#p: the bravest of all

[51-queer-frogs]

i tell real people about my tumblr bc i'm more cringe irl

people who only use conventional social media are so funny bc they’ll casually be like “can I see your tumblr??” are you Insane. this is no instagram or twitter. this is my vault of secrets

[shokocide]

HIS TO RUIN - RYOMEN SUKUNA

summary. Ryomen Sukuna is revered across the lands for being the most dangerous tyrant. Nothing gets in his way when he wants something. Or someone.

word count. 13k (oops)

content. mdni fem! reader, modern day! sukuna, arranged marriage, sukuna's highkey toxic but we get character development, angst, talks of violence, pet names, teasing, fluff towards the end, smut, oral (fem rec.), p in v, loss of virginity (reader), breeding, creampies, missionary (lemme know if i missed something!)

author's note. this was supposed to be a short drabble idk how this happened-

"Ride to the North. Deliver my words exactly as I speak them.” Ryomen Sukuna’s loud booming voice echoes through the room and the messenger falls to his knees before the King, bowing his head out of reverent fear.

“The King of the North will surrender his daughter to me. She will be bathed, adorned, and presented in the finest silks befitting a queen—my queen. She will be ready when I arrive. There will be no hesitation, no protest, no delay.

If they value their kingdom, they will obey. If they hesitate, remind them of what I do to those who defy me.

This is not a request. This is a command. And a command is not given twice."

-

The doors to the great hall burst open, the gust of winter air doing little to cool the fear that grips the court. The royal guards stiffen as a lone rider steps forward—cloaked in black, his presence as foreboding as the letter he carries.

He does not bow. He does not kneel.

He merely lifts a scroll, and steps toward the throne.

"From the Honored King of the South, Lord Sukuna." The messenger’s voice is steady, but his hands betray him, shaking ever so slightly as he extends the letter.

A long silence follows. No one moves. No one breathes.

The king’s face is pale as he takes the scroll, his fingers hesitant, as if touching it alone might bring ruin. He knows—they all know—that whatever is written inside is not a request.

It is an order.

The king’s hands tremble as he unrolls the scroll. The seal is unmistakable—deep crimson wax, pressed with the mark of a ruler who does not ask, only takes. The grand hall is silent, every noble, every guard holding their breath as he reads.

His blood runs cold.

His worst fear has come to pass. Ryomen Sukuna has set his sights on the North—and worse, on his daughter.

His fingers tighten around the parchment, but it is useless to fight the inevitable. The ink on the page might as well be written in blood. There is no choice, no negotiation. Only surrender.

He lifts his gaze to his council, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Prepare the princess."

-

Sukuna hoards the world's most precious things. He has it all for nothing intoxicates him more than possessing what others can only dream of touching.

So when he hears of you—the fabled Princess of the North, revered for her ethereal beauty—something dark and insatiable awakens within him.

Sukuna has leveled kingdoms for lesser desires and turned cities to ash for trinkets that caught his eye. This is no different. The Princess of the North is the rarest of all treasures, and if the world must burn for her to be his, then so be it.

With an unshakable desire burning in his chest, Sukuna sets forth to the North. The cold, the distance, the blood it may take—none of it matters. He has decided. The princess will be his.

You, on the other hand, have heard many legends of the whispers of Sukuna—the name that freezes even the bravest in fear, the name no one dares to utter above a whisper as if speaking it aloud might summon the monster himself. They say he is no mere man but a creature of nightmares with four arms and two faces. His empire was built on blood, his throne carved from the bones of those who stood in his way. 

The kingdom is on high alert. Every hall is scrubbed spotless, every banner hung with precision, every offering laid out with trembling hands. Servants and nobles alike move with hushed urgency because they all know—this is not a mere guest they are preparing for. And if something isn't to his liking, he is not hesitant to paint the kingdom red.

Your father bows to every command. He knows resistance is futile—knows the ruins of fallen kingdoms serve as warnings, knows that a single misstep could mean the end of everything he holds dear. And so, with a trembling hand and a voice that barely holds steady, he seals his daughter’s fate. The princess is promised to Sukuna. A gift, an offering, a desperate attempt to keep his kingdom standing.

Betrayal tastes bitter on your tongue. You stand in the grand hall, the very place where you were once cherished, now nothing more than a pawn to be bartered away. Your father’s words echo in your mind—calm, calculated, but spoken with much hesitation. Promised to Sukuna.

The weight of it crashes down on your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs. Was this always your fate? You want to scream, to run, to fight—but what good would it do when your opponent is a man who bends nations to his will? The halls you once walked freely now feel suffocating, the crown on your head heavier than ever.

And somewhere beyond these walls, he is coming for you.

-

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t march—he descends. His arrival is not a mere procession but a declaration of power.

His army moves like a shadow stretching across the land, thousands of soldiers clad in blackened steel, their banners rippling against the icy winds.

And at the head of it all, Sukuna rides. A vision of ruthless grandeur—draped in rich silks. He does not rush. He does not need to. The North knows he is coming. The North knows there is no stopping him.

By the time his forces reach the gates, the air is thick with the smoke of torches, the ground trembling beneath the weight of conquest. And as he halts before the castle, his crimson gaze lifts toward the highest tower—where he knows she waits. His princess.

"Come, princess," he murmurs, a wicked smirk curling at his lips. "Let me see what they’ve promised me."

-

The halls are silent, suffocating under the weight of unspoken fear. Every servant, every noble—everyone—has seen the torches in the distance, the black tide of an army moving like a storm upon the land. No one speaks his name, but they all know.

Ryomen Sukuna is here.

From the highest tower, you watch as the darkness swallows your kingdom. The slow, unyielding march of his army shakes the very foundation of the castle, each beat rattling through your bones.

And then you see him.

At the head of it all, he sits atop a monstrous steed, his armor gleaming like blood-soaked silver. Even from here, you can feel his presence, suffocating and inescapable. His gaze lifts—deliberately—straight towards your tower.

Towards you.

You stumble back, breath catching in your throat.

A slow, cruel smirk curves his lips as if he already knows—you will be his, whether you want it or not.

Your hands curl into fists, your pulse hammering against your ribs. This is no fairy tale, no love story whispered in the gardens of the palace.

This is your ruin.

-

The castle doors are flung open with a force that rattles the very foundation of the palace. A cold wind rushes in, but it is nothing compared to the presence that follows.

Sukuna enters like a god among men.

He does not wait to be announced. He does not pause to acknowledge the bowing nobles, their heads lowered in terror. Instead, he strides forward with the slow, deliberate confidence of a man who owns everything he lays his eyes upon. His gaze sweeps across the grand hall—bored, amused, hungry.

The king stands from his throne, his face pale, hands gripping the arms of his seat as if it is the only thing keeping him upright.

"Lord Sukuna, we—"

A single glance from Sukuna silences him.

The air is suffocating. No one dares to move, not even the guards lining the walls. They all know—steel and numbers mean nothing to the monster before them.

And then, he sees you.

The princess.

You’re standing beside the queen, wrapped in silks finer than any he has seen, yet you look as though you would rather be draped in chains. Your hands tremble at your sides, but you lift your chin, defiance warring with the fear in your eyes.

Sukuna smirks.

“So this is what the North has offered me.”

His voice is smooth, rich, laced with amusement—but underneath, there is something far more dangerous.

He takes a step closer, his towering form casting a shadow over you.

“Tell me, princess.” He tilts your chin up with a single finger, forcing you to meet his eyes. Eyes that have seen kingdoms fall, men beg, and empires burn.

But you refuse to tremble.

“Are you as fragile as you look?”

The entire hall holds its breath.

You meet his gaze head-on, your pulse racing but voice steady. "I am not fragile."

A slow, amused smirk curls on Sukuna’s lips. The tension in the room thickens as he watches you, studying the fire in your eyes, the defiance laced within your words. He had expected fear, expected you to shrink beneath his touch—expected you to be like everyone else.

But this?

This is entertaining.

"Oh?" His thumb brushes against your jaw, his tone laced with mockery. "Then tell me, princess… should I test that claim?"

The nobles shift uncomfortably. The king swallows hard. The queen grips your arm, silently begging you to lower your gaze, to not anger the monster before them.

But you do not yield.

"If you must." Your voice is firm, each word was a blade sharpened with resolve.

A beat of silence.

And then—Sukuna laughs.

It is low, rich, and dangerous. The kind of laugh that promises both destruction and amusement.

His grip lingers a second longer before he finally lets you go. His grin widens, something dark and hungry flashing in his eyes.

"This might be fun after all."

Sukuna watches you, his smirk deepening as the silence stretches. You do not cower, do not drop your gaze, do not even flinch.

He tilts his head slightly, his amusement growing. “Interesting...”

Then, with the ease of a man choosing a fine piece of treasure, he turns to the king and declares, “I’ll take this one.”

A fog of complete grief descends upon the court. Your mother stiffens beside you, the nobles look down in sorrow, and your father—who had spent his life bending to power—looks like he might collapse where he stands. They all saw it coming but it seemed like they held some hope—hope that he would have mercy. But, of course, what do they expect from Ryomen Sukuna?

You do not move. Do not falter. Do not beg.

Sukuna expected resistance, tears, and a desperate plea. Instead, you meet his words with silence, your face unreadable, your spine straight.

He raises a brow. No fear. No pleading. Nothing.

The lack of reaction sends a slow thrill down his spine.

He steps even closer, invading your space, towering over you like a shadow of doom. “Nothing to say, princess?” His voice is almost mocking, expecting the first crack in your armor.

But you only lift your chin, your voice smooth as silk.

"You have already decided, haven't you?"

Sukuna chuckles, dark and low. Oh, he likes this one.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “You’ll make this far more entertaining than I thought.”

The court watches in stunned horror as he turns, striding back toward the entrance like he has already won.

"Prepare her," he orders, barely sparing the king a glance. "We leave at dawn."

Then, just before he disappears past the castle doors, his crimson eyes flick back to you one last time.

Yes... this one’s going to be fun to break.

-

The palace is silent.

In the lavish chambers prepared for him, Sukuna lounges with the ease of a man who has already won. The finest silks drape over the bed, golden goblets filled with the richest wine sit untouched, and yet—he is not asleep.

He smirks to himself, fingers idly tapping against the armrest of his chair. His mind lingers on the princess, on the way she stood her ground when others would have crumbled. Strong, but for how long?

Meanwhile, high in the tower, you gaze out over the land you have cherished since childhood. The snow-covered rooftops, the lantern-lit streets, the distant hills that stretch far beyond the horizon—it is all yours. Was yours.

Tomorrow, you will be taken from it all.

A lone tear slips down your cheek, but you wipe it away before it can fall past your chin.

You clench your fists, your breath steadying. No more tears. No more weakness.

You will not break.

The door creaks. But you don't move.

You know who it is before you even turn your head—the soft, hesitant footsteps, the gentle rustling of fabric. Your handmaiden, the woman who has cared for you since you  were a child.

"Princess..." The voice is quiet, almost unsure, as if afraid of disturbing the fragile moment.

You don’t answer. You keep your gaze on the kingdom beyond your window, your arms wrapped around yourself. The silence stretches, heavy and thick.

The handmaiden steps closer, eyes softening at the sight of you. Her brave, strong princess, standing alone against a fate she never chose.

"It is late," the handmaiden murmurs. "You should rest."

A bitter smile ghosts your lips. Rest? How can you rest when tomorrow, you will leave behind everything you have ever known?

Seeing the sorrow you try to hide, the handmaiden’s heart aches. Gently, she reaches for your hair, smoothing it back like she used to when you were just a girl.

"You have always been strong," she whispers. "But you do not have to be strong alone."

You close your eyes at the familiar comfort, throat tightening.

"I will not cry," you say, more to yourself than anyone else.

The handmaiden smiles sadly. "Then I will cry for you."

The words break something inside you. You exhale shakily, leaning ever so slightly into the warmth of the only person who has ever felt like a second mother.

No sobs, no trembling—just a single tear, slipping down your cheek.

The handmaiden wipes it away with a soft touch, just as you had done moments ago.

"No matter where you go, you will always be our princess," she murmurs. "And you will never be alone."

For the first time that night, you allow yourself to believe it.

-

The first light of dawn spills through the high windows, bathing your chambers in a cold, golden glow.

You stand motionless as your maids work around you, their hands careful yet trembling as they fasten the intricate layers of silk and fur around you. They do not speak. No one speaks.

The room is heavy with unspoken grief.

Your gown is the finest you have ever worn—rich, embroidered fabric, delicate gold accents, the kind of attire fit for a queen. But to you, it feels like a funeral shroud.

Your hair brushed to a glossy sheen, is pinned back with delicate golden clasps. Your crown—a smaller, more elegant piece than your father’s—rests lightly atop your head. You are dressed not as a prisoner, not as a bride, but as a prize.

And you hate it.

The doors open. A court official steps inside, his face pale, his voice tight.

"Lord Sukuna awaits."

The room stills.

You exhale slowly. This is it.

Your handmaiden gently reaches for your hand. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, in a voice only you can hear, she whispers:

"Do not let them see your fear, my lady."

You tighten your grip for a brief second before letting go.

You lift your chin, steel your heart, and without another word, step forward.

The halls are lined with nobles, servants, guards—all watching in suffocating silence as you descend toward the grand entrance of the palace. Some avert their eyes. Others look at you with pity.

You keep walking.

And then—you see him.

Standing at the foot of the great staircase, Sukuna waits. Clad in dark robes of crimson and black, his presence is an open declaration of power. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—those deep, red eyes—flicker with something you cannot place.

The moment you reach the last step, Sukuna’s gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate.

"Hmph." A single, amused exhale. "At least they dressed you properly."

You say nothing. You meet his gaze without flinching, without bowing.

Sukuna smirks. So the fire in you hasn’t burned out yet? Good.

Without waiting for permission, he steps forward, reaching out—and in front of the entire court, before your father, before your people—he grips your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to him.

"I hope you understand, princess." His voice is low, and dangerous. "You belong to me now."

The court watches, horrified, breathless.

You, however, do not break.

Instead, you lift a single brow. "Do I?"

For the first time that morning, Sukuna laughs.

-

The journey begins at dawn.

You are seated inside a grand carriage, its interior lined with the finest silks, yet it feels like a gilded cage. Outside, Sukuna’s army moves like a living beast—rows upon rows of soldiers marching in perfect sync, banners bearing his sigil rippling in the wind. There is no celebration, no fanfare. Only the crushing weight of reality settling in your chest.

You’re leaving home.

Across from you, Sukuna lounges in his seat, one arm draped over the cushioned backrest, his gaze heavy on you.

"You’re quiet," he muses. "Already mourning your kingdom, princess?"

You don’t answer. Your fingers tighten around the folds of your silk gown.

He chuckles, the deep, rich sound filling the enclosed space. "Good. You should."

Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to give him the reaction he wants.

The carriage rocks over uneven terrain, jolting you forward. Before you can stop yourself, you stumble—only to be caught by a firm, unyielding grip.

Sukuna’s hand clamps around your wrist, steadying you with effortless strength. The heat of his skin seeps through the thin fabric of your sleeve, and when you look up, you find his red eyes glinting with amusement.

"Hmph. Clumsy," he murmurs, but he doesn’t let go immediately. Instead, his grip lingers, his thumb tracing the delicate skin of your wrist in slow, deliberate circles.

You yank your arm back. "I don’t need your help."

His smirk widens. "Oh? And yet, here you are, tumbling right into my hands."

You glare at him, but he only chuckles, leaning back into his seat with a satisfied hum.

"Tell me, princess," he drawls, watching you with a look that makes your skin prickle, "how does it feel to know that everything you once loved is behind you… and everything ahead belongs to me?"

You refuse to answer.

But the silence only makes his smirk grow.

"Oh," he says, his voice a purr of satisfaction, "I think I’m going to enjoy this."

-

You finally stop to rest, but instead of a lavish chamber, you’re given a tent—one meant for nobility, but a tent nonetheless. You don’t complain. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Sukuna watches. He expects anger, desperation, maybe even tears. But instead, you quietly settle in, shoulders squared, face unreadable.

And that? That annoys him.

Because why aren’t you breaking? Why aren’t you begging like every other royal before you?

He expects resistance, expects defiance. But what he doesn’t expect is dignity.

And that’s when it starts.

That first, tiny fracture in his perception of you.

-

The fire outside crackles softly, casting flickering shadows against the fabric of your tent. Sleep evades you—of course it does. How could you possibly rest when you know that with each passing mile, you are leaving behind everything you’ve ever known?

The entrance rustles. Instinctively, you stiffen. And then—

He enters.

Sukuna doesn’t ask for permission. He never does. He steps inside like he owns the space—because he does. His robe hangs loosely over his shoulders, revealing ink-stained skin and muscle carved like stone. He should be terrifying. He is terrifying.

And yet, as he settles on the floor beside the low table, there is something… oddly human about him.

You glare. “Shouldn’t you be off basking in your victory?”

His lips curl into something between a smirk and a scoff. “And leave my bride all alone?” He leans his chin on his palm, watching you with those unreadable garnet eyes. “That would be unkind.”

You don’t respond.

A beat of silence. Then—

Sukuna notices the untouched plate of food by your bedside. He clicks his tongue. “You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Starving yourself won’t change anything.”

Still, you don’t move.

He watches you for a long moment before, to your shock, he reaches for the plate himself. With little care for dignity, he plucks a piece of fruit and takes a slow bite. The action is simple, thoughtless even, but it’s… strangely ordinary.

Domestic.

When he speaks again, his voice lacks its usual razor-sharp edge. “Eat. I need you alive, not wasting away before we even reach my kingdom.”

For a second—a fleeting, impossible second—you could almost believe this was something normal. That he was just a man, and you were just a woman, sharing a quiet meal under the same roof.

A what-if, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

And then his eyes meet yours again, and the illusion shatters.

Sukuna watches you, expecting something. A reaction, a glare, an outburst. Anything.

But you just sit there, unmoving. The firelight flickers against your skin, casting soft shadows across your features. You look… tired. Not weak, not defeated, but like someone carrying the weight of a thousand burdens.

And then—just as he’s about to scoff, about to say something snide—

You finally speak.

"You don’t have to pretend to care."

It’s soft. Not bitter, not sharp—just factual. A quiet, simple truth that hangs in the air between you.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

Sukuna doesn’t know what to say.

Because was he pretending?

The thought annoys him. Irritates him. Grates at him in ways he refuses to examine.

So, instead, he scoffs. Rolls his eyes. Throws the half-eaten fruit back onto the plate like he never wanted it in the first place.

He stands, looming over you like a shadow. “Believe what you want, princess.”

And then, without another word, he leaves.

But long after he’s gone—after the fire dims and silence settles over the camp—

You wonder…

Why didn’t he deny it?

-

Dawn breaks over the horizon, streaking the sky in gold and coral, but the air remains crisp with the lingering chill of the night. The camp is already stirring—soldiers dousing the last embers of the fires, banners rippling in the wind, the sound of hooves crunching against the dirt as preparations to depart near completion.

You step out of your tent, the heavy cloak draped over your shoulders doing little against the morning cold. Sleep had been fleeting, your mind restless with the weight of what awaited you. Today, you would arrive at his domain.

And there he is.

Sukuna lounges against the door of his grand, black carved carriage, one arm resting lazily on his knee, his red eyes half-lidded as they sweep over the waking camp—until they land on you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but there’s something about the way he watches that makes your stomach knot.

"Took your time," he muses when you finally approach, his voice deep, edged with something that almost sounds amused.

You meet his gaze, unyielding. "I wasn’t aware I was on your schedule."

A slow smirk curves his lips, his fangs flashing ever so slightly. He doesn’t bother responding—he doesn’t need to. Instead, he gestures toward the waiting carriages with a flick of his fingers.

"Let’s not keep your new home waiting, princess."

And just like that, the journey begins.

-

The carriage rocks gently as the convoy moves forward, the rhythmic sound of hooves against the dirt road filling the silence. Inside, the space is lavish—dark silks and embroidered cushions, the scent of incense lingering in the air. But no amount of opulence could make this feel less like a cage.

You sit across from Sukuna, your posture rigid, hands folded tightly in your lap. He, on the other hand, looks completely at ease, one arm slung over the back of the seat, legs stretched out just enough that his knee nearly—nearly—brushes against yours.

