same hour, you and the other servants would prepare a meal for Lord Dimitrescu and his lovely… Sons…

As someone who has started "working" for their family only a month ago, you can positively say: Starving in the cold woods next to your village would have probably been a more merciful death than the ones you have witnessed at this place. You weren't as accustomed to such brutal executions at your village, actually you hardly even witnessed so much death, at least not so up close.

When you came here, you didn't expect to be instantly comforted and treated with respect- You were a commoner looking for an possibility to thrive in a noble's house, you were basically an easy target for any entitled selfish lord to easily belittle you and make you work for them until your hands would turn to dust. Yet nothing could have prepared you for such an odd situation.

Vampires. Monsters. Fiends if you were bold enough to insult them. You weren't exactly welcomed as much as you were snatched in and now forever trapped inside this castle. You can still hear their laughter… Their insane expressions of pure glee, the way they have bursted into maliciously laughing at your pain as you screamed for help trying to open up their door again and be free from that nightmare.

The chase didn't last even a second, they stabbed your legs with their scythes and brought you deeper inside this hellhole, as you cried your eyeballs out. The sons had brought you back inside so their father could take a look at the "intruder".

An absolute titan amongst the mortals. His height was only a sick reminder of how much power he had over the castle, over his sons, and now- Over you.

He may not have been as massive as he was threatening as you remind him to be, but at the time you were just in awe of his height considering you have never seen someone as tall and as mighty.

Then again- You have never seen vampires as well. Were they the same vampires as the books you've read as a kid? You weren't so sure of it…

You were hoping that if you begged for life and for forgiveness for having disturbed their peace, that they could spare you and let you go back to your village. Sadly enough, you commented on how you were only trying to look for a job as a servant.

You probably shouldn't have given them ideas, but it's too late to think about your mistakes now, however.

The sons begged to see your blood spilled, yet Lord Dimitrescu was merciful enough to grant you your "wish", as he said.

It has been a month ever since you were trapped inside and forced to work as a miserable little servant, and even if you didn't suffer the worst forms of punishments that they had in-store for you, you couldn't help but fantasize about just running away and never turning back.

You're so tired of this castle, of the smell of carnage, of the undeserved and over the top punishments, and especially of the people who would subjugate you to such things.

But at last, it's dinner time already, and you can't keep them waiting.

You feel your hands shaking as you walk out of the kitchen and into the dining room where the masters of the castle were so graciously waiting for you. You know what they're waiting for- But you can't let them distract you, for those that commit accidents are faced with fates worse than death.

Although you would rather do this process quickly, you can't afford mistakes to happen, so you take your time to set not only their meal in front of each one but to also pour "wine" into their glasses. You do all of this without looking directly into their eyes, only bowing down to each one and saying "excuse me"s in what they would call a "decent tone", as the smell of their disgusting beverage starts to irritate your nostrils. If you didn't know the main ingredient to Sanguis Virgins is, you probably wouldn't have this immense disgust over it, but right now just the thought of it makes you want to gag.

Only villains could so easily drink blood, and still make a living out of it.

Your internal thoughts of pure hatred against this whole situation almost completely blinded you to the fact that they were eerily, very quiet.

….

On most nights they would be talking with each other while occasionally making comments about you or your presence. Obviously they were all pretty nasty comments that they somehow expected you to back it up in some way or another, it's when they try to insert you into their conversation that makes you hate this occasion so badly, but it normally ends as quickly as it begins.

But as you are pouring wine to Lord's Dimitrescu, you notice that they haven't said a single thing while you were there. You stop what you're doing as you realize that they were silently observing you this whole time, and as you look into their expressions you come to think that maybe you have messed up-

Somehow, in some way or form, you may have messed up- And the fact this mistake could cost your head only agitates your already very worried mind.

….

A small moment of silence continues before the middle son, Cassandro, starts to chuckle in an almost innocent way- As if he was a kid who just said a bad word for the first time- And as he bursts into sudden laughter, Daniel leans towards Bello and loudly whispers:

"- I told you, they do this every time." To which Bello only replied with:

"- It's almost like hypnosis in a way."

The three sons were mesmerized by your ability to trap yourself in your own mind. They're probably aware that you do this as a defensive mechanism but they still find it comical in a weird way. You feel yourself get more tense as you look up at Lord Dimitrescu and see him staring back at you, with an unreadable expression across his face.

Before you could come up with an excuse to whatever you may have caused to disturb their dinner, the Lord himself spoke.

"- How inappropriate. As my sons, you three should know better than to laugh at our servant's airheaded mind-"

And as he said that, their smiles begin to disappear and be replaced with frowns and a bit of shame as they become stiff at their father's words.

"- And how inappropriate of you, too. To be so distracted in the presence of your masters, that's quite rude don't you think?"

But as he continued their bodies begin to relax once again as they realize he wasn't focusing on them- He was focusing on you.

Words have completely disappeared from your vocabulary as you start to think that maybe you won't be able to see another day after their meal is over. You try to mumble some possible responses before getting interrupted by him once again.

"- It's very rude, so very rude in fact that I think we deserve some answers. What were you so distracted about? What were you thinking that could have possibly taken over your small little head?"

Right now, he was sounding a bit condescending, thankfully not as angry as he would have been with the other servants right about now. Every little mistake was used as excuses for punishments- And if you were walking on thin ice before, right now you are one-step closer to breaking this entire lake and getting yourself killed by the freezing temperatures of the water below you.

Thanks to your luck (or maybe lack thereof, depending on how you see this) Daniel came to "your rescue" by coming up with an excuse for you.

"- Maybe they were hungry." He said without any indications of it being a joke or a lie- As the youngest yet craziest of the bunch, he always had that weird "naive yet dangerous" energy coming from him. He was naive enough to make that statement when it's very clear that you actually despise being near them, but he still was a son of Dimitrescu.

You know better than to underestimate any of these people.

The Lord didn't seem completely convinced as he side eyed Daniel who was blissfully eating his meal without acknowledging his dad's glance or his brother's looks of disapproval.

Without a warning you were pulled closer by your wrist and forced into sitting next to the Lord, who made a sign for another servant to bring you your food. This… Doesn't feel right at all, you're waiting for the worst to come yet you don't feel like you can ever prepare yourself enough for what they have in store.

"- M-My Lord- This isn't needed, I'm fine. I'll just continue my duties, if you can excuse me-" You plead, while trying to get up from your chair.

"- Oh but what host would I be if I didn't take better care of my guests? Poor thing, you must be starving if you can barely serve us wine-" And as his tone gets progressively more sarcastic and a bit louder, you can hear his sons snickering from the other side of the table, but you can't see them since you can't take your eyes away from him.

You're worried that if you look away for just one second, that you may not be able to see ever again.

"- It's so sad when one of our guests feels hungry- What's worse is when we are also very, very hungry."

"- Thirsty, even!"

"- Oh, I can feel my throat drying just at the thought of such misery!- Our dinner seems to be ruined."

You hear their whispers, you hear how they are clearly joking about this- How overly dramatic they're being over something so miniscule as you just- Ignoring them.

Let me remind you this is all because you refuse to look them in the eyes, that you refuse to give them any satisfaction for the heinous things they have done! You've seen so many people get hurt inside this castle only for their sick and twisted thirst and entertainment.

"- Indeed, my boys. My appetite is ruined, though dinner is not over yet-" Lord Dimitrescu spoke as he looked at his sons clearly enjoying your inevitable pain, but before he could continue he turns himself to you again, putting a hand on your arm and saying:

"- Wouldn't you agree?" Loud enough so that his sons could hear it, but soft enough to send the tiniest shivers down your spine.

"- …!"

"- No, no- Please, not again!-" He wouldn't dare do this, would he??

But before you could react he had already done it, you barely noticed how fast he had grabbed that knife to slice your wrist- His hand firmly gripping your arm as he made a deep enough cut so that your blood could be easier to access.

It somehow hurts just as badly as the first time his sons have stabbed your ankles and dragged you across the floor- At least you're not bumping into things like before, and even if it's a deep cut it's not as big as it could be if he used his claws to actually do this.

Oh, oh those claws- You almost thought he would use them on you… Those were something else. You can't remember exactly what happened, and why it happened, but you remember seeing him use those on another servant who may have crossed the line at some point.

Well "crossed the line"- More like "casually inconvenienced him". Lord Alcino may act like an incredibly high noble but he acts so childishly and in such an egotistical manner that you are surprised he can even have a castle like this in the first place! You don't remember what the servant has done to be so cruelly dismantled, but you don't doubt that it was for a stupid reason!

You miss that servant actually- Probably the only person who you actually talked with, and the first one to actually taught you how to do your job… You two could have been friends if he didn't intervene.

You briefly remember those moments before getting to experience the most weird sensation of all- Having your bloody cut be licked and sucked on. It hurts and it stings in a way that not only makes you want to cry but to also gag at the thought of you feeding this monster.

You refuse to look at him even in this scenario, you refuse to see him feeding off your blood… Sometimes you wish you were just as poisonous as some species of frogs, poisonous enough to make his mouth burn so he can experience a fraction of the pain he causes to others.

You tried fleeting away, you tried getting up and moving away but his grip on your arm only helped you in getting closer to him- You have your eyes closed as your only option is to cry and muffle your agony.

But as always, he is not satisfied with you just ignoring him. This was supposed to be a lesson, yet you're clearly avoiding your teacher as best as you can- But not today, little flower, you're not getting out of this so easily.

This is the first time he ever got to really taste your blood, as normally you would be behind the other servants while trying to learn how to please him, the only moments where he gets to see you is when it's dinner time, but oh- You're just so cruel!

Escaping inside your own little head while he has to content himself with just your image. Your presence is very much appreciated around this hour, little one-

He has noticed this before, of course, but it was only when he noticed his son's curiosity over the way you behave around them that made him organize this little trap. He didn't have everything planned actually, his plan only involved getting to this moment no matter what- And oh boy, has luck been on his side!

Your blood tastes better than expected of a commoner, your delicate and fearful whines of pain are just as delightful but what really gets him is this tough persona you try to convince everyone you have- You despise him, and it's clear to see why- But he knows his charms will probably work on you one way or the other.

He gripped your face trying to make sure you'll get to him in the eyes as he has a taste of you. Absolutely delicious, especially after you so gracefully "ruined" their dinner.

His sons were just watching as they continued to drink from their crimson glasses. They were just enjoying the show, as everything seems to easily amuse them- Their father was just showcasing how they were so much better than the common folk, and they have no other option but to take notes and to remember what they have to do if they ever feel ignored by the servants in the castle: Show who are the true masters of this place.

None of them were really interested in drinking from you, considering how all three seemed to recognize how their father has taken a liking towards you. No one would dare mess with their father's prey.

If you had enough strength in you, you would start vomiting as soon as this has started, but the more he takes from you the more you feel like you can barely stay conscious.

He wasn't supposed to take so much, at least not so soon- He wanted to just take a sip but he can't deny the fact he would rather drown himself in your blood than to let go.

He sighs, as he notices that you're slowly getting less and less aggressive, getting more and more tired as he drains you from this cut.

You're not unconscious yet, just barely stable enough to understand what's going on.

"- Sigh… Now that was a decent enough meal." He can't praise you for being tasty, can't have you being cocky around him.

"- Here, since I'm done here I'll take you to the servant's living quarters- And because I'm so kind I'll make sure that wound is safely secured and cleaned, so here- Come along now."

And as he stood up he offered you his hand so you could get up yourself, but you don't have enough energy to walk yourself to your room, thankfully you're already ready to go to bed and wish to never wake up again.

And as the nightmare never ends, he decides that if you are going to be difficult then you leave him no choice but to carry you there. How much has he taken from you?? Jesus, he should learn some self-control before doing this again- The absolute brute that he is.

Your vision may be a little screwed over because of the lack of red cells running through your body at the moment- But you have a weird feeling that you two aren't heading towards the servant's living quarters, as you feel like you two are quite literally going in the opposite direction.