A gust of wind slips through the carriage window, making you shiver under your cloak. Before you can steel yourself against it, something shifts.

Warmth.

Sukuna, without a word, tugs at the fur-lined cloak draped over his own shoulders and tosses it over your lap, the gesture so absentminded, so casual, it nearly startles you more than the cold had.

You blink at him, uncertain.

"Can’t have you freezing to death before we even arrive," he says, red eyes watching your reaction closely. There’s no teasing lilt to his voice this time, no smirk—just a simple statement, as if the act means nothing.

But it does.

You should push it off, return it, refuse to take anything from him. And yet… your fingers curl into the fur, just slightly.

He notices.

He says nothing.

-

The journey is long, stretching through dense forests and winding mountain paths, but as the convoy crests the final hill, the castle comes into view.

It looms in the distance, a dark, sprawling fortress carved into the very bones of the mountain. Towering spires claw at the sky, their obsidian surfaces gleaming under the dying light of the sun. Crimson banners ripple in the cold wind, each emblazoned with the sigil of the man who now owns your fate.

Your breath catches.

The air grows heavier as the convoy nears the gates, the atmosphere thick with something unspoken. Soldiers line the entrance in perfect formation, their armor gleaming, their expressions unreadable. At the castle’s grand doors, figures await—advisors, servants, warriors, all standing in disciplined silence.

Sukuna watches you. He has been watching you ever since the castle came into view.

A slow smirk plays on his lips. “Welcome home, princess.”

The towering gates of Sukuna’s fortress groan open, revealing a palace unlike anything you’ve ever seen. It is both magnificent and monstrous—carved from dark stone, adorned with golden accents that gleam like fire under the setting sun. Statues of beasts, their eyes gleaming like cursed jewels, guard the entrance, their snarling faces frozen in eternal warning.

You should be afraid. And you are. But beneath that fear is something else. Something undeniable. Awe. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying.

Sukuna, walking a few paces ahead, catches it. He sees the way your gaze lingers on the towering spires, the intricate carvings woven with both beauty and horror. He sees the flicker of wonder in your eyes before you can school your expression into something unreadable.

A slow smirk curves his lips.

"Humbled by my domain, princess?"

Your stomach knots. You turn away too quickly, feigning disinterest. "Hardly."

A deep chuckle rumbles from him. Amusement. Satisfaction. He doesn't need you to say it. 

He knows the truth.

The castle doors part with a deep, echoing groan, revealing a grand, cavernous hall bathed in the glow of towering braziers. Shadows flicker along the obsidian walls, stretching and twisting with every step as you cross the threshold. The air is thick—heavy with incense, the faintest trace of something metallic lingering beneath.

Your footsteps barely make a sound against the polished stone, but the hush that falls over the gathered figures amplifies every movement. Rows of warriors stand at attention along the hall, their expressions unreadable, their eyes tracking your every step. Servants bow their heads, stealing quick, wary glances before averting their gazes.

Sukuna walks beside you, unhurried, completely at ease in his domain. His presence fills the space, effortlessly commanding the attention of all within it. He does not guide you—he does not need to. You are already walking where he intends you to go.

At the far end of the hall, the throne room doors loom ahead, carved with intricate depictions of conquest, of gods and monsters intertwined in eternal battle. The weight of what awaits beyond them presses down on you.

Sukuna glances at you, his smirk returning. “You’re awfully quiet, princess.”

You don’t answer.

The doors swing open and you step inside.

The throne room is vast, designed to make anyone who enters feel small. The ceiling stretches impossibly high, supported by towering pillars carved with depictions of battles long won. Braziers cast a golden glow across the dark stone, illuminating the crimson banners draped along the walls—each marked with the sigil of the man who is to be sat at the far end of the room.

Sukuna’s throne is massive, made from the same dark stone as the castle itself, inlaid with veins of deep, gleaming gold. It is not just a seat of power—it is a symbol of dominion.

The moment you step inside, every pair of eyes in the room turns to you. Advisors, high-ranking officers, and attendants stand in quiet formation along the sides, watching as you make your way forward. The air is thick with anticipation, laced with something colder—fear, reverence, inevitability.

Sukuna does not rush. He walks at a leisurely pace, his hands resting at his sides, utterly unbothered. This is his kingdom, his palace, his rules. And you—his soon-to-be queen—are walking straight into his world. 

He arrives at his throne and takes his seat.

As you near the steps leading to the throne, he speaks.

“Kneel.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber.

The words hang in the air, heavy, absolute. Your heart pounds and your hands clench at your sides. You can feel the weight of every gaze, waiting, expecting.

You do not kneel.

The silence stretches.

Sukuna watches you, something dark and amused flickering in his eyes. He tilts his head, studying you, and for the first time since you arrived…

He smiles.

The silence in the throne room is suffocating. Eyes dart between you and Sukuna, waiting, anticipating. No one has ever defied him and walked away unscathed.

But you don’t kneel.

You lift your chin, steady, unwavering. “I kneel for no man.”

A sharp inhale echoes from somewhere in the hall. The tension coils tighter, suffocating. Even the guards, trained to be expressionless, flicker with shock.

Atop his throne, Sukuna stares at you. And then—he laughs.

It’s low at first, just a chuckle. Then it grows—rich, full-bodied, amused beyond measure. The sound sends a chill down your spine. It’s not the laugh of a man who has been insulted. It’s the laugh of a man who has just been thoroughly entertained.

“Oh?” His voice drips with intrigue as he leans forward, elbows resting on the arms of his throne, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “No man?” His crimson gaze gleams. “Then tell me, princess… what do you think I am?”

You meet his gaze, refusing to waver. The air in the room is thick and heavy with expectation.

"You?" You tilt your head ever so slightly, eyes gleaming with quiet defiance. "A man wouldn’t need to demand kneeling to prove his power."

The court freezes.

The amusement in Sukuna’s expression flickers—just for a fraction of a second. Then, something slow and dangerous stretches across his face.

The silence is unbearable. No one dares to breathe.

Then—

His grin widens.

The sharp glint in his crimson eyes is unmistakable. Oh, he likes this. He likes you.

And that is far more terrifying than his anger.

Sukuna doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches you—studies you. His gaze drags over your face, searching, calculating.

Then, in one fluid motion, he rises from his throne.

The room tenses. No one moves. No one speaks.

And then—he starts walking.

His boots echo against the marble floor as he descends the steps, slow, deliberate. The closer he gets, the more the air shifts—thick with something you refuse to name.

And then—he’s in front of you.

Too close.

You can smell him now—spiced incense and something dark, something sharp. The sheer size of him makes you feel smaller than you’d like, his presence overwhelming.

A clawed finger tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His hands are warm—uncomfortably so.

"You have a sharp tongue," he murmurs, voice low. His breath ghosts over your lips. "But tell me, princess…" His thumb grazes your jaw, almost thoughtfully. Too gentle for a man like him.

"Will it serve you well… or get you into trouble?"

His lips curl, a smirk playing at the corner. He’s entertained. Intrigued.

And then—just as quick as he touched you, he’s gone.

He turns, voice echoing through the hall as he walks back to his throne.

"Very well… let’s see how long you last."

You stand your ground, refusing to move, refusing to let him see how his touch lingers like a phantom against your skin.

But your body betrays you.

Your heart stumbles—just for a beat, just for a second. A warmth blooms beneath your skin, creeping up your neck, pooling at your cheeks.

You force yourself to breathe. To look unaffected. But you know—oh, you know—he sees it.

Because as he settles back onto his throne, Sukuna’s smirk deepens. His eyes flicker, pleased. Amused.

He says nothing more. He doesn’t have to.

He already knows.

-

The castle is alive with movement. Servants rush through the halls, arms full of silks and gold-threaded fabrics, their whispers trailing behind them. The scent of incense and fresh flowers lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating.

It’s happening.

Your wedding to the King is being prepared in full force.

Jewels, silks, golden embroidery—everything is perfect. Everything is grand. But not once did anyone ask what you wanted.

Because it doesn’t matter.

It never did.

You sit before the grand mirror in your chamber, a seamstress adjusting the fabric of your ceremonial robes. The weight of the moment presses on you like iron shackles.

Married.

To him.

Your hands curl into fists against your lap. How did it come to this?

A knock at the door. Your handmaiden enters, hesitant. "My lady… the King wishes to see you."

Your breath stills. 

"My lady…" she says, voice low, hesitant. "The King—" she pauses, correcting herself, "Sukuna—has summoned you."

Your breath stills.

"Summoned?" you repeat, as if the word alone leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

She nods. "To the gardens."

Not the throne room. Not his chambers.

To the gardens.

That alone unsettles you.

"Did he say why?"

Your handmaiden swallows. She’s afraid. That much is clear in the way she grips the fabric of her sleeve and the way she hesitates before answering.

"No," she admits. "Only that you are to come. At once."

A demand. Not a request.

Like everything else he does.

Your fingers twitch against the folds of your dress. You should have expected this. Of course, he would summon you like a thing to be retrieved.

And yet—you hesitate.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, your mind racing with possibilities. What could he possibly want? Why here, why now?

And more importantly…

What would happen if you refused?

The silence stretches.

Your handmaiden fidgets under your stare, waiting for you to move. To answer. To do anything but stand there, expression unreadable.

"Shall I prepare your cloak, my lady?" she asks carefully.

You exhale slowly, gaze flickering toward the window. The gardens are bathed in silver moonlight, awaiting you. But you?

You are in no rush.

"No," you say at last, turning away. "Let him wait."

The words are soft, but they hold weight.

Your handmaiden stiffens. "My lady, he—"

"He will not kill me over this," you murmur, fingers brushing over the smooth fabric of your gown.

You tell yourself it’s not a game—you are not playing with fire. You are simply reminding him that you are not a woman who bends so easily.

"Stay with me a while," you say instead, settling back into your chair.

Your handmaiden hesitates, then bows. "As you wish."

But she is tense. She knows what you are doing.

And when you finally rise, when you finally allow yourself to be led into the night, you wonder if you have made a mistake.

Because Sukuna is not a man who enjoys waiting.

And you are about to find out exactly how much patience he has left.

-

The palace gardens should not exist.

Not in a place like this. Not within the walls of a kingdom ruled by a monster.

And yet, as you step past the towering arches, you are breathless.

Moonlight spills over an expanse of shimmering ponds, ivory statues, and trees heavy with blossoms. Soft petals dance in the air, caught in the cool night breeze. The scent of wisteria, jasmine, and something undeniably rich fills your lungs. The lantern-lit paths curve between marble fountains, their waters singing a song too gentle for a place so cruel.

It’s beautiful. Devastatingly, unfairly beautiful.

And then, you see him.

Sukuna stands near the largest pond, his back to you. A striking silhouette against the lantern glow, his robe open just enough to reveal the dark markings tracing his skin. His hands are clasped loosely behind him—a king at ease in his kingdom, knowing he owns everything within it.

Including you.

"You kept me waiting."

His voice is smooth, deep, and edged with amusement. He knows you hesitated.

Of course he does.

You inhale sharply, lifting your chin as you take another step forward, feet crunching softly over the white pebbled path. You will not cower.

"You did not say it was urgent."

Sukuna chuckles, finally turning to face you. Red eyes gleam in the lantern light, flickering with something unreadable.

"No," he muses, tilting his head. "I suppose I didn’t."

"Why am I here?" you ask plainly.

Sukuna hums, watching you carefully. Too carefully.

Then—he reaches.

The movement is slow, deliberate. Not a threat, not a demand. His fingers brush just beneath your chin—not gripping, not forcing—just touching. A reminder of who stands before you.

"Must there always be a reason?"

His voice is quieter now, lower—like a secret meant only for you. His fingers, calloused and warm, brush against your jaw before retreating, leaving behind the ghost of a touch.

Your breath catches, just for a second.

The night air feels heavier, thick with something unspoken. The scent of blooming jasmine wraps around you both, the silence stretching—not tense, not hostile—but charged.

You meet his gaze, refusing to look away.

"You summoned me." Your voice is steady, but softer now. "So there must be one."

Sukuna studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he moves.

Not sudden, not aggressive—slow. Measured. He steps closer, and though every instinct tells you to retreat, you hold your ground.

The space between you shrinks. It is barely a breath now.

"You intrigue me." His words are almost thoughtful, but there is something else beneath them—something dangerous. "Your fearlessness."

A pause.

Then, softer—more deliberate.

"Your fire."

The warmth of his breath ghosts over your skin, closer than you should allow. Your pulse quickens, but you do not step back.

You will not.

Instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, meeting his crimson eyes with a quiet defiance.

"And what is it you plan to do with this… intrigue?"

Sukuna’s smirk curves into something deeper—something unreadable.

His fingers brush over your wrist now, barely there, like a whisper of a promise yet to be spoken.

"Oh, princess," he murmurs, his voice rich with amusement—and something else. "That depends entirely on you."

The space between you is almost nonexistent now.

Your breath is unsteady, heart hammering far too loudly. Sukuna is close—closer than he should be. His presence wraps around you, commanding, unyielding.

You tell yourself it’s the heat of the evening, the way the lanterns cast a golden glow over his features—too sharp, too beautiful.

But then his gaze drops.

To your lips.

And your breath catches.

His fingers, barely there, brush against your wrist again—lingering this time. His touch is a question, a challenge, a taunt.

"Tell me, princess," he murmurs, his voice lower now, something undeniably indulgent in his tone. "Are you afraid of what this might mean?"

You should pull away.

But you don’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up—defiant, stubborn—but you don’t break the moment. His smirk falters just slightly at that.

Not in disappointment.

In intrigue.

Your breath mingles with his now, the world around you shrinking to this—to him.

His eyes darken.

And then—

A noise.

A branch snapping in the distance, a gust of wind rattling the trees. It shatters the moment, just barely, just enough.

You step back.

A breath.

Then another.

Sukuna watches you, unreadable, and for once—he does not push.

Instead, he lets the silence settle. His smirk returns, slower this time—but you know, now, that he is watching.

Waiting.

"Careful, princess," he drawls, stepping back at last, giving you space that feels far too vast now. Far too empty. "Play with fire, and you just might burn."

His words should unnerve you.

They don’t.

Instead, your lips curl—just slightly.

"Then let it burn."

The tension is suffocating.

Sukuna watches you—intensely, unblinking, unrelenting. The smirk is gone now, replaced by something deeper, something unreadable.

Your pulse thrums in your ears.

You should step away.

You don’t.

He lifts a hand, slowly, deliberately, as if waiting to see if you’ll pull back. His fingers brush against your jaw, featherlight, the touch barely there—but it sears.

A test. A game.

But you don’t move.

His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, his touch too gentle, too intimate, too dangerous. He leans in just a fraction, just enough that you feel his breath ghost over your lips.

"Say it, princess," he murmurs. "Say you don’t want this, and I’ll stop."

You open your mouth— to say what, you don’t know.

But you never get the chance.

Because he kisses you.

It’s not rough, not bruising, not like the tyrant he is supposed to be. It’s slow, controlled, deliberate—like he’s savoring the moment. Like he’s savoring you.

And for a second—just a second—you let him.

Your hands clutch the fabric of his robe, not pushing away, not pulling closer—just holding on. The warmth of him, the press of his lips, the way his hand slides to cup the back of your neck—it’s overwhelming.

Your breath is stolen, your mind blank, lost in something you never thought you would crave.

He pulls away first—barely, just enough to let you breathe. But he doesn’t let go.

His forehead rests against yours, his voice lower now, rougher.

"Still think you can fight me, princess?"

Your lashes flutter, breath uneven, but your eyes find his.

"I think..." you whisper, voice steady despite the chaos inside you, "...you have no idea what you’ve just started."

Sukuna exhales a short laugh, his grip tightening just slightly.

"Good."

The moment stretches, the air between you crackling like a fire starved for oxygen.

And then—he moves.

You barely register the way his hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you in, chest to chest, breath to breath. The way his other hand cups your jaw, fingers pressing just enough to tip your face up—just enough to make escape impossible.

But you don’t even think about escaping.

Because when his lips finally crash into yours, it’s not soft, not gentle—it's a claiming.

The world tilts.

Your fingers—traitorous things—grip at his robe, twisting in the fabric as he deepens the kiss, as his teeth graze your lower lip before his tongue slides against yours, demanding, unrelenting.

You hate how easily you match his intensity.

Hate how your body presses into his, meeting him step for step, fire for fire.

You should be resisting.

But instead, you’re burning.

The kiss is a battle, a push and pull, neither of you yielding, neither willing to lose. Your breath hitches as his hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back, exposing you further—taking, taking, taking.

And you—you give.

A sharp exhale leaves him, like he wasn’t expecting you to kiss him back like this. Like he wasn’t expecting you to be just as relentless.

By the time you both pull back, you’re breathless.

Your chest heaves.

His grip on you hasn’t loosened, his lips still hovering dangerously close, as if he might go back for more.

Your pulse thrums wildly, your lips swollen, heat pooling in your gut at the sheer intensity of it all.

His forehead brushes against yours, his breath ragged, uneven. His fingers at your waist flex slightly, like he’s restraining himself, like he’s memorizing the feel of you against him.

Your lips still tingle.

Your breath is still ragged.

And yet, something inside you snaps—a cruel reminder of the reality you had let yourself forget.

You rip yourself away from him, the loss of warmth almost painful, but you force yourself to step back, hand trembling as you press your fingers to your lips.

"This is wrong."

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but in the heavy silence between you, it cuts like a blade.

Sukuna's eyes flicker, unreadable, his breath still uneven. His hands, still curled from where they had gripped your waist, slowly lower.

And then, his expression shifts.

His jaw tightens. His brows draw together.

"What?" His voice is sharp, edged with something you can’t quite place—disbelief? Anger? Something deeper?

But you can’t let yourself linger on it.

You force yourself to look up at him, even as tears burn in your eyes.

"This was a mistake. One I was foolish enough to commit."

He takes a step forward, like he’s going to reach for you again.

"What are you talking about?"

Your breath shudders. You shake your head, stepping back again—away from the temptation of him, away from the warmth that could consume you if you let it.

"I can't do this," you whisper. Your voice shakes, but your resolve does not. "I have agreed to be your bride, but I won’t fall victim to your hedonistic desires."

Silence.

Sukuna just stares at you. And for the first time since you’ve met him—he looks stunned.

He blinks once, lips parting slightly, as if he genuinely hadn’t expected you to say that.

Then, slowly, something dark, something unreadable slithers across his expression.

His eyes lower, flickering over your face—your tear-bright eyes, your trembling lips, the way your hands clench at your sides as if to hold yourself together.

He inhales slowly.

"You think that’s what this is?"

His voice is softer than before, but there’s something dangerous beneath it.

Your throat tightens. "Isn’t it?" you whisper.

He exhales sharply through his nose, a sound almost like a bitter laugh.

Then, he takes another step forward—and this time, you don’t move away.

Because you can’t.

His fingers lift, brushing against your chin—so gentle, so unlike the tyrant he is. His thumb traces the edge of your jaw, the touch featherlight, fleeting.

"You have no idea what you’ve done to me, princess."

His voice is low, almost—pained.

And that terrifies you more than anything else.

Because if you’re not careful—you might ruin him.

Just as he might ruin you.

You force yourself to turn away.

Your legs feel heavy, your heart a war drum in your chest, but you don’t stop.

Not even when you feel the heat of his gaze burning into your back. Not even when the silence stretches too long, too unbearable.

And then—

"Go, then."

His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

But it’s not resignation.

It’s something else. Something that lingers in the air like a storm yet to break.

You don’t dare look back.

Because you know if you do—if you meet those ruby eyes, if you see whatever unreadable thing is brewing behind them—you might not be able to walk away.

So you don’t.

You keep moving.

Even when the ache in your chest becomes unbearable.

Even when you hear him exhale sharply, like he’s stopping himself from saying something else.

And he lets you go.

For now.

But deep down, you both know—this isn’t over. Not even close.

-

Sukuna leans against the stone railing of his balcony, staring out at the dark horizon. The wind is cool, the scent of rain lingering in the air. He exhales slowly, fingers drumming against the marble.

You sit by your window, staring at the same sky. The city below glows in the dim torchlight, yet it feels impossibly far away. Your hands rest in your lap, twisting the fabric of your nightgown between your fingers.

Neither of you sleep.