Oh but it's fine- Right?

It'll be fine. Surely. After all, he already took what he wanted from you, and he doesn't seem to need more so- You probably won't have to worry about anything right now, dinner time is already over, you can finally relax now….

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

So I'm sick again- Sorry y'all, I just have a horrible immune system and I really don't understand what is wrong with me-

I'm sorry if you didn't like this boo :(

[chihirolovebot]

hey there, venus!! i hope you've been well these days, and if not, i hope things get better. remember to stay hydrated as per usual!

hmmm. for the kink meme... i'd be interested to see what kinks you think kiibo might have. maybe kokichi? but i think he seems obvious. also.... for yttd..... maybe reko

( additional yttd update: i have finished chapter 2 and have seen the endings for it. haven't started chapter 3 but already i am so attached to this cast it's unreal. i still want joe's gender. shin grinds my gears but i love him and his dynamic with kanna?? PLEASE THE WAY HE TRIED TO COVER FOR HER I'M GOING TO LOSE IT. i wasn't sure about nao but...a sweetheart. i adore gin and his silliness. alice is such a dork and he's a delight. and. not gonna lie reko's kinda. 👀 to me. idk )

take care of yourself, my friend. i care about you very dearly. <3

-☀️ sunshine anon

HEYYY SUNSHINE I MISSED YOU LOTS!! yttd chapter 3 is my favourite so far so definitely keep me updated omg!! shin is my third favourite character after sara and gin, then keiji and another character who isn’t in the game yet EEE <33 also yeah the reko thing is relatable i want her n alice so bad.

stuff under the cut, pls mdni :o

content: praise, sensory dep, brats/brat taming, overstim, toys.

kiibo:

biggest praise kink ever oh my god. tell him he's doing so good for you, tell him how good he's making you feel and you'll hear his fans go into overdrive. he loses the ability to speak, just stumbles over his response n hides his face in your neck :((

hm, i get the feeling he's like sensory deprivation, either on himself or his partner. on himself he just finds it exciting to be totally at your whims and mercy, and it makes his artificial nerves buzz, not knowing where the next touch is coming from. on you, he likes the trust it must mean that you afford him - and it helps him become less nervous when he doesn't have to look you in the eyes.

i deadass cannot think of a third this is the most vanilla character ever but its FINE bc hes CUTE <3

kokichi:

brat taming, on the receiving end. he purposefully makes you as mad as possible to get you to snap and fuck the attitude right out of him. he likes to have marks left on his skin - fingerprints on his wrist, crescents from your teeth in his neck and collarbone. he presses down on the bruises the next morning just to feel them sing.

power play, on both ends. i see him as a brat for sure but that doesn't mean he doesn't like to try switching it up every now and then - he has his bold streaks like everybody else, but he usually just views it as a drawn-out form of foreplay until you flip the dynamic back to the way it should be, all fired up and eager to reassert your dominance. all according to keikaku :)

overstim, giving and receiving. he's not sadistic, but there is something intensely satisfying in reducing you to a twitching, sobbing mess occasionally, listening to your breath hitch every time you gasp for oxygen. this is rare, though - it's more often that you'll be overstimming him, because it's generally the only way to get him to shut up for five minutes. only in the sensitive afterglow will he finally be quiet, pliant and vulnerable, shuddering breaths against your skin, clinging with trembling hands to your clothes weakly, allowing himself - if only for a brief moment - to be taken care of.

reko:

huge switch-leaning-dom energy. i think she'd be into phone sex because of the amount of time she spends touring with her band, n she hates to leave her poor baby unattended and unsatisfied for so long :(( she's a little coy at first, finds it embarrassing to talk about this stuff where her friends - or god forbid her brother - could overhear, but once she gets going she's letting slip the filthiest stuff so casually, guiding you through it with only a touch of impatience.

she's def into toys - she thinks it makes the experience more special when the two of you actually have a minute and some privacy to indulge, and she wants to make it extra special every time bc she knows it might be a minute before she gets to see you again. she's particularly fond of vibes and nipple clamps, attaching them oh-so-carefully just to teasingly flick at them, smirking at the way it makes your body jump, drinking in your whimpery little noises with a smirk.

hugely into seeing you wear holsters, straps or garters. something about the way they squeeze tightly around the flesh of your thighs, arms or waist makes her slightly insane. she won't be able to tear her eyes off you whilst you're out in public, and the moment you're behind closed doors (because she's definitely way too embarrassed to do anything in public) she's gripping so hard at your flesh that you're sure to bruise the next day, looking a hair's breadth away from sinking her teeth into you.

[rezzyromance]

can i request a heisenburg x reader where they take a shower together and it starts getting freaky B) idk if im aloud to add kinks but maybe praise :D

This one was written from the heart.

(CW: Sex +18)

Once again, I've written this story with a gender neutral reader until it gets to the sexual part. I am not experienced in writing any sexual scenarios for gender neutral people or people with penises. I'm very sorry for this and hope you enjoy the story anyway. "I'm not going to ask again, Karl. Will you please take a shower?" You've been pushing Karl for the last 30 minutes to take a shower. It had been so long since he took a break from his work to actually take care of himself. It worried you, so you'd often try to take care of him here and there without getting on his nerves. But now, he's being relentless and stubborn. "For the last time, (Y/N) I don't have time to shower." His tone was aggressive as he refused to look away from his work to face you. "When's the last time you change your clothes? You sweat so much during some of the shit you do to these robots, or whatever they are." "It'll all just get dirty again, so what's the point of cleaning anything?" His gross words made you shiver. You loved him, but the man had nearly no concept of personal hygiene sometimes. A small part of him did care a little bit. He didn't want you to see him as gross. He's never had someone who he's felt the need to impress or look good for until you came along. But still, his work mattered so much to him that he casted hygiene to the side more often than you'd both like to admit. "What if I joined you?" You ask. He froze in his place, nearly choking on his own tongue. But he was quick to regain his composure. He looked over at you from the chair he was sitting in. You couldn't tell due to him wearing his sunglasses, but his eyes were scanning every little detail of your face. "Well?" You cross your arms and stare at him waiting for a response. He inhaled through his nose and tried to cover his excitement with a false sense of aggravation. "Fine. As long as it gets you to shut up." He rises from his chair and you can't help but smile knowing you won the argument. "Leave your coat, hat, and gloves here. We'll clean those later." "Yeah yeah whatever." You excitedly make your way to the bathroom. You set the shower temperature to a comfortable level of heat. The room began to fill with steam. Karl stood against the wall with his arms crossed, still wanting to seem reluctant even though he already agreed to the shower. "Alright. Water's ready. Now strip." You demand with a cheeky smile. "You first." "Sorry, can't do that. I wanna make sure you actually get in the shower before I do so you can't run." This makes him roll his eyes. But, once he's done pouting he begins to remove his shirt. You do the same, hoping it will coax him into continuing. Once his shirt is off he throws it to the side and smiles once he notices you stripping as well. It doesn't take long for you both to be completely unclothed.

He pulls back the shower curtain and steps inside. "Ah! Son of a bitch! Why's the water so hot?!" he yells out and begins to twist the metal shower knobs with his powers. "I didn't make it THAT hot." You step inside and feel a shiver crawl up your skin. "Now it's too cold." You complain. "You are not making this easy, are you?" He turns the knob to warmer. As uncomfortable as it was for him before, he didn't want to hear you fuss more than you already were. "That's better." You smile and relax as the water covers your body.

You stood there for a while, just enjoying the feeling of the heat around you. For a second, you zoned out. The whole time he stood there staring at you. Seeing you so happy and at peace made his insides start to feel as hot as the water that bounced and ran down his skin. All of his own discomfort fled as he watching, lovingly, at the smile growing on your face. Your eyes began to flutter open and he quickly looked away, not wanting it to be obvious that he was staring. But, you could tell from his flushed face and wandering eyes that he had been watching you.

You had placed 2 wash clothes on the side of the tub. You bent over to grab them and again he can't help but stare. This time, his feelings are a little less innocent as he gazes upon your body in a position that drives his mind wild. "Here's a wash cloth." You rise up and turn to hand him one. His body was closer to yours than it was just a few seconds ago, but you didn't mind. "Thanks." His voice was rough and low, almost as if he spoke in a growl. You supply both rags with soap and begin to rub down your body as he does the same.

You sit back for a moment, not really putting in much effort into cleansing yourself as you were too distracted by the sight in front of you. The way his silver hair stretched and clung to his face as the water weighed it down drove you mad. The way the water trickles off his muscular arms and powerful body absolutely hypnotized you. "Having fun there, (Y/N)?" You look up from his chest to his eyes. "Sure am. And you?" You use the cloth that you were previously bathing yourself with and begin to rub across his chest. "I'm fine, but I can bathe myself." He jokes. "Are you sure about that? It looks like you missed a spot." You point to a random area on his chest. "What? Where?" He looks down to where you were pointing and you take the opportunity to place an unexpected kiss on his lips. The initial shock causes him to almost pull away at first, but he soon pushes into the kiss, making it more passionate.

Your back was now pushed against the wall as you both continued your heated kiss. He was first to slip in tongue and you followed, ignoring any drool that leaked from your mouth as it only blended in with the shower water. His hands were gripped tightly to your hips. He begins to bring his body closer to yours. You can feel something poking you before the rest of his body makes contact which causes you to smile against his lips.

You place a hand on his wet chest and slowly make your way lower and lower until you can feel the light scratchiness of his pubes. he nibbles lightly on your bottom lip, signaling for you to go even further. You follow through and reach down you grasp his hardened penis. He inhales sharply and you begin to rub it back and forth, teasing him with your soft touches. He grunted quietly and tightened his grip on your hips, digging his fingers in slightly. You whimper and wrap your fingers around his cock as you begin to jerk him off. "Fuck yeah. Just like that." He groans in your ear before placing scattered kisses on your neck. You use your free hand to reach up and tangle your fingers in his wet locks. He begins to bite down on the more tender spots on your soft neck, leaving marks all over.

After more and more stroking, he grabs your wrist and pulls it away from his crotch. "Do you want me?" He says in a husky voice directly into your ear. "Mhm." You try to not moan as you feel his hand rub down your stomach and making its way in between your legs. "Say it. Say you want me." He demands. "I want you." You gasp lightly as his fingers begin to play with you between your legs. Your knees come together and he uses one of his hands to move them apart. You wrap your arms around his neck, using him as support as your legs shake beneath you. His rough and calloused fingers toy with your clit, causing you to dig your nails into his back. This causes him to inhale through his gritted teeth, but he didn't mind.

After almost rubbing you to completion, he pulls away to torment you some more. You let out a dissatisfied groan as his hand pulls away. His smirk was as egotistical as ever. "What's wrong? You want a little more?" He places his hands on the wall with your body in-between them. He slowly began to bring his body closer to yours, trapping you against the wall. His hard dick was between your legs and resting eagerly against your pussy. He slowly rocked his body, moving his dick across your needy region. He stared into your eyes and watched the agitation grow stronger. "Having any regrets about this yet?" He holds in a chuckle. "No. But if you don't fuck me stupid then I might." "Is that an invitation?" He leans in more and places a hand on the side of your face, cupping it while his thumb played with your bottom lip. You open your mouth and lead the tip of his thumb in before slowly biting now. You didn't bite hard at all, just enough to make him pull his dick away from you and begin to position it for entry. "I'll take that as a yes, Buttercup."

With his thumb still in your mouth, he pushes the first few inches of his dick in. Your breath hitches and you accidentally bite down harder. "Bite any harder and I'll leave right now." He threatens. You immediately loosen your jaw and begin to suck lightly as he pushes more of himself into you. You moan and he pulls his thumb out but continues to hold your face in his hand as he slowly rocks his hips, giving you a little time to adjust. But, it was only a little bit of time. Once your body loosened a little bit he began to thrust. in and out, holding into your waist to keep you from slipping. The sound of wet skin slapping filled the room along with overwhelmed moans that you couldn't keep quiet.