His mind replays the kiss, the way your lips parted so easily for him, the warmth of your body so close to his. He scoffs, jaw tightening. And yet, you pulled away.

Your mind replays the same moment, the way he kissed you with such certainty, as if you belonged to him. The way you almost—almost—let yourself believe it.

He clenches his fists. You wanted it. He knows you did. The way you leaned into him, breath hitching, fingers trembling against his chest—he felt it all. Yet, you turned away. Why?

You close your eyes, guilt twisting in your stomach. You wanted it. You can’t deny that. But that doesn’t make it right. He is still the man who tore you from your home, the tyrant who leveled kingdoms without hesitation.

Sukuna exhales sharply. This shouldn’t bother him. He shouldn’t care. But he does. And that infuriates him more than anything.

You inhale deeply. This shouldn’t affect you. You shouldn’t feel this way. But you do. And that terrifies you more than anything.

The wind howls, the night stretches on, and neither of you move.

Both lost in the same moment.

Both refusing to admit what it meant.

-

The next day, you do everything in your power to avoid Sukuna. You keep to the quieter halls, taking longer routes just to ensure you don’t run into him. If your handmaiden notices, she says nothing. But the tension in the air is undeniable.

Sukuna, on the other hand, does nothing to seek you out. He acts as if nothing happened, as if you never left him standing in the garden with your lips swollen from his kiss and your eyes shining with unshed tears. But everyone around him treads more carefully. His patience is razor-thin.

Then, it happens.

A sudden storm rolls in, the winds howling through the corridors like restless spirits. You’re in one of the castle’s many libraries, a place you assumed was far from Sukuna’s reach. You were wrong.

A heavy door slams shut behind you just as the first crack of thunder shakes the castle. You whirl around—and there he is.

Sukuna stands in front of the only exit, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The storm rages outside, but it’s nothing compared to the storm in his gaze.

Your heart pounds. Trapped. With him.

“Move,” you say, voice steadier than you feel.

He doesn’t.

“I didn’t summon the storm, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says lazily. "Though I can’t say I mind the inconvenience."

You swallow. “You think this is funny?”

“Not at all.” His gaze darkens, sharp as a blade. “I think it’s convenient.”

You take a step back. He takes a step forward.

The tension is unbearable. The storm grows louder, shaking the very walls of the castle, but all you can focus on is him—his scent, his heat, the way he watches you like he’s trying to figure you out.

The kiss lingers between you, unspoken yet suffocating.

Sukuna tilts his head. "You’ve been avoiding me."

"You noticed?"

He chuckles, but there’s no real humor in it—just something sharp and knowing. “You kissed me like you meant it,” he murmurs, taking another step closer. "And then ran like a coward."

You stiffen. “I didn’t run—”

He cuts you off. “You did.” His voice is low, rough. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me.”

Your throat goes dry. The heat of him is suffocating, his presence overwhelming. The storm rages outside, the flickering candlelight casting jagged shadows across his sharp features.

You force yourself to stand your ground. “I told you, this was a mistake.”

His eyes gleam, something dangerous curling at the edges of his smirk. “A mistake?”

Then, faster than you can react, he moves—closing the distance in a single stride, his hand bracing against the shelf behind you. Not touching, not forcing, but caging you in.

Your breath catches. He leans in, his voice a whisper against your ear.

“Then tell me…why do you look like you want to make it again?”

Your eyes flash with defiance, your chin lifting despite the rapid beat of your heart.

"And why do you look like you can't stand not having everything handed to you?"

Sukuna’s smirk doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker in his red eyes—something between intrigue and challenge. His hand stays where it is, caging you without touching, testing the boundaries you refuse to let him cross.

"Careful," he murmurs, voice like silk wrapped around a blade. "That mouth of yours might get you in trouble."

You glare up at him, unyielding. "Then do your worst."

For a long moment, he simply watches you, his smirk widening. Amused. Pleased.

He leans in, just a fraction closer. Too close.

"Oh, I intend to, princess."

-

The palace buzzes with restless energy as the wedding looms closer. Servants scurry through the halls, carrying silks, gold-threaded robes, and delicate jewels fit for a queen. The entire kingdom is preparing for a spectacle—a union between beauty and terror, between the feared King of Curses and the Princess of the North.

Yet behind closed doors, the air is thick with unspoken words and lingering glances.

You and Sukuna haven’t spoken about that night in the gardens. Haven’t addressed the kiss, the way your heart pounded against his chest before you fled. But it lingers in the way his gaze sears into you during royal gatherings, in the way he looms just a bit too close whenever your paths cross.

And you? You hold your head high, but your fingers tremble when your handmaidens fasten the bridal jewelry around your neck.

It’s happening.

No matter how much you fight, no matter how much your heart wars against itself, soon, you will be his.

-

The grand hall is drenched in gold and crimson, lit by a thousand flickering lanterns. The scent of incense coils through the air, rich and heavy. Nobles and warriors alike hold their breath, waiting for the moment when the tyrant takes his bride.

You stand at the end of the aisle, wrapped in silks so fine they feel like whispers against your skin. Jewels glitter in your hair, but they feel no heavier than the weight pressing down on your heart. You’re walking toward a man feared across the world, a man who has claimed you as his.

And yet—when you reach him, he does not touch you like a conqueror.

Sukuna’s hands, tattooed and powerful, settle on yours with a gentleness that no one expects. His thumb skims over your wrist, a silent, almost reverent touch. His red eyes, so used to burning with cruelty, soften just for a second.

For a moment, there is no war. No kingdoms. No chains.

Just him and you.

The officiary looks at the both of you in quiet wonder before he speaks- “Dear beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this bride in holy matrimony-” he gestures to Sukuna, “You may begin.”

Sukuna does not hesitate. His voice is deep, rich, unchallenged.

"I vow to take you as my wife, to protect what is mine, to keep you in wealth, in power, and in blood. Let the gods bear witness to this union, for I claim you, now and forever."

A shiver runs through you. His hand is warm where it clasps yours. Too warm. Too steady.

You are meant to answer. To seal this union. To give him what he wants.

Your throat tightens.

Your mind screams—no, no, no.

Your lips part, but the words don’t come. Not yet.

Sukuna’s grip on your hand tightens—just slightly. Not in warning. Not in threat. Almost as if he is waiting.

And in his eyes, in the way they search yours—there is something else. Something like… patience.

For a single breath, the world slows.

You think of your people. Your kingdom. The life you once had—the life you could have had. And then, you think of the man before you. Of what he could become.

So you inhale. You lift your chin. And with a final, quiet surrender—

“I believe in you, the person you will grow to be and the couple we will be together.

With my whole heart, I take you as my husband, acknowledging and accepting your faults and strengths, as you do mine.”

The hall exhales. A murmur ripples through the gathered court.

Sukuna lets out a breath, so subtle you almost miss it.

He smiles—but it's not his usual smirk. Not mocking, not cruel. It's something quieter. Softer.

The officiary speaks the final words. And when Sukuna lifts your veil, when he leans in and tilts your chin up with the faintest touch—the grand hall watches in stunned silence.

Because Ryomen Sukuna, the man known as the King of Curses—

is looking at his bride like he would burn the world down for her.

The kiss is not rough, not bruising. It is slow. Intense. Claiming. And when he pulls back, his forehead lingers against yours for half a second too long.

"Mine," he murmurs against your lips.

And for the first time, you wonder—are you truly lost, or have you simply been found?

-

Sukuna doesn’t go looking for you.

He doesn’t have to.

The heavy silence in your chambers is unnatural, suffocating in a way that unsettles him—not because he cares, but because he expects defiance, not absence.

His feet carry him forward before he even registers the thought. Past the sprawling corridors of his castle, past the ever-watchful eyes of servants too afraid to meet his gaze.

He finds you where the candlelight barely reaches, sitting by the window, your silk sleeves clutched in trembling fists, your shoulders drawn tight.

At first, he thinks you’re merely lost in thought.

Then, he hears it. The shallow, uneven hitch of your breath.

He’s heard every sound a person can make. Pain, terror, rage. But this—this quiet, fragile grief—is something else entirely.

For a moment, he simply watches. He should leave you to it.

But something about the way your fingers dig into your arms, as if holding yourself together, makes him speak.

"You mourn them."

The words break the silence like a blade through cloth.

You freeze, but you do not turn to face him. You don’t deny it either.

Sukuna should be pleased. You are finally bending under the weight of your circumstances, realizing the futility of resistance.

But the sight of you like this—spilling over with grief, silent and unguarded—unnerves him.

It irritates him.

He should leave. He should turn his back and let you drown in it.

Instead, he steps closer.

And before he can stop himself, his fingers brush against yours.

"You still have yourself," he murmurs, the words slow, deliberate. "That is more than most who cross my path."

Your breath catches.

Sukuna doesn’t know why he says it. Doesn’t know why he’s still standing here. But when you finally turn to face him, eyes rimmed red, pain etched into every delicate feature—he hates it.

Hates that he has to look at it. Hates that, for some reason, he cannot look away.

His hand is still there, hovering near yours. A mistake. He should pull away. Mock you. Walk out.

Instead, he does something even more foolish.

He moves closer.

You’re still staring at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, lips slightly parted as if caught between words and silence. Sukuna doesn’t know which he despises more.

Your grief is suffocating, filling the air like incense—cloying, inescapable. It reminds him of things long buried. Things he does not care to remember.

And yet.

"Come here," he mutters, barely above a breath.

He expects resistance. A flinch. Maybe even a trembling whisper of defiance. You always fight him. Always.

But this time, you don't.

This time, you let him pull you in.

His touch is careful, almost hesitant, as if testing the weight of this unfamiliar act. But once you’re close—once your forehead rests against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his robes—he doesn’t let go.

He can feel it then. The slight shake of your shoulders, the way your breath hitches against him. He has felt people tremble before—but never like this.

Never against him.

A sigh leaves him, low and tired. "You grieve for them, yet they still breathe," he murmurs, his lips close to your hair. "You act as if I have burned your home to the ground."

You swallow hard. "I might as well be dead to them."

Sukuna stiffens.

The weight of your words settles over him, unfamiliar and heavy. He has taken many things from many people—lives, kingdoms, freedom.

But this? The ache in your voice, the unspoken sorrow of being cast aside by those you loved most?

It is not something he has stolen.

It is something they have given.

For a long moment, he says nothing. And then—because he cannot offer you lies, nor promises of comfort—he does the only thing he can.

He holds you closer.

His grip is firm but not harsh, solid in a way that dares the world to challenge it. Let them call him a monster. A tyrant. Let them cower at his name.

None of it matters.

Because right now, you are in his arms, and he is the only one here.

And he will not let you break.

His thumb brushes idly over your shoulder, absentminded, like he's forgotten it's you he's holding. You, who have done nothing but push him away, spit fire at him when others cower.

And yet here you are, clutching onto him like he’s the last solid thing in a crumbling world.

He exhales through his nose, a quiet huff of amusement. "Tch. I didn’t know you had it in you to be so… delicate."

You stiffen, but he tightens his hold before you can pull away.

"Don’t," he murmurs, voice dropping into something dangerously soft. "Don’t start building your walls again."

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face up—just enough for your eyes to meet his. They’re still damp, shimmering like fractured starlight. And Sukuna?

Sukuna hates it.

Not because you’re crying. No, he's seen bloodied men and weeping queens before.

It’s because—against all logic, against every instinct that tells him to be cruel—he wants to take that pain away.

"You’re insufferable," he mutters, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone. "Sulking over people who abandoned you the second they found it convenient."

You swallow, a glare forming. "That’s my family you’re talking about."

"Exactly."

Your lips part, an argument forming, but you don't pull away. You stay.

He lets you.

"You have a home here," he says at last, almost begrudgingly. "Whether you like it or not."

You blink, surprised.

Sukuna tuts, shaking his head. "Don’t look so stunned, my queen. I’m not that heartless."

He leans in then, his breath warm against your temple, his voice a low murmur.

"But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll have to kill them."

It’s a joke. Mostly.

You let out something caught between a scoff and a laugh, burying your face against his chest. And he lets you do that too.

For a while, neither of you speak. You just breathe. Just exist in each other’s presence.

And for the first time since this wretched arrangement began—since you were forced to leave the lands you loved—you don’t feel quite so alone.

Silence stretches between you. The warmth of Sukuna’s hands lingers against your skin, his grip no longer possessive, no longer a claim—just there. He watches you, the weight of his gaze heavy, unreadable.

Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. You should pull away. You should say something. But you can’t. You don’t want to.

Sukuna exhales sharply, a huff of amusement laced with something softer. "You're staring... Do I have something on my face?" he murmurs, his thumb ghosting over your knuckles. 

You swallow hard, your pulse hammering in your throat. The space between you is fragile, delicate—something you’ve never had with him before.

“Shut up,” you whisper, voice trembling.

He smirks, tilting his head. “Make me.”

It’s the last push you need.

You close the distance, pressing your lips against his. It’s desperate, feverish, final—a clash of everything unspoken, of battle and surrender, of all the walls you swore you’d never let crumble. His hands slide up to cup your face, pulling you deeper, letting you take as much as you give.

You lose yourself in him. In the fire, in the softness hidden beneath it. And for the first time since he took you away, you don’t feel like you’re drowning.

The world fades. The war between you quiets. There is only this.

The kiss leaves you breathless.

You’re still reeling, lips tingling, your heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum when Sukuna’s hand finds your waist. With a low grunt, he pulls you into his lap as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. You gasp, startled, your hands pressed against his chest for balance, but he only smirks—lazily, like he’s been waiting for this moment all along.

“Well,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough near your ear, “didn’t think you’d be the one to lose control first.”

Your breath hitches. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” His lips brush along your jaw. “Didn’t mean to kiss me? Or didn’t mean to want it so badly?”

You try to look away, but his fingers curl gently around your chin, guiding your gaze back to his. His red eyes—dangerous, hungry—search yours, but there’s a flicker of something softer beneath the fire. A pause. A check.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, “and I will.”

You don’t.

Instead, your fingers twist in the fabric of his robe as if anchoring yourself—and that’s all the permission he needs.

His mouth finds yours again, rougher this time. Hungrier. His hands trace your sides, down your waist, learning the shape of you with reverent ease. The kiss deepens, tongues tangling, heat building fast and thick between your bodies. You can feel him, hard beneath you, but it doesn’t scare you—it sends a jolt of heat straight through your core.

And Sukuna notices.

“Fuck,” he growls, breaking the kiss for a heartbeat. “You’re killin’ me, princess.”

And when he kisses you again, it’s different. Slower. Devouring. One hand cradles the back of your head while the other trails lower, slipping beneath layers of silk to touch skin—bare, warm, sensitive. His calloused fingers drag a line along your thigh, and you gasp into his mouth, every nerve alight.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs with a dark, amused smile. “That nervous?”

You manage a weak, “A little.”

“Good.” He nips at your lower lip. “Means you feel it.”

You’re straddling him now, nestled snug against his lap, your skirts bunched up between you. The soft silk does little to hide the growing friction, and you can feel the shift in him—his control thinning, his need sharpening.

His lips trail down your throat, warm breath skimming your skin, tongue flicking teasingly at your pulse.

“You’re trembling,” he mutters, voice thick with lust. “Is that fear, or anticipation?”

Your fingers fist into his robe. “I don’t know.”

He chuckles darkly, and the sound vibrates against your neck. “You will.”

A single hand smooths up your thigh beneath your nightgown, calloused fingertips dragging slow, deliberate paths along your bare skin. When he grazes the edge of your undergarments, you tense—but you don’t stop him. You can’t.

“Soft,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So soft.”

Your breath hitches when his fingers press lightly against the heat between your legs, and his smirk deepens.

“Already warm for me.” His voice is velvet and gravel, a dangerous purr. “Do you even know how badly I’ve wanted this?”

“Sukuna…”

Your voice breaks, barely more than a whisper—but it’s enough.

That single plea undoes him.

And then he lifts you—just like that, effortlessly, like you weigh nothing—and carries you to the bed. His mouth trails kisses along your throat as he lays you down, his body sliding over yours. You arch into him instinctively, desperate for friction, and he chuckles against your skin. He helps undress you, eyes burning into each inch of newly exposed skin.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick with desire. “So pliant already. Didn’t even have to do anything.”

You squirm, heat pooling between your thighs. “Shut up.”

He grins at your flustered expression, and then—without warning—he disappears between your legs. You gasp, trying to sit up, but he drags your hips down, strong hands pinning you in place.

“Stay still,” he mutters, “and let me taste you.”

A cry rips from your throat the moment his tongue finds your sensitive clit and sucks. He devours you like a man starved, groaning against your core as your fingers twist in the sheets.

“S-Sukuna—”

Your thighs tremble, your back arches. It’s too much. Too good. He’s biting, kissing, licking and it’s so many sensations it makes you drip in copious amounts.

His hands part your folds, fingers prodding at your entrance before pushing in. Tears brim at your waterline and you’re sobbing. “S-Sukuna, it’s too much! I can't-”

“You can and you will. Now, spread those legs wider for me—that’s it—good.” He buries his face deeper, his nose nudging your swollen bud. His fingers continue their relentless pace and when he finds that spongy spot inside you, he pushes against it hard. And when he sucks gently, you come undone—your first orgasm crashing over you like a wave, leaving you gasping, flushed, boneless.

He rises slowly, licking his lips, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Didn’t even have to fuck you yet.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before Sukuna rises above you, crimson gaze smoldering as he watches you unravel beneath him. He strips off the last of his clothing, and your gaze drops instinctively, your lips parting.

He's big. Of course he is. Long, thick and veiny at all the right places

You squirm, suddenly unsure, but his hand cradles your jaw, tilting your gaze back to his.

“You're alright,” he murmurs, surprisingly gentle. “I won’t hurt you."

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks. “I’ve never…”

“I know,” he cuts in softly, kissing your cheek. “I'll go slow.”

But “slow” is a lie. A tease. Because the way he slides the tip against your entrance—just barely pushing in, then pulling away—has you trembling, desperate, needy.

“Sukuna,” you whimper, clutching his arms.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls, easing in with slow, maddening precision. “Like your body was made to take me.”

You moan—loud, helpless, clinging to him as he finally thrusts in fully. You’re stretched wide, full, overwhelmed in the best possible way. He’s panting above you, struggling to hold himself back.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters against your neck.

And then he moves—rolling his hips deep, smooth, precise. Every drag of his cock sends sparks ricocheting through your nerves. He sets a rhythm, slow but firm, his control ironclad, his dominance clear.

Each moan, each gasp, each broken plea earns a smirk.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, brushing hair off your flushed face. “Fucked dumb already and I’ve barely started.”

You gasp as he thrusts deeper, one hand on your thigh to spread you wider. Your head falls back, mouth open, and he dips down to kiss you—deep, possessive, filled with heat.

You don’t know how long you’re lost in it—all you know is him. His voice in your ear, his body owning yours, his whispered praises and filthy promises.

You’re close again—so close you’re trembling—and then—

Knock-knock.

“Your Highness?” your handmaiden calls softly through the door. “I was wondering if you’d like me to draw a bath before bed.”

You freeze.

Sukuna stills inside you, chest heaving, a wicked glint in his eye.

“I-I’m fine!” you call out, voice breathless and a little too high.

A pause. “Are you alright, my lady? You sound… unwell.”

“I’m alright! J-just a headache- d-don’t wo-”

Before you can say another word, Sukuna presses a hand to your mouth, muffling your response. He leans in toward the door and, in that infuriatingly calm drawl of his, says “She’s fine. I’ve got it under control. I’ll take real good care of my queen tonight.”

Then he rolls his hips—slow, deep, deliberate.

You moan against his palm, loud enough that it echoes in the chamber.

A beat of silence.

"Apologies, Your Majesty,” your handmaiden says hastily. “I’ll leave you to it.”

As her footsteps fade, Sukuna lowers his hand and looks down at you smugly. “Oops.”

“She definitely heard that,” you hiss, mortified.

He chuckles darkly. “Should’ve kept your voice down, sweetheart.”

And then he drives into you again, hard, relentless—until you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t breathe without him.

Your nails dig into his back as Sukuna picks up the pace, relentless now, pounding into you with a rhythm that’s pure sin. He’s feral—yet still somehow completely in control, watching every reaction, every shudder, every sweet sound that escapes you.

“You feel that?” he growls, breath ragged against your ear. “You’re taking me so well.”