A few grunts left his gritted teeth as he pounded into you relentlessly. "C'mere" He grabbed you by the arm and pulled you away from the wall and turned you so your back is facing him. He bends you over and places one of his hands underneath your stomach to provide you for support. You felt as his tip wandered around in between your legs before finding your vagina again. Once he filled you up with his dick again, he began to pound into you even harder. Both of his hands gripped tightly on each side of your waist as he pulled your entire body into him with each pound.

You felt like you could feel it in your stomach. His dick was harder than ever and you swore you could feel it throbbing and twitching inside of you. Your vision was blurred from the sheer amount of overwhelming pleasure so you closed your eyes. Your moans had become quiet little whimpers that were pushed out of you with each thrust. You feel his hand make its way through your hair as he grips a handful of it and pulls your head back slightly. "Fuck yes (Y/N).." He moans as your body limply swings against his pounding. You could feel a burning feeling growing between your legs. Your climax was near and you wanted so badly to finish. He could tell by the way your legs were trembling that you were close.

He reaches one of his hands between your legs and feels for the clit as he continued to slam into you. A loud moan escaping from your lips helped him navigate to eventually finding your sweet spot. So now he was drilling into you while also destroying your clit. You shut your eyes tight and let loose all of the swears, grunts, and moans you were holding back. His climax was approaching as well. You could hear him grunting and swearing louder and louder, occasionally saying your name. "Karl! Karl I'm gonna cum!" You cry out. He doesn't change his pace until he feels you release onto him. Your body goes completely limp as your vagina floods with your orgasm. You couldn't feel your body and your brain felt foggy.

He still had an orgasm to reach, though. So, he pulled out and made sure to keep a tight grip on you to make sure you don't collapse. You followed the motion of his movements as he turned you around and put his lips to yours as he stroked his cock. The kiss was messy, but loving. He stopped jerking himself off and grabbed you by the waist again. "Wrap your legs around me." He says. You nod, too dazed to give a verbal response. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist. You also wrap your arms around his neck and rest your head against him as he sticks his dick in you again. You give no protest and close your eyes as he pounds in and out into your comfortable body that engulfed him. While you were quiet, he could still hear you moaning under your breath. He bounced your body up and down, kissing you over and over again. Once he knew his orgasm was rising, he pulled you off and came, letting it drip down his shaft and onto the wet shower floor. You were both breathless but gained a sense of comfort from feeling each others chests rise and fall.

"So," He spoke in between small gasps. "I might need to shower with you more often." You laughed softly into his shoulder, too tired to give any real reaction. He twisted the knob to the shower off with his powers. His hands never left your body as he held you against him. "Here. Sit." He sits you down on the side of the tub and grabs a towel. He softly began to rub your wet hair, attempting to dry it while you rested. You stared into his eyes as he did so. They had their usual sharpness to them, but something about him in this moment was so much more tender than his usual self. You didn't complain though. When he was done, you took the towel from him and returned the favor by drying his hair. He closed his eyes and relaxed against your gentle touch. Once you finished, you placed a kiss on his nose that immediately created a smile on his face.

"How about we go relax a little more before I get back to work." He offers. "I'd like that." You respond quietly. He wraps a towel around his waist and then wraps a towel around you before picking you up bridal style and carrying you back to the bedroom. There, you both curled up against each other and fell asleep.

[violettelueur]

RYŌMEN SUKUNA || LITTLE CAGED ARTIST

| featuring : ryomen sukuna ft. itadori yuji 

| warnings : mention of emotional abuse and murder as well as grammar errors

| form : imagine

| word count : 1691

| published : 22 december

| request : Hello, idk if your request are open but feel free to ignore, but just, imagine another reencarnation au (those imaginw of yours are my favourite) where the reader was a painter and Sukuna's personal favourite so he took her and kinda abused her psycologicaly to the point where she would just draw him and only him and he loved that, and in the future she's still an artist that draws Yuuji bc theyre friends but when she sees the tatoos she again draws Sukuna and he feels guilty for the way he treated her and her art in the pastIf It's angst i would apreciate but it's not really necesary

| barista’s notes : hi there~ i apologies for the extremely long wait for your coffee order but now it is there ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ right now it is nearly 5am in the morning and i have no idea why the hell i am awake, but oh well ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ  DONT WORRY THOUGH! after this, i am going to sleep and rest up since today it is Fushiguro Megumi’s and Kageyama Tobio’s birthday today ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ but other than that, i hope you enjoy your order of a cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and i hope you come back soon! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

“Sukuna….please leave me alone...leave the village alone, I beg of you please,” you whimpered to the man that was standing tall and proud with a sadistic smirk painted on his face, while you were on your knees tightly holding onto his large wrist - somewhat slightly covering the black ring marking - as if your weak physical strength could do anything to stop his raising them up and giving a rain upon hell to the people that was residing in the small town you lived in.

You have no idea how you had managed to catch the attention of the most feared curse to both humans and jujutsu sorcerers nor did you know how you managed to become acquainted with the man in front of you. All you knew right now was that the situation you were in at this current moment and time, was not ideal to anyone at all.

You were just a simple artist. A simple village girl artist that was blessed to be hired by the nobility and aristocracy to paint their family portraits with the finest colours that they would offer you, for you to be then paid so you could provide for your village. However, as luxurious as it sounded, you were in love with the idea of just placing a sharped piece of charcoal on a piece of paper or cloth you could find anywhere and sketch your heart designed.

“Leave you alone?” Sukuna questioned you in his deep voice, before slowly crouching down to become face to face with you. “I could never leave you alone, not when you have caught my attention with your craft little one,” Sukuna then stated, as he gently placed a hand on your cheek before using his thumb to caress the soft skin he was touching. 