You whimper, clinging to him as your body tightens again—hot, electric, right there.

“‘Kuna-”

His entire body stills and for a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Then—then—he’s on you again, lips crashing against yours like he’s lost his mind. Like that one nickname was all it took to break whatever leash he had on himself.

“Say that again,” he begs, voice rough and cracking at the edges. “Say it again, please.”

You whimper, eyes wide, breath stolen. “’Kuna.”

He snaps his hips forward, hard, claiming every inch of you all over again. “You’re mine, princess,” he hisses. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing in the world. “Yours, ‘Kuna.”

“That’s fucking right,” he groans, head dropping to your shoulder, voice ragged and trembling. “My queen. My wife. Mine.”

Each word is a brand, hot and absolute.

Mine, mine, mine.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice is low, commanding, but there’s a strange softness underneath. “Give it to me. Let go.”

You do.

You cry out, back arching as the orgasm crashes through you—white-hot and shattering, stealing every breath from your lungs. Sukuna groans, hips stuttering, and then he's spilling inside you with a deep, guttural snarl, his entire body tensing as he rides it out, buried to the hilt.

For a long moment, there’s only silence.

Heavy breaths. Sticky skin. A faint tremble in your thighs.

And then Sukuna collapses beside you, pulling you close, one tattooed arm slung around your waist. He nuzzles into your hair, still catching his breath, and for a moment… he doesn’t say anything cruel or cocky.

Just holds you.

“You okay?” he murmurs at last, quieter than you’ve ever heard him.

You nod, cheeks flushed, heart still pounding. “Y-Yeah…”

A pause.

“That was your first?” His tone is unreadable.

You glance away, shy. “...Yes.”

Sukuna hums, fingers brushing over your arm in slow, absent strokes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You laugh weakly. “Shut up.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. “You were perfect.”

You blink, startled.

Sukuna rarely says anything without an edge. But this... this feels real.

You don’t reply—just nestle closer to him, your head resting on his chest as his hand lazily trails patterns on your back.

“I scared you,” he mutters after a beat. “At the beginning.”

You nod slowly. “You still do.”

He snorts. “Good. Wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable.”

But his hold tightens, and you feel his lips brush your temple—so soft, so fleeting, it’s almost like he didn’t mean for you to notice.

You smile faintly.

Outside, the castle sleeps. The halls are silent, the air cool. But here—in this bed, tangled in sheets and limbs and breaths—you’re warm.

You close your eyes. And for the first time since being torn from your home, you feel… safe.

You’re still catching your breath, limbs tangled with his as the heat between your bodies begins to settle. The room is quiet save for your soft, uneven inhales and the rhythmic thud of your heart, still racing. Sukuna’s hand lazily traces your spine, his other arm wrapped under your head, holding you close as if you might disappear.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low, satisfied. “This suits you, princess.”

You nudge him with a scoff, cheeks warm. “You’re insufferable.”

He chuckles darkly, eyes gleaming as he shifts to hover over you once more. “Mm. And yet here you are…” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Pliant. Breathless.” Another kiss, lower. “Mine.”

Your breath hitches, fingers curling into his shoulders. “We just—”

“I know,” he whispers against your skin, voice thick with want. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyes widen. “'Kuna-”

His lips brush against yours, soft but burning. “Say yes.”

Oh, boy.

author's note : honestly wasnt planning on this being so long. also my first time writing a long fic so feedback is much appreciated <33 leave a like/reblog if you enjoyed!

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

[rockmonopoly]

Always figuring out what to say in important conversations literally multiple hours after they’ve happened. Like sorry I didn’t contribute at the time. When you asked for help. Now I know what to say but it’s probably too late so I’ll just not say anything. It probably would’ve been awkward either way

[stargrltara]

Kinda Outa Luck II

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

summary: based off of the song "Kinda Outa Luck by lana del rey. 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩. Reader is kinda inspired by catwoman in the batman, she works in a club, and on the low she's gothams most wanted female thief. She is gorgeous, and she uses it to her advantage.Oh, did i mention she has a thing for the Red Hood? And, honesty, he does too, though he is pretty shit at hiding it. PT 1 PT 2 PT 3 ?

warnings: 18+ MDNI, it’s quite long im sorry, mentions of clubs, tying up, begging, mentions of sexual natures and strippers, slapping, unprotected sex, p in v, teasing, some fluff and angst, enemies with benefits??

a/n: guys this is part 2!! wow this is longgggg long. it was originally meant to be all in 1 part but i couldn’t be arsed and thought it would b easier like this xoxo. and sorry for the wait i’m so unbothered bye

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“ before i get bad

i gotta get drunk

so get over here

pour me a cold one „

Sliding on your skimpy, silver dress, you began to contemplate which hairstyle you desired for tonight’s shift. The sequins reflected a soft hue against the moonlit sky and the rain trickled down the windows softly. Brushing through your locks, light specs of gold and white stardust lingered on your fingertips as remains from doing your makeup not too long ago.

As you arrived to the Iceburg Lounge at roughly 9PM, you immediately strutted past the countless amount of people. Aromas of cheap and expensive cologne covered your nostrils like a blanket while you shoved your way past and behind the bar, eager to make yourself a drink before getting started tonight.

Pouring a shot of tequila through the glass, taking an easy swig and tapping it back onto the cool slate; a content sigh escaped your lips.

After a few hours of working, cleaning tables and serving drinks, a man walks up to you. His attire classy, a black suit along with a silver tie. His hair slicked back, sophisticated. “ The Penguin wants you in his office. “ The man grumbled sternly. Nodding, you hesitatingly set the bottle of vodka down and walked towards the Penguins office.

Thoughts corrupted your mind into a clueless haze. Of course, you were his favourite worker, but why did he randomly want to see you at this time? Sheepishly, you knocked on the door before intertwining and fiddling with the nails of your thumbs, sighing under your breath and waiting for what felt like an enternity under the gates of Penguins Office doors.

Finally, a muscular sihlouette opened the door before you. Taking in the unwelcoming sight, your brows curved into a disconnected frown after you noticed the scarlett steel layered on the mans face; orbs painted in a bleached clad. You refrained from widening your eyes too much from the illusion displayed upon you, blinking rapidly as you believed your eyes discieved you; attempting to hide the sceptism through your aurburn soul.

Does he know who you are? And all of a sudden you felt as if you weren't the bravest seductress in Gotham, instead, a neusiating ember arose from the heart of your chest, catching fire to your limbs and your delicate spirit. Suffocated with undervalue and engulfed under the weight of the Red Hood, he moved out of the way for another man to stand infront of him.

" Ah— finally, youre here ! " Penguin grinned at you as you lingered around his office while he communicated with the Red Hood. " So.. I.. Uh— Anything you need, sir?" Your voice shuddered, a hint of reluctance in your voice in front of the powerful image. You couldn’t help but dally your gaze every few minutes onto the rugged frame beside him. “Pour me a drink, will ‘ya? I know you make the best, honey. “ The New York accented man spoke, a wink left his eye before he carried on his conversation with Red Hood; never looking back at you.

Complying to his orders, you made your finest cocktail, which happened to be his favourite before handing it to him. A small nod in validation he gave you before going back to his conversation. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t eavesdropping. 3 words stood out to you. “Guns.” “Illegal.” “Shipment.” Your brow raised each time familiar word like those itched your ears, and all you wanted to do was to interfere with Penguins Illegal Gun Shipment. You were eager to hear more of this, hence the reason you were spending longer than needed to clean and put away the glasses.

You were also taking longer than usual because you were attempting to catch longer glances at Red Hood. He’s massive; his toned abs trapped beneath his suit. The back of his shoulders massive, you could tell by the way he sometimes clenches it. And his thighs? They’re plump, but they also look solid, like you’ll be crushed between them if you ever try to suck—

You were getting ahead of yourself, your mind corrupted with arousing thoughts between you and Red Hood. What was it? The way he grabbed your mouth to cover the sound of your voice, and the raspiness of his filling the misty atmosphere? Maybe it was how he trapped you underneath his body against the cold bricks, and the contrasting temperatures between the breeze and his body warmth.

God the things you would do just to taste that man. Just to pin him down, put him at your mercy for once; get him on his knees and beg. Though, you also wanted to beg. Beg for his erotic touch, electrifying against your skin and sparks clinging to your skin.

Maybe you were staring and dreaming for too long, lost in your daze before reality hit.

It was happening tonight. And there was no way you were going to miss it. You could sell those guns, you could make so much money.

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“ is it wrong wrong

that i think it’s kinda fun

when i hit you in the back of the head with a gun? „

You were ready, at the sight. Hopping out of your truck and inching closer to it. There was a lot of shipment men, and a lot of guards at the gates of the scene. And then something else caught your gaze. Red Hood. It’s fine, you’ll be in and out, like no one was ever here. You’ll be sly, like a serpent. He won’t even notice you.

Swiftly making your way past everyone, through the shadows, which sounds oddly familiar, you fall upon the specific gun crates which twinkle your vision. As one of the guards back is turned, you open the crate and take out 2 highly advanced guns, and bolted, grappling to a roof. Sighing in relief, you turned around, just to be greeted by the Red Hood, but he was clearly occupied with.. something.. arguing with one of the guards before the guard eventually gets fed up and struts of. Red hood just scoffs at the action.

You acted quickly, afraid he would take you down and turn you in. Hitting him in the back of the head with the gun, earning a small grunt, and for him to fall unconscious beneath you. Fuck. You couldn’t deny the shot of ecstasy that ran through you, the feeling of sinning but with a spec of thrill.

Your apartment was a few blocks down. Perhaps, you could carry him drag him to your truck, and then up the stairs to your apartment? You know, to avoid him from finding you and beating your ass.

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“ my daddies in the trunk

of his brand new truck „

The drive back to your apartment was quiet, but your mind wasn’t. What if he woke up in the trunk? After dragging him into your apartment and avoiding the weird stares from your neighbours, you locked the doors and tied him to your chair with a whip-like rope. Though, the situation was quite ironic since it’s usually him capturing and interrogating criminals like this, you couldn’t help but smirk eagerly to see his helpless reaction.

As he awoke, he glanced around, still in a haze from the sudden attack. “ You…” He muttered, a little muffled from his helmet, which you kept on as you planned to do something soon. A giggle escaped your mouth as you watched him glare up, avoiding the embarrassing position; small grunts leaving his mask as he struggled against the rope.

Red Hood let out a low guttural growl as he watched you stand so proudly, proud to have captured someone so much stronger than you; the sound of pain reverberating through his body. You aimed a gun at the base of his helmet, a threat but you both knew you’d never pull the trigger. A flash of surprise crossed his face. Despite the situation, he chuckled through the pain, clearly entertained by your resistance.

"That.. was a dirty move, doll face." He grunted, before you shook your head. “Stop—“ You order him, authority radiating off of you as you slowly inch closer, the gun still aimed at his head, and you place the metal right onto his helmet. “i’m talking now.”

He raised his hands up as much as he could in surrender, amusement still clear on his face under his mask. The supremacy in your voice and your unwavering stance had caught him off guard, and the sight of you prowling towards him with a gun in hand was more attractive than he cared to admit.

"Alright, alright." He said calmly, a smirk still on his lips. "I'm not speaking. Satisfied?" Even the way he man-spreaded was hot; it took everything in you to not pounce over onto him and suck the soul right out of him. Your cheeks fluttered a soft pink at the thought. He even noticed the way you were peering down at his crotch, and his thighs. Honestly, you didn’t really have much of a plan. You weren’t sure what to do with this tank at your mercy in the middle of your living room.

“I—“ You stammered, thinking of what to say. He just raised a brow at you, you’ve done this before but not to anyone like him. You could never take him in a fight, you could never try and overpower him even if you tried.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” His voice filled with snark and impatience. He had things to do, he was a busy man, and you were stalling him. “I said shut up.” You repeated sternly before preparing your finger on the trigger. You think of something quick, and in that time, your consciousness decides to untie him, the rope falling to the floor but he remained seated, glaring up at you waiting for your next command.

“Get.. Get on your knees. “ You spoke quick, reluctance and hesitation behind your vocals, and you licked your lips in anticipation. His smirk faltered briefly as you ordered him to get on his knees. The thought of actually submitting to you filled him with a mix of irritation and reluctant curiosity. There was something about you in this dominant state that he couldn't quite place, and it made him wonder what you were up to.

Slowly, he begrudgingly obliged, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his eyes still fixed on your face, studying your movements and your shy remarks. He knew you weren’t an amateur in this region, but he you both knew how he could easily pick you up and throw you against the wall if he wanted. You wouldn’t even realise a swift movement that he would do, as he could easily tackle you.

Your heart was beating out of your chest with anticipation. “Now..” Your voice trailed off slyly. “Take that pretty helmet off ‘f me.” He gritted his teeth as you shoved the gun against his skull. The feeling of the cold metal against his helmet sent a jolt through him, adding to the mixture of anger and mild attraction he was feeling. He knew he should be fighting back, but something about your commanding attitude was making him hesitate.

“Absolutely not.” He huffed, even now it was obvious that he had some sort of authority. You just sighed in annoyance, he was supposed to be fearful right now, except he barely even took this situation seriously. “I’m not asking, Red.” You spat through gritted teeth, warning him. His eyes narrowed as you bit your lip, an action that made him feel a mix of annoyance, and something else he couldn't quite place. He could feel himself getting riled up and it was only making things more complicated. He could also sense your impatience and the determination in your voice, but he stood firm on his refusal. “—and i’m not listening.” Stubborn.

You scoffed. “Jesus— i’ll just do it myself.” You mummer little nothings as you were pissed off, before inching closer, forgetting that his hands are free just behind his back as you kneel down enough to be alighed with his mask and you search for the way to take it off. “You seriously can’t be that bad under there, honey.” a soft whisper — Red Hood couldn't help but let out a low rumble of annoyance as you approached him, attempting to remove his mask. Your ignorance to the fact that his hands were free behind his back only added to his irritation, and ignited the burn in his eyes as you bent in front of him, feeling around for a way to undo the mask, he couldn’t help but revel in your naivety.

Unfortunately, he saw this as a chance. And with a swift power move, he tackled you to the rough of the ground, a loud gasp laced with pain left the pale of your lips. He straddled your body, pinning you down with his weight. His hands grabbed your wrists and held them firmly down above your head. His eyes darkened in anger as he stared down at you, breathing heavily. “Pretty things like you never learn." He growled so close to your ear that his breath was fanning onto your fair skin, an almost animalistic roar through his helmet as he was full of rage, and a slight hint of lust.

Soft groans of agony escaped you as you struggled and squirmed beneath him, weighing you down and ruining your chance to be free. Your body rubbed against his as you grunted. He let out a dry scoff as he felt your struggle beneath him. You were feisty and strong, but he was stronger and had been in this exact position plenty of times before. He tightened his grip on your wrists, pinning them harder against the ground as he leaned down closer to your face. “—What's wrong, doll? ..Not used to being the one on the bottom?” He teased, his voice low and raspy, and a little disoriented from his helmet.

“—you wouldn’t be able to handle me on top.” You muttered between sharp inhales as his weight on you took some air out of your lungs. You voice having a snarky edge but also a hint of a cunning tease to it as you narrowed your hazel eyes at him, lashes fluttering. He chuckled again, this time it was different. Your snarky comment making him more amused than annoyed, and ironically creating heat to pool in his stomach. He liked your fire, your determination to keep fighting, even when he had you completely immobilized beneath him.

“Is that so? ” He purred, his face only inches from yours. Despite your situation, your words had only fueled his desire to put you in your place even more. You just hummed at his words as you could barely form words of your own out of your mouth; your chest rising and falling from each hitch. He shifted his weight above you, trying to hide the raging hard-on you were giving him, and he just gazed at your stunned face.

And in that moment, you both felt it — the volt of electricity that ran down your body and through your ultraviolet veins. — Both of your bodies warmth and laced with lust and arousal. You gave into the feeling of need and desire as you melted beneath his touch as he ran a glove-clad hand down your abdomen, the buzz seeping through your latex suit and causing the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck to rise. His hand stopped right at your thigh, edging you onto feeling an ache, the ember igniting in your chest causing gasps to leave your mouth as you accepted the way he leaned in, inhaling your scent.

You were so lost in the moment that you didn’t realise the way he picked you up and carried you to your bedroom before tossing you onto the bed, the mattress bouncing onto your back as you waited. He turned the lights off, so all that lingered was the soft dim of the billboards and the lighting that struck down as rain trickles onto the glass of your windows.

He must’ve stripped after he turned off the lights because you felt a heavy sink in the bed when he laid on top of you, and the clank of his helmet onto your carpet. You ran your hands down his toned chest. Of course, he felt heavenly, you drew your fingertips and traced the way of each perfect muscle, but just as you were done, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. He tightened his grip and you winced slightly, though that shot of pain wasn’t from your wrist but from how eager you were to fuck him.

“..I ain’t gonna play nice.” He warned, his real, ragged voice soaking into the air; you took the opportunity of his bare face to interlock your fingers into his locks, earning a small grunt in approval from him. “I’m used to fighting dirty.” You breathed before you pulled him up by his hair, and latched your lips onto his. He tasted different than you expected, sweet and his lips soft, although the hot kiss was aggressive and passionate, eating at eachother’s mouths. He deepened it, sliding his tongue against yours and a light moan flowed from your mouth to inside his, coating his tongue in your hot, shuddering breaths.

You pulled away, filling air into your lungs but just before you could prepare, he leaned in, cupping your chin with his free hand before he wrapped his lips around yours again, this time your teeth colliding and as he pulled away slowly, a string of saliva connected between each of your lips.

After moments of heavy making out, he traced small patterns on your suit, feeling for the zipper before zipping it down. You lifted your stomach up as he sat in between your opened legs, right in between your core as he stripped you bare. You remained in your lace bra and panties and it was unfortunate that he couldn’t see such a sight and you can’t see his true features.

It felt like heaven was having a bubble bath in your stomach as he planted small, open mouth kisses around your neck, each leaving a trail of his saliva. He licked a long stripe from your neck to your ear, nibbling on your delicate skin. “..you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting to do this..” he muttered into your skin, gaining a soft moan in agreement, as you admit, you also wanted to do things to him.

His touch felt like it originated from Eden’s garden, his lips creeping down your stomach, sucking and licking at your flesh, knowing there’ll be marks by the morning; the vision sending a jolt down through your body. A sudden fire ignited in your veins and in your limbs, a shot of ecstasy. He could feel the way your body shook and jolted at each touch he laid upon your skin. It only fuelled him.

He reached at your panties, and he pulled it down slowly, slow enough that it made you grunt in impatience. “please..” a low whisper escaped from you, you didn’t even realise what you said, you were lost in the moment. “ patience, baby ” was all he spoke before he spread your thighs wider, his fingers gripping onto your flesh, marking his fingerprints and leaving a surprise for the morning. The scratching of your skin against your blankets filled the air along with the soft grumble of rain hitting against the glass.

A thick finger glided across your puffy folds and a hiss left your mouth in return. You were unethically wet; the slick noises painting the atmosphere. His now wet fingers slithered up your stomach, and through the bridge of your chest, coated in your arousal. He plunged them into your mouth and a “hmmgh..” left your lips.

You willingly allowed the intrusion, fluttering your eyes closed and sliding your tongue around the two thick digits. Cladding them in your saliva, you bobbed your head up and down on them. “ good girl.. yea— get ‘em nice ‘n wet ‘f me..” he trailed off, everything sounding a haze as you continued to suck on his fingers. He pulled them out and ran them up your folds again, before shoving them into your hole unexpectedly.

An erotic gasp echoed through your bedroom walls, and your aching hole squeezed around his fingers, trapping them as soft moans rumbled from the midst of your throat. He continued to plunge his fingers in and out of your pussy, the slick noises and your moans fuelling his admiration. “ love those noises you make..” he breathed into your ear before licking the burning flesh, his tongue tasting the electricity beneath your blood.

You felt yourself reaching your peak when he curled his fingers just right, a bolt of heat shooting out of your lungs. “ mm.. right there..! right there ! “ feeling so surreal, his thick digits fit inside of you like a puzzle; you moaned before he ripped his fingers out, not allowing you to have your release and your orgasm. All you wanted was to paint your bedsheets white, stain them with the mix of both of your juices, all you wanted was for him to have the hottest orgasm of your life. “ wha…?” you breathed when you felt him take his fingers out of you, you felt empty, and you found yourself craving more.