Ever since Sukuna had caught sight of you delicately painting a portrait of a noblewoman with such care and gentleness, he couldn’t help but wonder how your hands were so carefully and how patient you were to make sure every stroke was perfect to your desire. Slowly, he began to wonder what it was like to be the subject of one's view. A subject that someone desired to recreate on a simple piece of paper. However, compared to his past sightings, you were the most talented as well as the most beautiful he had ever seen and once he was able to gain a clear view of the noble woman that you were illustration, he was surprised at how much detail you were able to encapture in your work and just like the noble woman’s reaction, they both were extremely happy with the result of the final product.

“How about this?” Sukuna suddenly asked, causing your head to suddenly shot up leading you to meet eye to eye with the King of Curses, “if you come with me and draw me and me only for the rest of time, I would leave this little village alone as well as the people residing in it. How does that sound, little one?”

‘Come with him? Where? Why? What’s going to happen to me?’

“If you don’t accept this deal, every single person here will die. Burned, stabbed, slashed, any way possible I can. Men, women and even little children’s lives will be gone, and it would be all your fault.”

‘My….fault? But-’

“You know I’m not a patient person little one, I might as well start my massacre while you take your time to think, it will be-”

“NO PLEASE! DON’T, YOU CAN TAKE ME, JUST LEAVE THE VILLAGE ALONE, PLEASE!” you screamed in desperation, as you tighten the grip of his wrist that was within your grasp to keep him down, as you didn’t want to risk him getting away from your sights for the safety and protection of the people  within the little town you had lived in since the day your life had started.

With a large cruel grin, Sukuna had somehow managed to pry his wrists free from your tense grip before sliding an arm under your knees as well as an arm around your body lifting you up in a bridal position, while you were just expressing a face of shock and fear, confused and fearful on what you had just accepted in exchange for your life. Where were you going? Was this the end? Were you going to die? How much longer have you had left?

��Don’t worry, I won’t kill you, you’re too precious to be slaughtered little one,” Sukuna answered - as if he knew what you were thinking - before placing a ghostly kiss upon your temple leading you to freeze still, petrified on what he would do with you had moved a single inch.

This was your life now. 

A caged artist.

                                               ꕥ

Here you were, sitting on a wooden platform outside with a sharpened piece of charcoal that Sukuna had kindly given you, in order for you to sketch a portrait of him. The second you placed the charcoal upon the paper, Sukuna couldn’t help but stare at the light movements of your hand as you lightly stroke a few lines to create an outline before watching your hand suddenly pause, causing the King of Curses to switch his view from the sheet to you, only to find your look at him with such a frightened look.

“I’m sorry…..I shouldn’t look at you, should I? I apologise deeply,” you softly muttered before quickly turning back to the portrait that was right in front of you - you didn’t want to do anything wrong in his eyes, you knew he could go back on his words and harm the people that you cared about. However, it seemed like Sukuna didn’t care at all, he had managed to trap you into his life and had the power to demand you to draw him every time he would mention he could go back to your little village and burn it to the ground. He relished in the idea of being the subject of your attention.

This is what he wanted. 

His little caged artist.

                                               ꕥ

1000 years later and here you were. 

Here you were sketching a picture of your best-friend Itadori with a picture of him that you had managed to capture on your phone. Itadori first came into your life shortly after you had enrolled into Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Techincal College around the same time as your other classmate Kugisaki did. 

You have no idea what drew you into the boy with the pink hair, but something within you pulled you towards him causing the blooming and somewhat hilarious friendship to start, even causing Fushiguro and Kugisaki to wonder what was going on in your mind to somehow relate to the boy - yet, they didn’t mention their questions since they didn’t really think you knew the answer yourself, and they were correct.

However, as you continued to smoothly glide your pencil across the page, applying different pressures to construct some definitions as well as shadows within the photo you were copying from, you began to suddenly realise that you were starting to draw marking upon his portrait. Markings that were so familiar to the ones the person within him had.

Ever since that day at the Eishu Detention Centre, the sight of Sukuna standing in front of you with his shirt ripped off showcasing his black marking caused a trigger of unknown memories to suddenly flood into your mind, causing excruciating pain that was so unbearable, you thought you were going to pass out from the intense pressure, maybe as even close to dying from the immense pain.

From what you could even recall from the sudden flood of blurry images that appeared in your mind, there was a picture of you drawing with a piece of charcoal with the infamous King of Curses seating right beside you, watching you draw will whispering in your ear the threats that he would bombard you in order for you to make sure that you were only drawing him and him only.

Slowly but in a shaking manner, your drawing hand continued to sketch in Sukuna’s markings that would appear on Itadori’s body as you were somewhat extremely afraid of what the King of Curses could do to you if you didn’t - just how you left 1000 years ago.

Although unknown to you, your best-friend Itadori was standing right behind you, having a clear view of what was happening to you as well as the drawing right in front of him. Seeing your shaking figure with slow but clear teardrops landing on the sketch book as well as the drawing evolving from him to the curse residing inside of him, made him realise how damaging Sukuna was to not only him but also to the people around him. Carefully, Itadori placed a hand over your hand that held the pencil, causing you to flinch before finally noticing that it was your friend that was holding it and not the special grade curse.

Within his Innate Domain, Sukuna also had a clear view on what was happening to you and slowly but strangely began to feel something drop to his stomach with the feeling of his throat closing up at the sight of you slowly breaking down into a small state of insanity. This isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want his beautiful little one to become lifeless and paranoid like you were now.

Even after 1000 years after your death, your incarnation was carrying the feeling of fear, despair and numbness that you were weighed upon the second you had given your life away to the King of Curses for the sake of your village. Even though you had more freedom then you did then, you still left trapped and lost within the metal cage that Sukuna had enclosed you in. Even with the small hint of guilt that was manifested within the cruel curse’s heart. 

You were trapped with no escape out.

You were trapped forever with no key to open the door that was clearly right in front of you.

Forever his little caged artist.

[glowingbadger]

Hi it’s me, crawling through the window. Would it be possible to get a crumb of arranged marriage w/ Hubert? His line w/ Dorothea about being willing to get married for politics sake has fueled my brain rot for him.