He brung himself up to your lips, so close you could feel his murky hair ticking your forehead, “ not yet, doll. not until you take my cock “ he grunted before he dragged you to the edge of the bed, earning a loud gasp and you to be very confused. He leaned down, and spat a string of saliva onto your folds; the wet sticking to your skin and charging your arousal.

You felt it, it was big. He filled you up so much, you could barely breathe after he aligned himself with your hole and rammed into it without mercy. Euphoric moans from you, and vicious growls and grunts from him arose from his chest, grumbling out of his throat. Tightening his grip on your waist and sliding it down to your thighs. Hearing a man like this was beautiful. His firm grip tightened, squeezing your skin as he felt himself get deeper and deeper, until he bottomed out. Your puffy hole taking him so nice as you felt him sink inside.

He pulled your legs over his shoulders to get a better angle as he thrusted in and out of you, the bulge from his fat cock inside of your stomach visible and his cock hitting places you never knew existed inside of you. Slamming and shooting arousal to form inside of your body.

Re-arranging your insides, he deepened and quickened his pace and your nails scratching at his shoulders and his back, leaving your mark. Your skin slapping against his pelvis and his right hand paved its way to your breast; fiddling with your bra to pull it down before he leaned in to suck and flick at your nipple. As he leaned down, his cock deepened inside of you and another sharp moan existed your throat. “ do ‘ya feel how deep I am inside ‘f you? “ he was so deep and abusing your tight core. he cooed into the skin of your breast, still lapping at the hardened bud and bringing his other hand up to wrap around your throat. You could only nod as you felt his grip around your neck tighten, the feeling was so euphoric. All you wanted was to be chocked by him, to have your airways cut off by this heaven-sent man.

“ f..fuck.. so— so close..” was all you could let out as the figure inside of you bullied himself around your guts. Between sharp breathes, you could hear that he was close. “—You gonna cum for me, baby? Do it. Cum on my cock, doll. “ His mushroom tip twitching inside of you and his teeth scraping onto your skin. That nickname has never sounded sexier as he emphasised how eager he is for you to release yourself on his shaft. He leaned up, to glare at you from below as he watched your face as you painted his cock white, spilling yourself on him soaking the sheets below as he lightly slapped your cheek before holding your chin to glance at him as you release your juices onto the girth of his cock. “ that’s it, baby..”

Your jaw slacked open as the filfiest moan escaped, this had to be your best orgasm as it hit you hard. Even leaving after shocks, your body was jolting, and your breaths have never felt heavier. He wasn’t far behind as he came right inside of you, water colouring your walls with his seed as he gazed at your face when thunder struck outside the windows, a light flare of your facial features on display. And you could quite make out his piercing emerald orbs, along with his coal hair.

A pornographic groan of pleasure exited his lips and his head fell onto your neck, laying lazy kisses and inhaling your raw scent. All you could do was trace your nails on his neck, drawing small circles and shapes as he lifted you up against the headboard, laying between your things and cherishing your chest and collarbones. The soft gesture was contrasting with how he acted a few seconds ago, ruining your hole, and also with his whole Red Hood persona. This was someone different.

Your fingers lingered on the back of his neck, and slowly slithered down to his broad shoulders and you feel where you left scratches and marks. A small giggle erupting from your throat. “ what’s so funny there, doll-face ? “ he sounded so worn out, and exhausted from how he let go all inside of you. “ oh..nothing, baby,” you chuckled as you played with his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and you could hear the soft almost purr like noises he was making, a smirk creeping onto your lips. “ you’re pretty hot.” you admit, earning an eyebrow raise from him. “ ..that so?” he breathed, unimpressed before he was tackled around, now he was laying on the bed and you were straddling him, pinning his arms beside his head by interlocking your fingers.

Normally, he would be annoyed at such a lack of dominance he holds. But he’s in such vulnerable state, coming down from his high so he just parts his lips, unable to form the snarky words he desired. “—uh oh.. cat caught your tongue?” you don’t know what has gotten into you, you could tell he was completely lost in the situation, but you were feeling more energetic and eager for a round 2. You were grinding bare skin on skin against his, stroking your clit against his lower stomach, right above his pelvis, and you could feel his dick getting hard beneath you. Snaking a long patch of your mixed juices, you leaned in to plant a warm kiss on his chest, and you traced a heart against his fragile skin.

His hips jolted lightly before a low murmur arose from his chest. “..you know how this’ll end baby.” you hummed in response. “ i could easily flip you over right now, and take you again. and again. and again. until your neighbours recognise every slap of our skin, and memorise our moans by heart. “ he growled, though it was low, it was powerful, and it was hot. You felt a not so foreign heat pool inside your stomach again, and it only encouraged you to keep going, to keep rilling him up again.

“..but you won’t.” you ordered before licking a stripe up from his neck to his throat. ironic. and a rugged moan departed from him, which made you ache to make him feel real good. You ached to do everything you imagined in Penguins office, to him. You lowered yourself, kissing above his belly button and tracing his abs with the wet of your tongue. You nestled between his thighs, pecking sweetly at his happy trail, short gasps from him.

It was surprising to know how hot it was to have so much dominance over a man like Red Hood, especially in a state like this. You continued down until you felt the hard base of his shaft, bringing your hand up to it and slowly rubbing it, and taking your lips to press a tiny kiss on the tip. “..stop playin’ games ‘w me “ he groans lightly when he feels the tease of your lips against his fragile tip; feeling impatient as you took your time to pleasure him.

He glared down at you, and although the scene was dark, he could slightly make out the way you both stared at each other before he nodded in approval. You wanted to take his whole dick into your mouth, but before that, you wanted to tease him a little. So, you took the base of his cock and stroked slow strokes before spitting down onto it, saliva rolling down and seeping into his cock and landing on his balls.

Your ears weren’t deceiving you when you heard soft moans and whimpers come out of him and you scoffed at how ironic this was, and how vulnerable he could be when getting his dick sucked; the warmth of your breath sending chills down his skin. Your hand played with the soft of his balls, massaging them as his head flew back, moulding into the pillows under him and you finally took his dick down your throat. He placed his hands upon your head, making a makeshift ponytail out of your hair before slamming your head down onto his cock and guiding you. Unable to beneath, your noise colliding with his pelvis and rough chokes left your mouth.

His cock was girthy, thick and long. Though you couldn’t properly see it, you could feel the single vein that ran along the side. He pulled your head back, landing a slap to your cheek and a tight grip on your chin while he allowed you to breathe; both of your sharp breathes ricocheted through the air. The pouring rain outside added to the chaotic harmony and you leaned down to lick a stripe along the vein of his bulging cock, earning sighs in pleasure.

Without warning, he shoved your head back down onto his cock and you bobbed your head up and down,feeling the bulge in your throat while his was chest rising and falling with each thrust of your lips. Your lips wrapped around it, sucking the soul out of his spirit as an ember of arousal burned through your eyes. Picking up the pace, you could tell he was close by the way he jolted and shuddered, stammering nothings into the room. “..that’s it— keep— keep goin’..” “jus’ take it, all ‘f it. “ whilst you choked on his girth; spit collecting at the side of your mouth and dripping onto his thighs.

You used your hands to stroke what you couldn’t reach, and he let you up for air before slamming you down again, and again, and again, until eventually the wire in him snapped and a pathetic whimper left him, you glared up, allowing him to see the mess he made inside of your mouth and on your face. All of his juices milked onto you, and you took your fingers to wipe yourself and your mouth before licking them clean with your tongue.

“..what was that about being on top, honey ?” you teased, referring to your comment earlier, and how he couldn’t handle you being on top, clearly from his pathetic moans he was unleashing when you sucked the spirit right out of him. “—Shut.. up..” he grumbled, attempting to assert but it came out shaken, the opposite of what he wanted. You chuckled in response and found yourself laying on him, and he was engulfed in your scent.

Your sweaty skins sticking together, but you sort of felt at peace. Resting your face into his neck, both of your eyes fluttered shut, and you wrapped your arms around his body, his around your waist, pulling you closer, trapping you in the erotic heat.

You two were only like this for a few minutes before he got up, leaving you on the bed glaring up at the figure who was putting his clothes back on. “ You leavin’? “ you asked in a huff, but he didn’t respond. “ Red..?”

“..yea. I think— I should go. ” his voice had a hint of reluctance as you heard the sound of clothes being put on, and his helmet shoved onto his head. “okay..” you nodded, sounding a little on edge by his sudden urge to leave, knowing you two were enemies and leaving you sitting on the bed and feeling a need to push the duvet up to cover yourself. you knew he was a busy man, but in this moment, you wanted nothing more than to hold him tight in your arms, listening to the soothing patterns of his breaths as you two fell asleep together. “.. i didn’t.. see your face if that’s what you’re worried about.” you called out as you could see the figure disappear into the shadow, opening the door and standing in the doorframe.

Your lips parted as you heard the thuds of his boots to your front door, and the slam of it closing. Shit.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆˚｡⋆

Part 3 ?? ☺️

[22ayla21]

hiyoouuuuuu, can I request a Mydei scenario where Okhema Kids make like a little weeding for Mydei and his beloved out of nowhere. A small fluff thing. (btw your stories a ABSOLUTLY delicious, MiaM)

The Okhema "Wedding"

The children decided to throw a fun wedding for Mydei and his beloved.

"What is this?" Mydei's beloved froze in astonishment, seeing a dozen children with sly smiles in front of her.

"It's your wedding!" the bravest little one announced proudly.

Mydei blinked. "Our... what?"

"Wedding!" the children repeated in unison.

"But we're not married," the girl remarked with a slight chuckle.

"That's why we arranged it!"

While they were recovering, the children continued their preparations. The Okhema kids were inventive, so in a few days they organized something resembling a wedding ceremony, albeit childishly cute and chaotic.

Improvised "guests" stood around—a few goats, a lazily dozing dog, and dolls carefully seated by the children on boxes.

"We thought of everything!" their "leader," a nine-year-old boy named Liv, declared importantly. "Here, Mydeimos, a king's cloak for you!"

He held out a piece of fabric resembling an old cloak, entwined with floral garlands.

Mydei took the cloak, nodded, and with a smirk, draped it over his shoulders. "A worthy attire."

"And for you, princess, a wreath!" a girl, older than the others, placed a wreath of wildflowers on Mydei's beloved's head.

"P-princess?" she blushed.

"Yeah! You're the future queen!" Liv stated confidently.

Mydei looked at her with interest. "Did you hear that? You're a princess now."

She gently nudged him in the side. "You've spoiled them."

"They're just like that on their own."

"Enough chatter!" Liv said sternly. "We need to finish the ceremony."

They led them under an improvised arch of branches, decorated with colorful ribbons.

"Now you must swear loyalty to each other!"

Mydei grinned. "Well, all right." He took her hand, lightly squeezing her fingers. "I swear to protect you, support you, and endure all your quirks."

She smiled. "I swear to be by your side, even when you get involved in some crazy adventure again."

The children hummed approvingly.

"Now kiss!" someone shouted.

"Hey, that's too much," the beloved blushed.

"Those are the rules," Liv said innocently.

Mydei chuckled. "Well, if we have to..."

He gently touched her forehead with his lips. The children clapped, some whistling joyfully.

"Now you're definitely married!"

"Yes, now you're family!"

"Celebration! We need a celebration!"

The kids ran around in circles, singing songs, while the goats and the dog seemed to decide it was time to demand treats.

"Do you think a real wedding will be like this?" she asked Mydei quietly.

He looked thoughtfully at the running children and smiled.

"If it's even half as fun, I'm in."

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

breaking news!

pairing: milf! reader x pre-re2 leon

cws/tags: protected p in v, virginity loss, leon cumming immediately, coming untouched, talking about past somno (implied to be consensual), presumably established relationship, no description of reader beyond cis female who has had a child and is older than leon, reader POV, no use of y/n

summary: leon doesn't wanna die a virgin! shit goes down in july '98 (bizarre murders occur in raccoon city etc. you know the monologue), and leon sees it on the news, decides he's gotta fuck before he becomes a cop fr.

a/n: this is part 3 to cool mom's countdown. i wasn't sure how to tag some stuff bc it's like they're having sex rn but reader is thinking about stuff they've done in the past too, so it's kinda a little time-skipping sometimes. (past things are italicized for your reading pleasure)

wc: 1.7k

taglist: @onlyasimp4-2dbitches @puppedup @nilpill @sya-skies @shiawaseorii

@rigorwhoring @porcelainseashore

@tieabowaroundme @frankieeeeesblog @kerredgraveblog

join my taglist! purchase a commission!

At first, your relationship with Leon made you feel old -- all of the pop culture references you’d make flew over his head, and you realized how out of the loop you were when it came to modern slang when you had to ask Leon for the definition of approximately one word per sentence he spoke. While miscommunications arose through conversations, you were in sync when it came to sex. 

In the proverbial bedroom, Leon made you feel young again. After work one Friday night, you made out on the couch until you insisted that you needed to freshen up before your movie date, and ended up sitting on the bathroom counter with Leon’s head between your thighs, and, to pay him back, you jerked him off in the theater.

You’d been together for a good six months before you finally went all the way. You told Leon from the beginning that you wouldn’t have sex with him until he was 100% sure he was ready. A sweet boy like him deserved to have a good first time. 

After a gourmet meal of macaroni and cheese plus whatever else you could find in the cabinet, the two of you shared a six pack on the back porch while watching the sun set over the suburbs. It was romantic, minus the topic of conversation -- everyone was talking about the bizarre murders in the Arklay Mountains which weren’t far from where you lived. Leon was glued to the TV, watching updates as they appeared on the news over the course of the past week. 

It was disturbing enough to hear the outlandish reports of families being attacked by a group of about 10 people, but the victims were apparently eaten. And, you couldn’t bear the thought of Leon being a member of that STARS team that went missing. 

Leon had always been insistent on joining the force, but being forced to actively accept your own mortality can be a scary experience for even the bravest. However, Leon’s biggest fear wasn’t death itself. 

“I keep seeing those cops on the news -- the ones from the RPD who died and I don’t wanna die a virgin.”

“What?” His train of thought blew past about 10 stops before arriving at its destination, it seemed. You struggled to put the pieces together. 

“That’ll be me pretty soon -- well, not necessarily dead, hopefully not, just part of the RPD, I mean. But, since there’s a real chance I could die, I would like to lose my virginity.”

Talking about death put a bit of a damper on the mood, but Leon could get you riled up in the most inappropriate of situations. 

“I told you we can do it whenever you’re ready,” you said nonchalantly. 

“What I meant was, I’m ready now.”

Your first instinct was to look down towards the front of his jeans. 

“Mentally,” he clarified when he saw you checking for a bulge in his pants. 

You swiftly led him up to your bedroom and by the time your lips were on his neck, he was physically ready for you too. Leon’s a sucker for hickies. Pun intended. 

“It makes me feel like I’m yours,” he mentioned one night, wearing a stupid grin and smudged lipstick - both courtesy of you.   

“You are mine,” you said, cupping his cheek, “and I’m yours.”

“Then, can I give you one too?” 

He shouldn’t. You already felt out of place at the neighborhood book club, and you didn’t want Karen and Cheryl (or whatever their names are) to think you’re a complete whore. 

Fuck it. They could stare all they wanted. Bring on their jealousy-fueled disgust. 

You exposed your neck to Leon and let him suck lightly at the skin. As it turned out you liked them quite a bit too. 

When you told Leon he was yours and vice versa, you meant it, but tonight you were really going to seal the deal. 

It was a dance of tipsy fumbling around as one’s first time should be. Giggling while barely holding yourselves back from ripping each other’s clothes off. 

“You’re so needy,” you whispered into his ear, though you were the one palming him through his underwear. 

“No... you’re just hot... I can’t help being like this around you.”

“Yeah? Then how do you think I feel around a handsome young man like you?” You took his hand and gently guided him to feel your arousal through your panties. 

He inhaled sharply, and you felt his needy cock twitch against your hand which had yet to slip inside his boxers. Poor thing, he was always so desperate. 

Not that you minded – not even when you’d wake up in the middle of the night to him rutting his hips into you from behind. He did this often in his sleep – he thought it was embarrassing, but you thought it was endearing. He’d mumble your name and coax your hand back to his hard-on if you ever dared to retract it. 

Leon hooked his fingers in the fabric of your panties and slid it to the side, teasing your folds with his touch. 

In retaliation and reward, you took his length in your hand, planning to give him the same languid, tantalizing strokes he was giving you. But he grabbed your wrist and stopped you. 

“Wait-” he said, breath shaky with what you assumed to be nerves.

You backed off completely. “Leon, I’m so sorry. If you’re not ready tonight, we can do this some other-”

“-I’m ready, too ready. Just thinking about getting to be inside you is making me feel... really good already, so, um, if you touch me like that, I might not be able- I might cum before I can actually... you know...”

“Fuck me?” God, it was so cute how flustered he’d get over the simplest things. 

“Yeah, fuck you.” He couldn’t curse in front of you without blushing. It took him a while to adjust to calling you by your first name instead of ‘ma’am’, so you couldn’t blame him for feeling awkward cursing around you. The redness in his cheeks only rose when he realized how his statement - fuck you - could’ve been interpreted. 

“No, wait, not fuck you, I mean, I wanna fuck you... in a good way. I wanna make you feel good,” he clarified.

“Then come here,” you lied back on the bed and beckoned him closer. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Typical. You had to resist the urge to call him a ‘good boy’, knowing those words alone might make him cum in his pants. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. Once, while he was going down on you -- on his knees at the edge of your bed, his favorite position -- you told him how he was such a good boy for making you feel so good, and though his hands remained gripping your thighs, holding them open so he could bury his face in your cunt, your orgasm triggered his, and he came completely untouched. 

You grabbed a condom from your bedside table -- you were on the pill, and neither of you were seeing anyone else, but you were pretty sure that his cock wouldn’t make it inside you if you told him he could fuck you raw -- and you handed him the packet. 

“Do you know how to do it?”

“Yeah, they made us try putting them on bananas in health class.”

“Thank your health teacher for me, then, will you?”

“Um, I don’t know if Mr-”

“I’m kidding, baby.”

“This is no time for joking around. You’re breaking my concentration,” he said, but his smile betrayed any facade of seriousness. 

When he successfully put it on, you said, only half-joking, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” he said -- no, whined. 

“Why not?”

“Gonna make me cum too quick.”

If only he knew that his bashfulness, his pretty, whiny voice, and his desperation were going to make you cum quicker than you usually would. 

“Okay. I won’t say anything.”

“At least tell me if I’m doing it right, like, if I’m putting it in the right hole.”

“You’re doing fine so far.”

He nodded and took a breath before positioning himself at your entrance. When he pressed the tip inside you, you moaned simultaneously. You wanted to beg him to keep going, you wanted to feel all of him, but you knew you needed to let him set the pace. 

“You feel so good, you’re so tight...” His thoughts were mostly tame, things you’d heard men say before but he was so genuine, couldn’t even help running his mouth -- until his words were reduced to nothing but moans. Pornographic, pathetic, sexy. 

When he’d finally buried himself to the hilt, he stilled his hips, keeping both of your orgasms at bay. Your hands never left his body because you couldn’t get enough of him, not even when he was entirely inside you. You thought you were being gentle but the marks left on his skin said otherwise. 

Eventually, he began to thrust in and out of you slowly, and you could see that he was holding himself back. 

“Leon, baby, you know you can go as slow or as fast as you want, yeah?”

“I wanna go faster but if I do, I’m gonna cum,” he said as if that wouldn’t be the hottest thing he could do. 

“Yeah? I wanna see you cum, baby.”

“Fuck, really? Already?” 

He didn’t wait for a response before he increased the pace of his thrusts rapidly, his hips leading and his mind following. 

You tried to answer, but he was brushing against that sensitive spot inside you over and over again, so all you could manage was an ‘uh-huh’. 

Frantically, he said, “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” with a mixture of pleas and apologies. Neither of which you needed. 

When he came, he threw his head back and let out an unbridled moan followed by labored breaths. 

The sight of him sent you over the edge, scrambling for something to hold onto, your nails dug into his back. You nearly screamed his name as you shuddered through your high. 

When you returned to reality, you saw complete bewilderment on Leon’s face. “Did you just cum?”