Good God I need to secure my windows-

I mean HELLO FRIEND ANON YES IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE

Lol actually though, I have been thinking about this for Hubie since we all started chatting about that arranged marriage stuff! I think it's a perfect concept for him~

This like... got weird while I was writing it though?? Idk man hahaha it ended up on the less-spicy side of what I usually write, and with some very weird dialogue in places... Idk, I hope y'all like it. Maybe if there's interest, I'll follow this up eventually with a more smut-focused piece?

I've been traveling and working so much lately that I just don't even know what writing is anymore or how it works hahaha

TW: A brief mention of non-con

Hubert (FE3H) x Reader ("wife," neutral pronouns)

Arranged Marriage - semi spicy i guess?

"Frankly, he's a pain," Linhardt must be able to see your surprise and confusion written across your face. He goes on, "He's reliable and capable, of course, but also the most persistent nag you'll ever meet. Actually, no-" he glances upward as though to cross reference his own thoughts, "No, her Majesty is worse. But Hubert is a close second to be sure. Always on and on about sleep schedules and proper nutrition and etiquette..." He sighs and closes the massive tome on his lap, as though to close the conversation with it, "frankly, he's an insufferable mother hen. Does that help?"

"Well, it's... Not what I expected," you admit with a shrug, "but thank you all the same."

~

It's been several weeks since the papers binding you in marriage to Hubert Von Vestra had been signed- and this alone had sufficed. No ceremony, no grand ball, just paperwork and a handshake with your father. A handshake that ensured that, even under the Empire's unification, he would maintain nominal control over his considerable portion of land, and in return, would swear absolute loyalty to her Majesty. It was a beneficial arrangement for all parties, and you were not ignorant to the part you played. You were hardly even a bargaining chip- moreso, a hostage.

Your new husband had made no secret of what manner of harm may befall you if your family were to renege on their deal. Fortunately, you know your father to be a reliable coward, so you have no reason to believe he would be bold enough to step out of line.

Hubert Von Vestra is a terrifying man. A zealously loyal man of storied cruelty and a frigid disposition. His frame looms over you whenever he's near, and though he's hardly placed a finger on you since you'd been given over to him, his mere presence is... arresting. There's a sort of charisma to him that's equal parts frightening and fascinating. Perhaps it's madness brought on by your circumstances, but you can't help wanting to glimpse just the slightest bit into that brilliant, ever churning mind.

Unsurprisingly, he has been resistant to your attempts to understand him. He hardly indulges you in small talk, and if you were the paranoid sort, you'd think he intentionally makes himself busy when you're around. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, you'd settled on a routine of bringing coffee to his study adjoined to your bedroom in the evenings. He'd been visibly surprised the first time. It wasn't until the fourth night that he'd given a curt "thank you." About two weeks in, he'd actually sat back in his chair and laid down his quill pen to receive the cup from your hands. After a month, he'd leveled his narrow gaze at you and said,

"I cannot begin to fathom what satisfaction you glean from playing 'maid' to me."

"Well, I, uhm," you hadn't expected him to address you so directly, but you managed to say, "You... work so hard, I wanted to do something for you, I suppose."

His expression is inscrutable as he replies,

"You are aware that my work was much the same before you arrived."

"I am," you say softly, "But- all the same..." you trail off, and Hubert seems content to let the matter rest. And so you leave him be amidst his reports and correspondence, coffee at his side on the desk. Yet for as unproductive as your exchange might have seemed, it does leave you with an idea. The thought to learn about the man from those who knew him long before your arrival at the capitol.

~

Your investigation into the true character of your husband does not stop with Linhardt. In fact, his testimony only leaves you with further questions. But perhaps the others would say otherwise; perhaps the United Empire's most up and coming crest scholar simply inspires maternal behavior. This has to be the case- you simply can't imagine that the notoriously ruthless heir of the even more notorious Vestra lineage would be so... Doting.

And yet the more you learn of him, the more contradictory he seems.

Caspar's take is much like Linhardt's- a picture of a man far closer to a school marm than any assassin or master of torture. Ferdinand seems both smitten and incensed by him, oscillating wildly between the two. Then eventually, to your shock, Bernadetta takes the initiative to speak to you about Hubert of her own accord.

"I'm, uh, really so-sorry to bother you!" she approaches with arms drawn close to her chest and eyes resolutely avoiding yours, "I- I just heard that you were... asking about Hubert, so, I, uh..."

It takes some time to prompt her further. You assure her again and again- no, this isn't intrusive at all- yes, you'd very much like to hear her perspective- no, you're not mad at her. In truth, you're endlessly intrigued about what a gentle soul like Bernadetta would have to say about a man feared across the continent. Finally, she manages,

"He's... actually really kind!" she blurts out, as though the words would abandon her if she gave them the window of opportunity. Your eyebrows raise slightly.

"You think so..?"

"Yes, completely-!" she stammers, "I know he's super, super scary, and powerful and spooky and cold and, uh, all of that. But still," her voice falters as she continues, "He only scolds people when they do something dangerous. And he only hurts people to protect others. I... I know he's done some te-terrible things. But... he's always been nice to Bernie," finally, she meets your eyes with an imploring look in hers, "So, uh, I'm really grateful to him. And I think it would be really nice for someone to reach out to him. If... if that's not too weird or anything. For you."

You smile warmly and nod,

"Thank you, Bernadetta. I know it can't be easy for you to come to me with all of this, but... I'd like to try, if I can."

The opportunity doesn't come in the way you expect.

At first, it seems the night will proceed like many others before. You bring a cup of coffee to your husband's desk, setting it down quietly so as to not disturb him. He's silent, but this is common enough, so you head back to the bedroom to undress for the evening. All nights prior, he would lay beside you long after you'd settled in, then rise to resume work in the morning before you woke up- all the while never allowing your bodies to interact in any way.

Tonight, just as you're about to close the door to Hubert's study behind you, long fingers catch around your wrist, visibly startling you.

It's the most physical contact you've had to-date, but he only says,

"One moment."

You whip around to face him, a touch of anxiety evident in your eyes. It's clear in his own that he notices, but if anything, he only seems amused. He steps forward, his taller frame menacing you as he speaks,

"I understand that you have been busying yourself with some manner of investigation as of late."