“Uh, yeah?” you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as you said it. 

“I made you cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

Flopping down next to you, satisfied with himself, he asked, “Can we do that again?”

“Like right now?”

“Yeah, that was amazing.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

[carolmunson]

you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)

entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'

a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.

tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!

October 31st, 1998

Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.

"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.

"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"

"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."

"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.

"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."

"Five years now, isn't it?"

"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."

Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.

Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."

"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.

"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."

"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.

You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.

It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.

You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.

You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.

You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.

A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.

"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"

You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.

"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.

"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."

You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"

"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."

"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."

"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."

"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"

"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.

"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."

You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."

"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."

You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."

"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"

"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."

"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.

"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."

You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.

At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.

At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.

"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."

You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.

"Those rumors are true."

The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?

You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.

With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.

You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."

You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.

When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.

You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.

Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.

Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.

"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"

"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."

"B-but--"

"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."

"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"

"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."

"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."

You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.

"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.

You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.

"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.

Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.

His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.

"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.

His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.

His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.

"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."

You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.

"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."

"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.

He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.

"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."

Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.

"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."

You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.

"You were saying?" he asks.

"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.

"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.

A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.

With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.

"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."

There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.

Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."

You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.

You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."

Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."

Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.

The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.

"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.

When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.

"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."

Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.

He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down. 

Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery. 

“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.” 

You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:

Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.

You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.

He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.

"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.

"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.

"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."

He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."

When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."

He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."

He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.

Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.

"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."

"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."

You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.

When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"

"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.

"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.

Can finally fuck you how I wanna.

He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.

Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."

Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.

"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."

He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.

"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."

"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.

He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.

"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."

His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.

"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."

You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."

"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.

His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.

"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."

The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.

That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.

He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?

The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."

Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.

You wake, you’re not sure how much later. 

Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head. 

You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere. 

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.” 

“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?” 

He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?” 

He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.” 

“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?” 

Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?” 

You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow. 

He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on. 

You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you. 

He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch. 

“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before. 

“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears. 

Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough. 

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.” 

You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.” 

“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.” 

“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.” 

He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly. 

“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you spit. 

“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.” 

He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death. 

“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.” 

“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily. 

“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”

You sniffle in response.

“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.” 

He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.” 

“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.” 

Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper. 

“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge. 

“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.” 

He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.” 

Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat. 

“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes. 

“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story. 

He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you. 

“And I’ll tell you something, babe…” 

Fading, fading, fading.

“He tasted divine.”

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

[reomikagekin]

What if. Gen with an s/o that's like. Moderately affectionate with everyone, but VERY affectionate with him

like. will pat people's shoulders/heads, calmly compliment people, likes being around people, doesn't say no to hugs, but is always pretty calm about it (":pat pat: keep up the good work" "You want a hug, Suika? of course, come here" "you did your hair differently. it looks nice")

After getting w/ Gen, however? VERY affectionate and giggly with him

constantly pulling him into hugs, ruffling his hair, praising him every time he does something "cool" (... basically always), etc etc

yknow how cats' eyes get huge and their tail flick-flick-flicks when they're about to pounce? that's s/o about to tackle Gen, ruffle up his hair, and cover him in kisses

You’re My Favorite

To the average observer, you were like the calm warmth of a spring sun—gentle, reassuring, and quietly affectionate. You never shied away from human connection: patting shoulders with a smile, tucking a flower behind Suika’s ear, or complimenting someone’s hair in passing like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You were never overbearing. You didn’t gush or dramatize. You were just… kind.

Casually warm, consistently soft.

And Gen Asagiri, for all his theatrical flair, noticed this immediately. As someone who lived and breathed performance, he could tell your affection wasn’t a mask. It was just… you.

So when he finally got the honor (and burden, he’d say dramatically) of being the object of your exclusive romantic attention?

He thought he was ready.

Spoiler: He wasn’t.

It started small.

After a successful negotiation with a neighboring village, Gen was lounging by a fire, basking in his own cleverness, when you came up behind him, hands light on his shoulders.

“You were amazing out there,” you said, warm and casual.

Gen smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Naturally. But I’ll never tire of hearing it from you.”

And then you kissed the top of his head, ruffled his hair like he was a particularly clever cat, and whispered, “Smartest, prettiest boyfriend in the world.”

He choked.

“P-Pretty? I—!” He straightened, half-coughing, half-laughing. “I’m the epitome of elegance and seduction, my dear, not— not cute—”

“You’re very cute,” you interrupted, kissing his cheek now. “Especially when you get flustered like this.”

“I never get flustered.”

“Uh-huh.” You hugged him from behind, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t.”

“Okay, sweetie.”

His eye twitched.

The thing was… you didn’t do this with anyone else.

Your casual affection remained the same for everyone else in the Kingdom of Science: supportive, kind, calm. You were dependable, even-toned, and encouraging—like a team mom who always knew what to say.

“Need a break? I’ll cover your shift.” “Nice forging work today, Kaseki.” “You want a hug, Suika? Of course you can have a hug, come here.”

And yet…

With Gen?

You’d walk up behind him, arms already half-open like you were preparing to tackle him. You'd grin when his eyes widened slightly. Like a cat twitching its tail before a pounce.

You’d ruffle his perfectly styled hair, giggle when he tried to smooth it back, then press a kiss to his jaw with a fond little hum.

He’d try to retort, to regain ground, to say something slick.

But your smile—your eyes—would do him in every time.

Because you didn’t just tease him.

You adored him.

“Do you know what I think?” you asked one evening, slipping into his lap while he read by the fire.

“I dread to ask,” he muttered, though his arms automatically wrapped around you.

“I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

He blinked. “You’re sweet, but darling, bravery is hardly—”

“I mean it.” You looked him dead in the eye. “You lie and trick and manipulate—sure. But you’re always doing it for someone else. You throw yourself into danger with that dumb smirk and act like it’s just another game, but I see right through you.”

“…I beg your pardon—?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, slowly. “You’re soft-hearted, Gen. A total sap underneath all the smoke and mirrors.”

He made a choked sound of protest.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

He didn’t speak for a full minute.

“…This is emotional terrorism,” he mumbled.

You kissed him again. “I know.”

It only got worse from there.

You were giddy with him. Touchy. Silly. A romantic menace.

If he looked tired? You’d sit him down in your lap and play with his hair until he dozed off.

If he made a clever remark in public? You’d cheer way too loudly and throw your arms around him like he just won the Nobel Prize.

He could flirt, sure. He could dish it out like a master.

But take it?

Absolutely not.

You would nuzzle your nose against his cheek in broad daylight, cooing about how “handsome and brilliant” he was, and Gen would short-circuit like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.

“Do you enjoy making me malfunction?” he asked once as you peppered his face with kisses in rapid-fire succession.

You didn’t even pause. “I love it.”

“And I suppose you want everyone to see me as a hopeless, blushing mess?”

You smirked. “Only me.”

He groaned, tossing his head back dramatically. “I’ve created a monster.”

And yet—when the tables turned?

When Gen tried to repay your affection in full?

He found himself hopelessly outmatched.

“Oh, love~” he purred one afternoon, sauntering over with his best “seductive bard” expression. “You’ve been working hard. Perhaps you deserve a little—mm—reward from your dearest?”

You looked up at him, all sparkle and delight, then immediately wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him down into a full-body cuddle.

“You’re so sweet,” you giggled, peppering kisses across his jaw. “Look at you! All cute and flirty. You’re so good at this.”

He froze. “Wait, no, that’s—!”

You kissed him on the nose. “I love you.”

He slumped against you like a defeated puppet.

“…This was supposed to be my moment,” he mumbled.

“Shh. You’re perfect.”

The Kingdom of Science eventually took notice.

“Why does Gen look like a lovestruck tomato whenever Y/N’s around?” Kohaku spoke.

“No idea. But I think it’s funny.” Chrome replied.

: “They’re always hugging him!! I want a Gen hug too!” Suika pouted.

Senku, watching Gen slowly melt under your attention: “Fascinating. He’s literally useless for the next hour.”

One night, when things had quieted and the stars blinked gently overhead, you and Gen lay curled together in a nest of blankets near the observatory. You were tracing small circles on his chest. He was watching you like you were something unreal.

“…You really don’t act like this with anyone else,” he said, voice soft.

You looked up. “Of course not.”

“But why me?”

You smiled, reaching up to cup his face. “Because I chose you. And I love making you feel loved.”

He stared at you.

You kissed him once. Then again.

“…You’re not real,” he whispered. “You can’t be. I must’ve hallucinated you after a particularly bad concussion.”

“Shh.” You buried your face in his neck. “Just accept the love.”

He sighed, arms wrapping tightly around you.

“…You’re my favorite,” he murmured.

“I know.”

[moonshynecybin]

special helmets of the 2024 and 2025 motogp seasons. this is a bit of a reference list for just the ones i personallyyyy care about tbh like full disclosure. deeply non exhaustive im a pink pony girl on the stage in my heels etc BUT i do think the profiles of their artistic choices say a lot about these guys! art always reveals !!! anyways:

marc: this diva LOVES a costume change and im always curious for why he does it for some tracks and not others (he didnt do sachsenring last year?)... anyways he DID do a special lid for catalunya, thailand, usa, japan, and silverstone/misano last year as well as cota again so far this year. he reused his 2023 designs at the catalan and thai gps in 2024 AND gresini reused their special silverstone livery again at misano, so he wore the helmet then as well. i would say reduce reuse recycle but i think its more of a mulligan situation. all this to day he kind of does a lot of special helmets and he does them for his important tracks, not just his home tracks-- which no one else on the grid really does all that much. the willingness to reuse and the track selection tells me its him doing a career tribute kinda thing that he thinks is important, AND he likes looking hot/cool as well. like we all know like marc really cares about aesthetics and the places/people that have taken care of him and i think the helmets lowkey reflect that. to compare alex doesnt do this shit like at all and if he does its relatively sedate (which hes on record saying that he doesnt like attention on himself so). anyways its all very marc lmao

bez: less location/cultural visual arts based and more his feelings and lotsa song lyrics/pop culture references which is no surprise... also does a few of them outside of italy which means he's in it for the love of the game. helmets include god save the bez (silverstone), misano (loverboy lid), goodbye to vr46 (catalan gp 2024 #2), the one about being "zen" that i find kinda racist (mugello 2024), one thats just song lyrics HUGE, and im lowkey cheating here but simply the bez (misano 23) and bez barber shop (mugello 23). he likes the JOKES

pecco: does a more normal amount of special helmets and always at his home tracks! hes done a red cloud helmet to pay tribute to his fans, a bootlicking helmet to pay tribute to the italian air force, a tortellini helmet for autism awareness/support, and a kiss/rock n roll helmet bc he had a celebration planned w some friends if he won (he did!). for some reason he photographed a lot of em on like the same couch in his riders room. he also did an ayrton senna tribute glove situation one time but he only used em for the sprint (maybe bc he crashed? idk). all of this is very in line w his personality and like. pecco as performing celebrity/sportsperson The Way It Should Be Done, but that doesnt mean they arent any less heartfelt, yknow

luca: doesnt do em TOO often as far as i can tell but he did do a baby helmetttt when he was expecting his daughter that told the story of his family and it was. super cute and clearly meant a lot to him because he explained everything on the helmet very deliberately and he even drew the little stick figure illustrations personally. luca voice why do it if you dont do it completely !!!

franky: he doesnt do them incredibly often either but they DO rule and theyre usually p pointed, he also seems to like nature themes that tie into brazil generally, looking at his regular season helmets. recently theres the peacock from mugello last year, which he said he used partly bc it is a common animal in romagna ! and then for the others-- they arent in the last two seasons but i would be remiss not to include the spike lee helmet he wore in 2020 after the murder of george floyd. genuinely the bravest thing a rider has done in the motogp paddock full stop AND the helmet is gorgeous to boot. he also loves to incorporate stuff from his brazilian roots so theres another yamaha era special helmet with a lot of parrot feathers on it/a portuguese phrase on the back and after russia invaded ukraine he slapped a give peace a chance sticker on the forehead of his helmet as well. he loves nature, he loves his heritage, and hes got things to SAY

diggia and aleix: BOTH did chrome dome helmets last year that are probably my faves on this whole list. swaggy as hell look even swaggier in motion. they both did them for their home gps and i love watching them just GLEAM. no psychoanalysis for these pls just look at em

fabio: a man caught between nationalism and that sweet advertising money. he does a special helmet AND a full special livery every year for le mans, but hes also rent out his noggin space to upcoming blockbuster movies so he'll be riding around looking like venom. like toothless. idk hes funny and i think it says a lot that he goes WAY harder than anyone for his home gp and then also kind of doesnt care to do anything else. except when he (i think) earnestly enjoys the goofy ass venom helmet thats paying him a huge stack of cash

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

https://www.tumblr.com/lavender-butterfly-cookie/771783436823347200/broken-beast-brave-sleeping-in-his-room-until-he?source=share

I have a small idea on how to continue this if you're interested.

(You don't have to if you don't want to.)

Basically, Gingerbrave's friends, (Strawberry Cookie and Wizard Cookie at first) are with the Ancient's as they look for Gingerbrave. Eventually, they encounter the beasts again but this time it's while Gingerbrave is healing. While the beasts and Ancient's fight, Strawberry Cookie and Wizard Cookie look for something to help the Ancient's win. Only to suddenly encounter Gingerbrave in his new form while healing from the previous injury that Dark Cacao gave him.

Instead of preparing for a fight, they recognize Gingerbrave and ask him what had happened. This is where Gingerbrave explains things from his perspective. Once Strawberry Cookie and Wizard Cookie find out what happened, they slowly decide to join the beasts because they deeply missed Gingerbrave and got rather worried about his injury.

If the Ancient's find out about the two joining the beasts and ask why they did it? Strawberry Cookie might get emotional and yell at Dark Cacao for hurting Gingerbrave.

Chili Pepper Cookie and Custard Cookie The 3rd can also be put in there somehow if you want some more angst.

Again, you don't have to if you don't want to. It was just an idea that came back to my mind after reading your post about Gingerbrave being 'adopted' by the beasts. And I really loved the Beast Brave post! And that one post where the Gingerbrave Gang became Ancient's is amazing!

Bringing back this one with a bang, you got got it Butterfly!

Broken Beast, another way

The Ancients were on their way to Beast yeast, speaking about their plans to try get rid of the Beasts once and for all, with Strawberry cookie and Wizard cookie trailing along with them for the sake of adventure. Adventuring might be able to take their minds of the gap between them.

The two trailed slightly behind the adults, speaking quietly to each other. They were also communicating with Chili Pepper cookie and Custard cookie iii through a phone Chili Pepper stole for them. Their voices were quiet enough so the ancients couldn't hear them.

Chili Pepper cookie: So, how's the adventure going, huh?

Custard cookie iii: yeah, see anything cool?

Strawberry cookie sighs and looks around a bit, not finding anything of interest. She hasn't been quite themselves since the disappearance of their friend, none of them had. It was like they all of them lost a part of themselves. Seeing that she's not gonna respond, Wizard cookie decided to speak.

Wizard cookie: it's been... uneventful. But it could be worse.

Strawberry cookie: it'd be better if he were still here...

silence.

They all needed a moment to process that. Wizard cookie gave her a warning glance, causing her to shut up. Sensing the tension, Custard cookie iii tried to lighten the mood.

Custard cookie iii: Heyyy, who knows? M-maybe- no, he'll come back! I know he will! He's the bravest cookie to walk earthbread and he always bounces back.

Another moment of silence, but with a lighter meaning.

Chili Pepper cookie: The kid's right you know. Don't give up on him just yet.

Strawberry cookie thought for a bit, but a tiny hopeful smile played on her lips.

Strawberry cookie: I just hope you're right-

Pure Vanilla cookie: Kids, we're here!

The two looked up at Pure Vanilla cookie, who's standing in front of a temple entrance. The other ancients have already entered.

Wizard cookie: we're coming!

Pure vanilla cookie nods and heads on inside.

Custard cookie iii: be careful you guys!

Strawberry cookie: we will be

Chili Pepper cookie: no, seriously. We can't lose anymore friends. Please.

Wizard cookie: we promise! We all have to be brave. It's what he would've wanted.

Chili Pepper cookie: ok then. Good luck.

Strawberry cookie: we'll be back as soon as we're done!

With that, they ended the call. They share a quick glance, a silent promise to survive, before heading into the temple. Unsurprisingly though, a fierce battle had already broken out between the Ancients and the Beasts. The two knew they weren't gonna be of much use trying to fight, so they decided to search the place for something to help the Ancients.

Wizard cookie: See anything?

Strawberry cookie: not ye-

Just then, she bumps into another cookie. Immediately, the two ready their weapons, but their resolve crumbled into pure disbelief just as instantly. Their weapons clattered to the floor as they stared the one cookie they haven't seen in ages.

Strawberry cookie: ...Gingerbrave?...

Her voice was below a whisper as tears pricked in the corner of her eyes. Gingerbrave stared right back, face contorted into a blend of disbelief, shock, and even a bit of relief. Wizard cookie was frozen, trying to convince himself it was real.

Gingerbrave:... guys?... is it really...

Both: Gingerbrave!!!

Strawberry cookie launched onto him in a strong embrace, followed by Wizard cookie. Both let tears flow from their cheeks as they clung onto him.

Strawberry cookie: You're alive!!! You're actually alive!!! You had me worried sick!!!

Wizard cookie: We missed you so much!!!

Slowly, Gingerbrave hugged them back as tears started rolling down his cheeks.

Gingerbrave: you guys... I missed you too...

His voice came out as a broken sob as he held his closest friends again for the first time he was a beast. And then it hit him. He slowly broke away from the hug.

Gingerbrave: You guys... you shouldn't be here... why are you here?...

Strawberry cookie: The Ancients came to defeat the Beasts and we tagged along cuz adventuring would reduce the pain of your disappearance.

Wizard cookie: wait- why are you here?... and what happened to you?

Gingerbrave let out a sigh before explaining everything, from when he became a beast, to when the beasts took him in, to the fight the beasts had with the ancients that resulted in his leg injury, and all the way up until this moment.

And by the end of his explanation, Strawberry cookie was seething and Wizard cookie looked extremely worried.

Strawberry cookie: Dark Cacao cookie did WHAT?!

Gingerbrave: yeah... but don't worry, Mystic Flour cookie helped me.

Wizard cookie: and the beasts are... looking after you?...

Gingerbrave: crazy, isn't it. I used to think they were heartless but they're not. They're capable of empathy. I know it's hard to believe, but it's true.

The two took a moment of silence as they came to terms with it all. Gingerbrave being a beast was one of the hardest things to process.

Strawberry cookie: s-so...

Wizard cookie: does this mean you're not coming back?...

Gingerbrave: I-...

He stays silent, unable to provide an answer. At least, not an answer that'd make them happy. The silence stretched on and this left Strawberry cookie and Wizard cookie to ask themselves a question.

"Are they ready to lose him after just getting him back?"

The silence became louder and the two had to choose. Finally though, Strawberry cookie spoke.

Strawberry cookie: if you're going with the beasts... then so am I

Wizard cookie: yeah, me too.

Gingerbrave: wait- you guys don't have to-

Wizard cookie: we know. But we want to.

Strawberry cookie: you're our friend, Gingerbrave. We stick together.

Gingerbrave: but... I'm a beast now... aren't you scared I'll hurt you guys.

The two look at each other, then start laughing.

Gingerbrave: h-huh?

Strawberry cookie: scared? Did turning into a beast mess with your memory? Haha

Wizard cookie: we were told by a very brave cookie that bravery is about doing something even if you're scared. You taught us that, Gingerbrave.

Strawberry cookie: besides, no amount of new body parts and powers can change the fact that you're our friend.

Gingerbrave was stunned into silence. And just like that, he started sobbing up a storm again, his friends hugging him to comfort him. They stayed like that for a while, none of them wanted to end the moment. But unfortunately, all good things, no matter how small or big, must come to an end.

Something shook the temple and the kids remembered the battle was still raging on. Just then, Shadow Milk cookie appeared.

Shadow Milk cookie: Ok- we're going again and- where'd you guys come from?!

Both: urgh, hey again. Remember us.

Shadow Milk cookie: ahhh, riiiight. Still bitter about that- how in the world did you two even get here?!