It takes a moment for his meaning to reach you. When it does, your face burns and you can't bring yourself to meet his scrutinizing gaze,

"Oh, uhm..."

"I assure you, my dearest wife," he says with barely concealed venom, "anything that I do not wish for you to know will be kept from you. Aside from which, your efforts thus far have proven amateurish at best."

Something seems off about his tone. You could understand if he felt uncomfortable or hesitant about your efforts to learn about him, but this seems far more grave, more... business-like. He steps towards you once more, and you step back in turn. Yet before long, you feel your legs bump the edge of the bed. A gloved hand trails a fingertip down your jawline to your chin, then urges you to look up at him.

"Whatever you are planning, my dear, I promise it will be fruitless. You had best rethink how you spend your days before your actions bring you to harm."

"No, I-" your brow creases deeply, your face burns, your body burns hotter and you don't want to consider why, "I've just been trying to learn about you as a person, nothing else. We're- we're married, after all, so..."

He gives an abrupt, dry laugh.

"Ah, so I am to believe that you've been interrogating my allies out of some misguided affection, is that it?"

"Hubert, just listen to me!" for a moment, you feel bolstered, defiant, and you straighten your posture, "You won't tell me the first thing about you- the only way to learn so much as your favorite color is to ask someone who's known you for a decade!"

Briefly, he does seem to consider your words. But his eventual reply is as aloof as any prior,

"If you're no spy or politician, then you're worse- a fool." he says, and before you can respond, he's seized both of your wrists and pushed you back onto the bed. For a moment, the room spins and your voice leaves you. A shrewd eye watches you with cruel condescension as he pins you against the sheets.

"I should think that you'd be well aware what I'm capable of," he nearly whispers, "I personally ensured that the rumors spread through your father's territory and further still. Do you think that anyone would even dare lift a finger to help you if I chose to seek retribution for this recent behavior?" He draws nearer, his grip tighter at your wrists, "Perhaps as punishment, I'll simply take my pleasure from you by force."

Your lips tighten, you take a breath. Then, meeting his gaze directly, you reply,

"You won't."

His visible eye narrows.

"And what evidence do you have to prompt such unfounded confidence? Perhaps you have crafted a flattering falsehood of me in your mind," a mocking smirk curls his lips, "Am I a misunderstood sentimental sort to you, then? A sad, lonely man for you to save?"

You scowl, though you suspect it looks more like a pout to him.

"I don't know what I think of you yet- not completely. But I don't pity you like that, and I don't think you're sad or lonely. I know you're not."

For the first time, it seems that you've caught him off guard. That frigid mask falters for just a moment, and you go on before he can replace it,

"You're surrounded by people who care about you. I've seen it for myself. Whatever you've had to do in the service of your ideals- it hasn't kept the people around you from wanting to know and understand you, even if it's despite you."

Hubert is silent for a moment. His gaze bores into you like he thinks he'll discover some hidden layer if he can just keep digging. Then, he sighs,

"How did I ever become bound to such a troublesome spouse..."

When you wrest your arms from his grasp, his hands fall away with little resistance, and you think that perhaps he had never truly intended to keep you in place by force to begin with. He moves to leave the bed, but your fists find the front of his clothing and tug him back down to you.

You press your lips to his without hesitation, and you can feel him inhale sharply, his entire body rigid above you. His lips are surprisingly soft, his scent like coffee and old parchment, and though your heart threatens to burst from your chest, you hold firmly to him by his clothes. Near imperceptibly, he leans down against you, and your fear, along with any remaining doubts, begin to dissolve. Knowing he won't pull away, you let your hands relax against him, running up his chest where you can feel his own pulse pounding. It's so human, so entirely reasonable and normal. Now, at last, Hubert Von Vestra is merely a man of flesh and bone.

Your tongue meets his naturally, your lips parting in time with his as your kiss deepens to a fevered pace. One hand reaches that sharp, handsome jawline, reveling in the erotic sensation of his mouth moving against yours. And yet, all the while, his hands remain staunchly on the bed beside you. He doesn't touch you- doesn't even let his body meet yours.

It's impossible to tell whether passion or madness drives you to bring your teeth to his lower lip, a single insistent bite communicating desire mounting faster than you can contain. And for a moment, you sense something new; a sound catches in Hubert's throat, a reaction he fights to stifle. Then, he pulls away. His pale skin is tinted a rare shade of pink, and his hair is ruffled out of place enough to reveal both narrowed eyes. His cloak has spilled around his frame to surround you both, and somewhere in your frazzled mind, you imagine that you're caught in some beautiful, velvet-lined trap.

"I- must... return to my work." Hubert says stiffly. He pushes up from you and turns away, leaving you still flustered on the bed behind him. You sit upright, holding your arms tight around your body as you watch him straighten his hair and clothes.

"You, uhm..." your face reddens still as you search for the right words, "you could... join me in bed, if you liked."

Hubert turns to the door of his study, speaking without daring to even glance your way,

"Anything that you offer to me now will be born from the impulse to survive. I have been bargained with before." His shoulders slack just slightly, his voice low and sober, "The proudest nobleman will even sell off his own child to a monster if he feels it will spare him its teeth."

You open your mouth to protest, then shut it without a word. You feel that you know your mind and heart, even in this moment, but you lack the words to convince a man like this. In a feeble attempt, you murmur,

"You don't frighten me, Hubert. Not anymore."

He half turns toward you, though his hand remains on the handle of his study door.

"You yourself said that you do not know what you think of me," he says, "As such, I will not lay a hand on you until the day that you do."

You stare down at your hands in your lap, barely registering the sound of the door clicking shut as he leaves you in the bedroom. No matter how you try to sort out your tangled thoughts, the memory of his lips on yours won't leave them. If anything, it eclipses any sense of reason, standing resolutely in the way of your path to clarity. Letting out a groaning sigh, you fall onto your back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it could offer you any advice.

What do I think about my own husband? You wonder, the thought nearly enough to make you laugh. Well for one, he's a pain.