Strawberry cookie: long story.

Gingerbrave: if we're leaving, can we please take them with us? Please?

Shadow Milk cookie: I- do we HAVE to???

Gingerbrave: if you do, I'll help you prank Burning Spice cookie and take the blame if he catches you, just PLEASE!

Shadow Milk cookie looks at his friends before sighing heavily.

Shadow Milk cookie: Fiiiine!

Gingerbrave: YES!!! Thank you Thank you Thank you!

Shadow Milk cookie: yes yes now come on! We need to go!

The group wastes no time in evacuating. Soon enough, it's just the ancients standing in the ruins of the temple.

Golden Cheese cookie: well that could've gone better.

Dark Cacao cookie: it's progress.

White Lily cookie: perhaps it's best to retreat and come up with a more solid plan. If we keep using the same technique, we'll get nowhere

Hollyberry cookie: sounds good to me

Pure Vanilla cookie: Wait, but where's Strawberry cookie and Wizard cookie? I don't see them anywhere.

Golden Cheese cookie: meh, they probably retreated while we were in battle. I'm sure they aren't dumb enough to stand around during a battle.

Hollyberry cookie: yeah. Let's just go back, I'm sure we'll find them in the ship or even back in crispia.

Pure Vanilla cookie hesitated, but reluctantly agreed. They returned to their respective homes and as Pure Vanilla cookie entered his home, a brick nearly hit him in the head, narrowly missing. Shocked, he looked up at Chili Pepper cookie, who had seemingly thrown the brick, and Custard cookie iii, who was huddled on the couch holding a phone and crying.

Pure Vanilla cookie: What in the name of the Witches was that for?!-

Chili Pepper cookie: you lying traitor! You never told us he was alive! Why did you never say anything?!

Pure Vanilla cookie: what?!-

Just then, Custard cookie iii showed him the phone screen, which was a newly ended call from Strawberry cookie.

Custard cookie iii: Is it true?! Gingerbrave is with the beasts and you tried to attack him?!

Pure Vanilla cookie: W-wait, I-

Chili Pepper cookie: What the heck?!!? You know how his disappearance affected us all and instead of coming clean about it, you and the other Ancients try to take him out?! What is wrong with you?!?

Pure Vanilla cookie: Just- Listen to me!-

Custard cookie iii: How?! You pretty much just lied to us about not knowing where he is! You! Lied! Why?!?

Pure Vanilla cookie sighed, knowing his excuse was going to make things worse. Then it hit him. If Strawberry cookie and Wizard cookie were with Gingerbrave, then they could track the phone and find the Beasts.

Pure Vanilla cookie: may I... please borrow the phone? I want to check on Wizard cookie and Strawberry cookie

Custard cookie iii: no! Don't change the subject! You just wanna track them down!

Pure Vanilla cookie: and where'd you get that idea?

Custard cookie iii: Chili Pepper cookie taught me while teaching me how ransoms work!

Chili Pepper cookie: Tmi. Regardless, you're not getting this phone! End of discussion!

Pure Vanilla cookie: you guys are making me feel like I'm the bad guy here!

Both: You are!

He sighs deeply, patience running thin.

Pure Vanilla cookie: fine, here's what's gonna happen. I'm going to give you till tomorrow afternoon to give me the phone willingly. If you don't, there will be consequences.

Chili Pepper cookie: tch, you'd really hurt us?

Pure Vanilla cookie: no, I wouldn't. But if push comes to shove, I can assure you that the other ancients will be willing to help.

Custard cookie iii: Why do all this?!

Pure Vanilla cookie: for the sake of Earthbread. And if you know what's good for you, you'll understand. Goodnight you two.

With that, he heads to his room, leaving the two to contemplate their options

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

heyy, at first I wanted to say I love your works so much! You're so talented with your writing...

Anyway could you write something like G!PDonna x maid reader where y/n was a girl from the village who ran away but got lost and Donna saved her, y/n started working for her for free just to have a place to live and gradually they got closer until Donna realized that she was so in love with her And she starts to be very possessive, but she doesn't show it because they still are not dating and one day Some young vampire comes to visit to pick up something and starts flirting and Donna goes crazy.

They end up in a big fight and Donna ping y/n against a wall and feelings will be revealed....maybe some vanilla smut at the end...

Thanks! And also sorry for my English...i'm still learning<3

Yess!!!! Thank you for you kindness and for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))))))

To be her maid

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, slightly dark themes, possessive Donna

Word count: 8,793

Summary: To leave and die, to stay and love, what a decision...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

Your parents were right: no one could ever leave the village.

Wandering through the forest was always a risk, getting lost in that tangle of trees and snow would be easy even for the bravest of explorers.

But you were not brave, nor an explorer. You were just a villager, an ordinary girl who lost everything, who had no reason to stay in a place like that. Your family was gone, the Black Gods, who Mother Miranda defended, had abandoned you.

With nothing to fight for but your own life, with nothing to thank the Gods for, your only way out was the most risky: escape.

You didn't know what leaving that sinister village could bring you, what a girl like you could do in an unknown world. But, finding out, was much better than waiting for the darkness to consume you.

A small backpack and a desire to escape was your only luggage. Not even your old home had had mercy on you. The outside world offered itself to you as an alternative you couldn’t refuse, or rather, as your only alternative.

A few more hours of walking, and you would be free.

But your illusions outweighed reality, your desire to live outside that darkness eclipsed your situation. You couldn't escape, and deep down, you knew it. Turning around wasn't an option, guiding yourself by the dark lights of the village would only bring you more suffering, you had to continue.

Some growls behind the bushes made you stop and look around. It could be a dog, a forest vermin, something totally harmless. You swallowed as your eyes danced through the forest, looking for a different pattern in the movements of the branches, something that would tell you where those growls were coming from. Everything seemed so calm that it could only be that calm before the storm.

“Calm down, (Y/N), it's just the wind,” you whispered, forcing your legs to walk again. Your reassuring words wouldn’t take long to lose their effect.

One step, two, three... Footsteps in the snow that sounded closer and closer petrified your body again.

“Okay,” you whispered again, taking a map out of your pocket, one that indicated the path to freedom beyond the domain of the dark deities, of Mother Miranda, of the Lords...

The snow made it difficult for you to orient yourself, but your movements resumed automatically, moving away from the noise and deviating from the path. The faster you walked, the faster those footsteps in the snow seemed. Reality was stalking you, although you refused to believe it.

A furious roar diverted your gaze from the bushes. It was not a man, nor a wolf, it was a monster. One of those chosen by Mother Miranda to protect the village, to protect your insignificant lives, stood before you with a bloodthirsty gaze.

Lycan, that was its name, the name the Gods gave to that poor villager whose blind faith drove him to become a beast.

You breathed heavily, but fear made you back away. Those bloody eyes stared at you as the cold steam came out of its jaws. You didn't want to go back, but you had to find an alternative route.

Behind you, more monstrous creatures waited to devour you, to punish you for your audacity. They only growled, watching you, waiting for the best moment to attack you.

Your voice dried up and your body trembled with terror. You had nothing to fight for, but many reasons to live, to not let fear consume you, to flee, to escape, to earn that freedom.

With your eyes you looked for a corner, a gap in the bushes that you approached slowly. The growls of the beasts confirmed their displeasure, and they were the signal you needed to start running.

You fled without a destination, unable to look back.

Your strength weakened after a short time, they didn’t get tired of chasing you. You seemed safe, but you still heard their roars. After taking a breath, you continued running forward, until the path became rocky and then, nonexistent.

Your feet found no ground to support them and your body fell into the void. You rolled down a steep slope, covering your head. No, you couldn't end up like this.

With a thud, you fell to the ground. The creatures roared, but apparently, they couldn't see you.

“Oh...” you lamented, getting up from the penetrating cold of the snow, looking around. “I think I have lost them...” you whispered, scanning the clearing with your gaze. There was only an old tree surrounded by rock walls.

Not managing to recognize the place, you took out the map again, looking for something similar. You didn't find it, you were lost.

“What is this?” you asked, approaching an object hanging from the tree, something that looked like a hanged person. Of course, it wasn't, it was just an old doll. “A doll?”

 Before your reasoning could begin to draw conclusions, a cloud of snow came down the wall you fell down. You hadn't lost them. The lycans would never stop until they got their prey.

With no time to react, you ran again, the roars were getting closer. In front of you there was only one way out: an old wooden bridge. You couldn't even stop to take a look at the map, even though you were convinced you had seen that bridge somewhere.

It didn't matter anymore. The wolves were chasing you even through that unstable wood. The other side was anything but a safe place. Not even the heights or the instability seemed to those beasts to want to stop.

Your clumsiness caused you to stumble again, falling to the ground. You felt claws pulling at your leg, the satisfied growls of those beasts dragging you into their jaws. (Y/N) had met her end.

“No!” you screamed desperately, kicking that lycan in a last attempt to save yourself, one that you knew was useless. “No, no, no!”

You could already feel the breath of that monster, that anxious panting to devour your flesh but, suddenly, your leg was released with a gasp of pain.

You opened your eyes to check what had happened. The four creatures that were chasing you had moved away, looking at you with impossible, terrified eyes. Agonizing cries came from their jaws as they slowly retreated across the bridge.

“What…?” you asked in a sigh, crawling backwards through the snow, watching how suddenly the monsters seemed to fear you. Fear a villager? No, it couldn't be possible.

The beasts growled again, retreating faster, more frightened. At your side you saw a black shadow, one that passed by you without paying attention, that stood at the end of the bridge, looking at the lycans.

A black dress, a black veil, a stoic figure standing before you. It took your frightened head a while to understand, but not long enough to not be able to react.

There was only one person, one woman who could fit those characteristics. The lycans were not the most dangerous thing in that place. In front of you, with her back turned, was one of the Lords, the youngest, surely the most feared: the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

The beasts retreated even further, fleeing in terror from that imposing presence. They feared her, those beasts feared her, and so did you.

Since it seemed that the lady in black had ignored your presence, you decided to take advantage of the opportunity to retrieve your backpack from the snow and back away slowly, without attracting attention.

“That's it, that's it! Get out of there, you rude mutts!” a shrill voice made you shrink in place, but you couldn't stop, you had to get out of there as soon as possible. “And don't come back! Donna, Donna, what are the lycans doing here?”

The lady simply shrugged, emitting what seemed like a sigh. Unintentionally, you had stopped in your attempt to run away and when you realized, it was too late.

“Hey, hey! You!”  The lady turned to your position and that sinister puppet pointed at you effusively.

You shook your head, finally reacting, standing up and running away again clumsily.

“Hey! Where do you think you're going, stupid?”  the doll shrieked while you looked at it terrified.

Fear made you do something stupid, made you look back, at that woman in black instead of at the path ahead of you. The worst mistake of your life.

Your body collided painfully with a tree, causing you to get seriously dizzy and fall to the ground.

“Ow…” you complained, looking at the cloudy sky, your head throbbing in pain and slow steps in the snow getting closer and closer.

That dark figure came closer, looking at you from above. She didn't say anything, she didn't do anything. She just watched you.

“Hey, stupid! Were you trying to go through the tree with that big head of yours?” the doll said, putting itself in your range of vision, harassing you with that sinister look.

You turned around scared, leaning your back against the tree, running as far away as possible from those two dark figures.

The doll, whose name was Angie, returned to the arms of its owner with a comical movement, looking at her curiously, and then at you, repeating that gesture several times.

“What are you doing in my territory?” the doll spoke again, but with a much deeper, much darker voice.

You were terrified, you couldn't move and the words didn't seem to want to come out of your mouth.

“What are you doing in my territory!?” the puppet shouted again, without losing that different darkness in its voice. It was the lady who spoke, you had no doubt.

“I... I...” you murmured, hurt and scared, raising your knees to your chest, like a protective shield that you knew didn't exist.

“Don't you know what happens to stupid little girls who dare to come here?” Angie said again, with that voice that wasn't Angie's, while the lady bent down to look at you more closely.

“Y-Yes I do, my lady,” you were able to say, looking away from that black veil, from that dark figure, the figure of death itself.

“Oh, so you know…” Angie murmured, as the woman stood up again. “Then you must be stupid.”

You shook your head, closing your eyes, awaiting a fate even worse than death.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked again, in a darker tone. “Answer!”

“Lady Beneviento,” you said in a small voice, lowering your head, burying it between your legs. “Please have mercy on me.”

“What are you doing here? Speak!” she shrieked, enraged by your lack of communication, one that it was due to the fear you felt.

“I didn't want to come here, my lady… I…” you sobbed, joining your hands to beg for forgiveness. “I, I, I was being chased by some lycans and I ran, I fell and… I didn't know I was in your territory, I swear.”

“Did you get lost?” she asked, in a confused tone. “Are you lost?”

“Y-yes…” you sighed. “I fell down a hill and ended up here… I didn't know where I was, I was just, I was just trying to escape and…”

“Why were the lycans chasing you?” she asked in a calmer tone, without letting the doll go from her arms.

“I-I don't know, my lady,” you said uncertainly, knowing that it was not possible to deceive her.

“Perché menti?” a different voice asked, hoarse, a whisper coming from that black veil. You opened your eyes and shook your head again, kneeling on the ground.

“I didn't understand you, my lady, but please. Don’t, don't kill me... Please...” you begged with a sob, clasping your hands tightly together.

“Mm,” the lady murmured, looking curiously at the doll. “What do you think, Angie?”

“That she's stupid!” the doll shrieked, this time, with her real voice. “She's lost because she's a fool.”

“Please...” you sobbed again, trying not to open your eyes.

“Get up,” the doll ordered you, again with that dark voice. “Get up!” she shrieked, when she saw that her words had no effect on you. “You're coming with me.”

Unwillingly, with your whole body shaking, you obeyed.

You followed the lady through the forest until you reached a small clearing, one where you were forced to go up in an elevator, in absolute silence. Once up there, the vision in front of you made you shudder. A beautiful waterfall gently ran down a cliff, guarding an old mansion, one you had seen before, the Beneviento House.

“Come in,” that dangerous woman whispered, not needing her doll to talk to you, pushing you roughly inside that dark house. “Come on, move,” she insisted, seeing how your body seemed to want to stick to the dusty wooden floor.

You were so scared that you didn’t even bother to scan the house with your gaze. You simply sat down on the indicated sofa while the lady did the same, in front of you.

“Now, silly girl, we’re going to have a conversation,” Angie explained, in that shrill tone. “My Donna is going to ask you some questions and you are going to answer them, is that clear?”

You shifted on the sofa, nodding cowardly, trying not to look up.

“And don't try to lie, stupid, stupid... We'll know,” the doll threatened, leaning on a small coffee table and pointing at you in an unpleasant manner.

“What will happen to me if I lie?” you asked nervously, looking for somewhere to hide, somewhere to escape.

Neither the lady nor the doll answered directly, but rather let the silence enhance the tension of that conversation.

“You don't want to know, fool,” Angie sang, getting down from the table when the lady gestured towards her, directing the doll to her lap.

You lowered your gaze again.

“First question: what were you doing in my territory?” the doll asked, with that strange distorted voice again.

You weren't sure whether to look at the doll, or on the contrary, look for the hidden eyes of Lady Beneviento. Either option seemed dangerous.

“I've already told you,” you said, knowing that at least in that, you could be honest. “I was being chased by lycans, I tripped over a cliff and fell.”

“Mm,” the murmur came from the black veil. “Why were the lycans chasing you?” she asked, again, through her doll.

“Because…” you stammered. That was a dangerous question, too dangerous. “Because…”

“Stop stammering and answer me,” the lady growled, in her own voice.

“It's okay,” you finally said. After all, there was nothing that could save you. “I tried to leave the village.”

“Leave the village? Perché?” the woman in black asked, not needing the doll. Maybe she was just as nervous as you, although it seemed unlikely.

“Per, Per…” you repeated confused, scratching the back of your neck. “Sorry?”

“Why, you fool? Oh, Donna, just kill her, she's even dumber than she seems,” the doll protested, moving from her lap and walking towards you.

“Because…” you said, letting your nerves go aside, preventing the lie from showing through your words. No, there was no need to lie anymore. You were in the house of death. “I had nothing left, my lady.”

“Explain yourself,” she murmured, crossing her arms, ignoring the tugs the doll was giving on her black dress.

“My, my parents died three years ago and…” you began to explain, somehow, a little more calmly. If you didn't lie, you would be safe. “They, they were devotees of the Black Gods, but they never listened to their prayers.”

“Continue,” Lady Beneviento insisted, with a clearer, more understandable tone.

“We lost our crops, the animals died of hunger, my mother got sick and... My, my father couldn't bear it,” you explained, feeling a shiver from those bad memories.

“But you're still here,” she corrected, with an impatient, melodic voice, just like those strange words.

You shook your head, sighing, looking at the grey sky through the window.

“A storm destroyed my house a week ago. I no longer have a family, a home, or anything,”  you said sighing, remembering out loud your miseries, what led you to risk yourself, and escape.

The lady nodded with disinterest. At the moment, nothing you said seemed like a lie to her.

“Is that all?” she asked, after another tense moment of silence.

“Is that all? I think that's enough reason to want to get out of here,” you answered, annoyed by that insinuation.

“Enough reason to want to die?” she asked again, with a haughty tone, leaning slightly towards you.

“I don't want to die, my lady, I just want to get out of this place,” you said with a softer voice, repressing any impulse to scream, to protest at that apparent incomprehension.

“Let me tell you something, you unfortunate girl...” Beneviento murmured, getting up from the chair with that same dark elegance. “Getting out of here only means dying.”

“What else could I do?” you asked with a frown, with anger beginning to run through your veins.

“I don't know. Maybe instead of complaining, you could have looked for a solution,” the woman in black rebuked you, with that same hoarse, cocky tone, one typical of what she was, a Lord.

“A solution? Excuse me, my lady, but I think you haven’t understood my situation,” you said nervously.

“Mm, a girl like you…” she sighed, getting closer, with a slow step. “Do you know how to clean?”

“Yes,” you answered confused, blinking rapidly.

“Cook?”

“Yes, more or less,” you said with your voice getting weaker and weaker.

“Mm, then… Why don't you look for work instead of throwing yourself to your death? The castle always needs maids,” the lady asked, with a tone that seemed to hide some contempt for your sorrows.

“I don't like the castle, my lady,” you said, lowering your gaze, moving your legs nervously.

No, you didn't want to end up there, you didn't want to end up serving that lady in white, you didn't want your fate to be the same as your friends, some who, once they entered that place, would never return.

A sound like laughter escaped from the lady in black as she shook her head.

“Oh… But the castle sure likes you,” Angie commented, absent until that moment.

“Mm, okay, silly girl…” the woman in black sighed. “I'm tired of hearing you talk…”

“Can I go, my lady?” you asked, standing up hastily, not believing that you could get out of that place alive.

“Yes, go away, but I warn you…” she hissed. “If you try to escape from the village, you will die. So I recommend that you return to your ruined cabin. This time I won’t be there to protect you.”

Those last words entered your mind, unlocking a truth that you were not yet aware of.

You were about to die, those beasts had already caught you. They were ready to devour you. But they didn’t, Donna Beneviento appeared and the monsters fled. You thought she had barely noticed your presence, but you were wrong. Whether you wanted to or not, that woman had saved you from dying in a horrible way, she had saved your life.

“My lady,” you said thoughtfully, already walking towards the door, turning around slowly. “I haven’t thanked you.”

“Mm? Cosa?” she asked, crossing her arms again, moving a leg impatiently.

“Thank you, my lady,” you stammered, relaxing your expression. “You saved my life.”

A mocking laugh came from the doll, who tilted her head to mock you. The lady didn’t move, she simply nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Well, anyone can make a mistake,” she murmured, looking away. You couldn’t help but smile at those words. “Go away, you are disturbing me.”

You nodded, biting your lip and turning around again. The doll maker's words bounced around in your mind.

Yes, she was right, she didn’t have to lie to you, dissuade you from your attempt to escape. She only warned you of the danger you would have by doing so, why would she bother to warn you? What did Lady Beneviento care about the life of a stupid villager like you? Maybe it was not as terrible as everyone said.

Escape and die, stay and live. Two options that traveled dangerously through your mind. Staying could mean death too, dying of cold, of hunger… Escaping was just the prelude to a quick, but more painful death.

The trembling of your body and the inevitable death you would suffer with either of those two options forced your brain to work hard, looking for a third, one you didn’t think about too much.

“My lady,” you said, before crossing the door, with a frown. “I could stay with you.”

“What do you mean, silly?” Angie asked, with an exaggerated gasp of surprise. “Stay here?”

“Yes, I…” you said hastily, leaving your small backpack on the floor. “I could, I could be your maid.”

“Maid? I thought you said you didn't like being a maid,” the lady asked, with a curious tone, not too startled by your proposal. You didn't know if that was a good sign.

“No, I... I said I didn't like the castle,” you corrected with a nervous smile, you didn't know why.

“Do you like this house?” she asked, with a voice that betrayed distrust.

“I don't know, but... I think, I think it would be a better option than dying,” you sighed tiredly, making use of your last resource, your last desperate option. “You don't even have to pay me.”

“Don't you want money?” the lady asked, tilting her head curiously. “What kind of stupid maid are you?”

“I'm not a maid, I'm just a desperate girl who needs a place to live,” you said confidently, sounding as sad as possible, thinking that, if inside that dress there was something resembling a heart, maybe it would soften.

“A desperate girl,” Lady Beneviento repeated, darkening her posture. “Idiota.”

“There's no need to insult, my lady,” you said in a small voice, risking yourself again.  

“Do you think your life is a disgrace, stupid?” she asked nervously, approaching you and grabbing the collar of your dress, making you gasp in fear. “Do you think you're the only one who has lost everything?” she rebuked you, with one hand tightly grabbing your clothes and the other traveling to her black veil, pushing it away with a brusque gesture. “Look at me... Look at me!”

“My, my lady,” you complained, finally discovering one of the biggest mysteries of the village, what was behind that black veil.

No matter how many times you looked at it, nowhere on that beautiful face could you see anything resembling a monster. Donna was a beautiful woman, really beautiful. You didn't even know why that was your first impression. You should be scared.

“I lost everything too, my family, my life! Don't think you're special, stupid girl…” the lady growled, letting you go in an unpleasant way. “Now get out of here, you don't want to work for a monster like me.”

“You're not a monster,” you said without thinking, letting your voice speak as it wanted, not how it should. “You, your face is fine, you have a very… beautiful eye…”

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked with a deranged look. You quickly shook your head.

“Um, Donna, Donna…” Angie interrupted, tugging hard at her dress, gesturing for Donna to pick her up from the floor. “Maybe it's not such a bad idea for this fool to work for us… Think about it, it's free…”

“Mm…” she murmured, fighting her own demons, some of which you had already heard about. “Va bene…”

“What?” you asked nervously, putting on your clothes, that were disheveled by her grip.

“What's your name?” she asked, breathing nervously, not bothering to cover her face again. You didn't know if it was because she was going to kill you, or because she liked your reaction. “Your name…” she hissed impatiently.

“(Y/N),” you said in a small voice.

 She turned her gaze, nodding nervously, pointing at you with her finger.

“Fine, (Y/N) you will work for me. But don't expect me to thank you, I'm the one doing you a favor and I warn you,” she hissed, darkening that beautiful look. “Try to play me and you'll wish the lycans would devour you.”

You smiled in relief, nodding profusely. At least you wouldn't have to escape anymore. At least your life would start to make a little more sense.

At first it was difficult for you to adapt to this new life. Your dreams of going out into the outside world were still very present in your mind. Little by little, as time went by, they were only faint memories.

Living with Donna Beneviento was complicated, but bearable. You were able to see her delicate mental health, her crises, her anger without reason… Miraculously, you began to stop them and comfort that lady in black even though she didn't ask you to.

You were nothing but a maid, for you there were no more words than a thank you from time to time, or a whisper that you couldn't understand. Little by little, you also began to relax, to get used to that language that you didn't understand, to feel the presence of the lady in black as something comfortable and not threatening.

You would always be grateful to her, even though you were afraid to show it, to tell her. To her you were just a nuisance, but at least a useful one. Fortunately or unfortunately, the Angie doll fulfilled the social needs of a human being, giving you the opportunity to talk to her, even if it was just nonsense, or mockery of you.

Donna's mysterious gaze was always on you, you could feel it when she thought you weren't aware. She was always vigilant, always attentive to your movements. What at first you considered as a slight uncomfortable harassment soon became routine, soon your head turned towards her, outlining an increasingly sincere smile.

A smile that was not difficult for you to emit, the same smile you slept with every night, under the shelter of those rickety walls, under the shelter and protection of a Lord, one increasingly present in your thoughts, in your feelings.

“Excuse me, my lady,” you said entering the workshop with a hurry, carrying a tray with a steaming cup of tea. The lady didn’t turn around, she simply gestured for you to come closer. You weren’t expecting a greeting either… “Your tea.”

“Grazie, (Y/N),” the brunette murmured, seeming to be concentrating on two small garments, surely for one of her hundreds of dolls.

“Is everything okay, my lady?” you asked curiously, looking, as for some time now, for an excuse to stay by her side, even if it was only a few more minutes.

She just nodded, comically scratching her head. She seemed distracted, more thoughtful than usual.

“Go away, you're disturbing me,” she whispered, without looking at your face. You sighed in defeat and obeyed, turning around with a soft bow. “Wait, wait, come here.”

Her voice sounded hurried, nervous, while her hand again indicated you to come closer. You avoided smiling shamelessly, but obeyed elegantly.

“Can I help you with something, my lady?” you asked kindly, with a calm face, hiding the strong beating of my heart.

“Um, sì…” she murmured, getting up from the work table and abruptly grabbing a chair, placing it next to her. “Sit down.”

You nodded and did as she asked, intrigued.

“Tell me, (Y/N), what do you think it is?” she asked with a frown, extending what looked like a porcelain body towards you. You took it nervously, examining it in detail.

“A, a doll, my lady,” you said in a low voice, returning the object to her. She smiled mockingly, shaking her head.

“Una bambola… No, (Y/N),” she said, with a tired sigh, rubbing her eye and leaving that porcelain body standing on the table. “Dolls have clothes. Do you see any clothes?” she asked somewhat nervously, as if she was frustrated in some way.

You shrugged, trying to keep that kind smile.

“I'm sorry, my lady,” you apologized in a low tone. She suddenly looked at you and then looked at that lifeless doll.

“I always try to sew a suitable outfit for each of my little dolls, but with this one… With this one it's more difficult to choose,” she explained with a calm voice, looking at that doll from all possible angles. “I can't decide.”

“What are the options, my lady?” you asked, looking at a pile of fabrics that the lady had on the table.

“What you see,” she commented, crossing her arms. “Tell me what do you think.”

“Mm…” you murmured, taking each of the fabrics, looking at that empty doll to compare it with them. “I think gray would suit it well, my lady.”

“Gray…” she sighed, taking the fabric from your hands and comparing it to the doll's red lips. “Yes, it will do.”

“I hope I've helped you, my lady,” you said in a friendly manner. “Do you need anything else, my lady?”

“I'd like to ask you some personal questions, if you don't mind. I want to get to know you better,” she said, thus revealing the only reason for you to stay there.

You couldn't help but blush and bite your lip nervously as you nodded.

“Of course, my lady.”

“Do you like to read?” Donna asked, placing the fabric in the old sewing machine.

“Yes, my lady, I did,” you said, watching mesmerized as the lady sewed. Your heart was telling you strange things, too strange.

“It's funny, I haven't seen you pick up a single book in all the time you've been here. You can read the books you want, (Y/N),” she said, without taking her gaze off the cloth. “You don't have to ask for permission.”

“Oh, well, thanks, I…  I didn't want to do anything without you… Well, nothing that could bother you…” you said nervously, moving your hands erratically.

“I don't mind if you read,” she whispered, barely paying attention to you. “I'd rather you do it than become one of those brainless maids at the castle.”

“Brainless?” you asked curiously, giving the woman in black the objects she pointed at with her gaze, without your presence being bothersome to her, something that made you smile more and more.

“Mm,” Donna nodded, cutting the cloth. “Unlike my sister, I value intelligence over pretty breasts.”

“Oh, um…” you said, laughing nervously. She looked at you with a serious face, as if she was surprised by your shock.

“Did I say something funny?” the lady asked, annoyed by your nervousness.

“Well, yes, my lady,” you said among laughs. She looked at you with her eyebrow raised, shaking her head.

“Although I don't know if you're really that intelligence... You wanted to get out of here...” she murmured cockily, with a haughty smile on her face.

“I had nothing to keep me here for,” you murmured a little more seriously.

She stopped, sighing.

“I feel you,” Donna whispered with a weak, different voice, as if her mood had suddenly changed, something that didn't surprise you. “I was also as stupid as you, you know?”

“My lady?”

“Before Mother Miranda adopted me, I thought the same as you, why stay in this horrible place? I had no family, no friends... I was completely alone,” she explained without you asking for explanations. You listened interested. “But I understood one thing, (Y/N), if you run away from your problems, they will follow you wherever you go.”

“That's very wise, my lady,” you commented, nodding slightly, agreeing with her.

“Donna,” she said in a brusque tone. “I can't stand you calling me that, I have a name, you know?”

“D-Donna, I'm sorry...” you apologized in a low voice, blushing. “I just mean to be polite.”

The lady stopped again in her work, looking at you with a sincere, almost embarrassing smile. That smile would give you a lot of trouble tonight.

“You were right, gray is the right color, (Y/N), maybe I need your good taste more often.”

“Oh, of course my la, Donna, you can count on me,” you said with an elated tone, one that you tried to calm down.

“I have to admit that it was not a bad idea to you to be my maid,” she commented with a lower tone, looking away from you strangely. “I don’t regret it.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, resting your elbow on the table.

“What about you, (Y/N)? Do you regret being with me?” she asked with a different tone, a more somber, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

“No, of course I don’t, Donna.”

“Mm,” she murmured, sighing and returning to that gray dress that was slowly taking shape. “You can go.”

Before leaving the workshop, you turned your gaze towards the lady in black, who did the same, with a serious expression, looking at you briefly without saying anything before turning her head again.

A strange sigh came from your lips. Your legs trembled as you exited the elevator. You couldn't, you didn't want to feel those things, you wouldn't allow your heart to be wrong for the joy of having a place to live to mixed with those feelings that you shouldn't feel.

“Hey, maid!”  Angie shouted, startling you as always, interrupting the rambling of your mind, of your feelings. “Come here!”

“What do you want, Angie?” you asked in a more casual tone, one that you knew the doll tolerated, maybe too much.

“I'm bored,” the puppet complained. “Come, play with me.”

“Play? Angie… It's five in the afternoon, I'd like to rest before making dinner,” you said in a tired tone, but walking inevitably towards the doll.

“Evil, boring maid!” she protested in her shrill voice. At least those shrieks blurred the thoughts about the lady in black.

“Oh… Okay…” you sighed defeated, putting a hand on your forehead. “We'll play, but just for a while, okay?”

A while, how naive.

Time passed while the doll and you played cards. It hurt you to admit it, but spending time with the doll was quite entertaining, even if she always, always cheated.

“21, I won again,” the satisfied doll said, taking all the buttons you used as currency.

“You're so lucky,” you commented amused, shuffling the cards again.

“I'm the luck,” the doll joked. “Hey, you're very funny, maid.”

“Oh, really? Is it funny to see me lose?” you asked ironically, shaking your head.

“Oh, yes, very much so, but… I'm actually serious,” Angie commented, dealing the cards with a comical gesture. You raised your eyebrows with a curious smile. “My Donna and I used to play… But lately she's being a boring fool.”

“Donna has a lot of things to do,” you commented, coming to the brunette's defense.

“Nonsense, she's boring, she never wants to play cards. She's always with those stupid dolls that are much less cool than me,” she said amused.

You couldn't help but laugh at those comments, but your laughter died down as soon as you looked up.

“She’s always: leave me alone, Angie, I don't want to play, Angie, I'm a boring fool who only wants to be with her dolls and…” the doll continued mockingly while you, amused, gestured with your head towards the lady in black, who listened to the doll's complaints in silence.

“Boring, huh?” the lady in black murmured, crossing her arms and causing an amused gesture from the doll.

“Oh, Donna, I hadn't seen you,” the puppet said, fleeing subtly. “I was talking about… Another Donna, an uglier and dumber Donna, not about you…”

“Donna, I…” you said getting up from the floor and shaking off your dress. “I'm sorry, I forgot dinner time and I...”

“No, stay,” she said, stopping you with an arm on your wrist. “I think you should know something,” she commented in an unsettling tone, bending down to the white veil of her doll and taking out a card from it.

“Hey!” Angie protested when her owner revealed her cheat.

“Hey, what a cheater,” you joked, frowning, but not really upset.

“If you're going to cheat, at least try not to do the same thing,” the lady in black commented, sighing and handing you that card. “Besides, who are you calling boring?”

“You, silly Donna,” Angie whispered, in a threatening tone.

The lady laughed unexpectedly, shaking her head and getting down on the floor, gesturing for you to sit next to her.

“Silly? We'll see about that... (Y/N), give me cards too,” she said amused, thus starting a different time, completely different.

“Good, good! Donna plays too!” the doll celebrated.

After that fun afternoon of games, things in the mansion changed completely. They weren't just whispers, just words of gratitude. Questions began to come out of her lips, doubts about your tastes, your concerns. Lady Beneviento had changed, and you didn't know why.

Talking to her was easier for you, just as it was easier for her to talk to you. It was an unexpected connection, two souls that seemed predestined to meet each other. Considering her a friend was too bold, but the feelings in your heart were worse.

It could be her beauty, her voice, her lavender scent, her smile… It could be many things, but what was certain was that you were attracted to her, a lot. At first it just seemed like a silly thing, a feeling of gratitude to the brunette. But, after months, after a long time exchanging smiles, thoughts, interesting conversations, you realized that it wasn't like that.

You were in love with her, hopelessly in love.

You thought about her all the time, even doing the most boring tasks. The smile that formed on your face when you imagined her beauty, her words, accompanied you day after day, even in something as boring as sweeping the old porch.

“Mmmm…” you hummed while you cleaned, with those thoughts always sailing through your head. The impossibility of the reciprocity of her feelings was still far from your mind, too far to start breaking your heart.

“Shhh. The maid's going to hear you…” a voice interrupted your delirium, a voice that seemed to come from the old path to the mansion and that you didn’t recognize.

You frowned to try to discover its origin but, after failing, you continued with your tasks. That place was certainly perfect for you to confuse sounds with sinister voices.

“Hey, you!” Angie's shrill voice interrupted that sinister calm.

The lady in black, covered with her black veil, holding the puppet in her arms, left the house in a hurry, walking away from you, as if she had seen something dangerous.

“Donna?” you asked without being heard, seeing, to your surprise, two boys coming out behind some bushes.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” one of them said, backing away as the lady approached.

“We just had to come here due to a stupid bet!” the other said, walking backwards.

“Get out of my property!” Angie shrieked, in that dark voice. “Porca puttana! Get out, get out!”

“Yes, yes we're leaving now,” one of the boys muttered, running towards the elevator, terrified.

“I'm sorry, my lady!” the other yelled, disappearing into the darkness.

You watched in astonishment at that scene, how the lady in black growled furiously, approaching where you were again.

“You, haven't you noticed that they were watching you?” Donna told you, freeing herself from the veil with a furious gasp.

You opened your eyes wide and shook your head, confused.

“Um, no, I... I was just, I was just... Sweeping,” you commented, nervous due to Donna's abrupt attitude, one that had become more frequent for some time now.

 “Sweeping…” she muttered mockingly, breathing heavily and looking you up and down, suddenly grabbing your arm. “What is this? What are you wearing?”

“A, a dress…” you said, blinking nervously. “I asked the Duke for it the other day, don't you like it?”

“Mm yes, I like it…” she whispered, nodding, seemingly calmer. “Do you know who likes it too? That pair of vermin who ran away, (Y/N). They couldn't take their eyes off you.”

“Oh, really?” you asked amused, blushing at the idea of ​​looking attractive to another person, something you weren't used to.

“Do you find it amusing?” Donna asked, with a stern tone again. “Cazzo, cover yourself up!”

“Should I cover myself up? I…” you said confused, looking at your cleavage. “Oh, well, it's a bit provocative, isn't it?”

“A bit?” the lady questioned with a frown and a dark look. “I don't tolerate anyone looking at you like that, understand? If you're going outside, cover yourself up.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know it bothered you,” you apologized, tying a button to be less… Provocative.

“It doesn't bother me as long as I can see you, understand? Only me,” she said nervously, playing with her hands.

“What do you mean?” you asked nervously at those words, ones she seemed to regret immediately.

“Ugh… Don't you have to sweep?”

You nodded with wide eyes.

“Then sweep, (Y/N),” she said, pulling you into the house. “But do it here, do you hear me? Where I can see you and…” she stammered, running away hastily, as if she had gotten into a mess of words. “Cazzo!”

“Well…” you sighed, scratching the back of your neck and looking at Angie. “What's wrong with her?”

“I don't know,” the puppet answered, leaving you with more questions than answers.

That attitude could seem like something isolated, but it wasn't. As time went by, those little meaningless outbursts began to be more frequent. It seemed like something in her head was telling her that she had to protect you, to keep you away from any danger, or at least that's how you saw it.

It seemed like a duality, an internal struggle with herself, a change of sad and dark looks, of smiles and threats that you couldn't understand, at least until that day.

The door rang, interrupting a quiet moment. Donna was reading and you next to her, in silence, exchanging the usual shy glances, ones that were always accompanied by a smile.

“I'm going,” you said, sighing, closing the book and walking towards the entrance. You weren't expecting the Duke, or anyone really, but still, you were the maid, although you seemed less and less like it.

“Hello... What do we have here?” a young woman, covered by a black cloak greeted you with a purr. You knew her, she was one of the three Dimitrescu sisters.

“Hello, Miss...”

“Daniela,” the girl said, interrupting your formal and elegant greeting. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I'm, (Y/N), Lady Beneviento's maid,” you explained with a fake smile.

You knew what they were capable of, but you didn't know she could leave the castle. Well, it was a nice day, the sun was shining, maybe that was why.

“Maid? Aunt Donna has a maid? What a surprise, she hadn't told us anything although... I understand why...” she whispered, looking you up and down uncomfortably, forcing you to step back.

“Well, here I am,” you said, faking another smile, without losing your composure. “Did you want something, Miss?”

“Oh, yes, I came because my mother had to pick something up...” the young vampire commented, entering the house as if it were hers. There, behind you, Donna was waiting for you, covered in her veil and in a nervous pose.

“Aunt Donna!” the girl exclaimed, putting her arm around the brunette, a gesture that Donna, of course, rejected. “Why didn't you tell me you had a maid?”

“It's none of your business, Daniela,” a nervous voice came out of the black veil as she pushed the fly girl away from her.

“Oh, please...” the young Dimitrescu joked.

“What do you want? I'm busy,” the lady in black asked, with an impatient tone. The girl smiled, winking at you.

“Of course you are...” Daniela mocked, circling you like a carrion bird. “I'm sure you're very busy...”

“What do you want?” Donna asked again, with a rougher tone, shaking every time the girl got too close to you.

“I've come for my mother's commission,” the vampire explained. “Although well... Surely if we put a bow on this beauty...”

“Don't touch her,” the lady said, roughly pushing the vampire, who laughed in amusement.

“Well, well... Calm down, Aunt Donna...” Daniela mocked. “Sharing is good manners...”

“Vaffanculo...” the brunette hissed, turning around to search for something in the drawers and hand it to the vampire roughly. “Your blanket, now get out.”

“Oh, why the rush? What's your name, sweetie?” Daniela asked, approaching you and putting her arms around your shoulders in the same way, with a sensual voice that made you shiver.

“(Y/N),” you said with a trembling voice. You could feel Donna's gaze staring into yours, and it wasn't a friendly one.

“(Y/N), how about we go for a walk? It's a beautiful day to enjoy good company...” the young Dimitrescu whispered.

You didn't even have time to answer.

Donna growled furiously, pushing the vampire out of the house.

“Hey, hey! Don't be selfish, Aunt Donna! Hey, at least let my mother…!” the girl protested, silenced by a loud slam of the door.

“Ugh, thanks, Donna, I was getting a bit nervous,” you sighed, with a relieved smile.

The lady in black turned around, furiously pushing the veil away from her face. There was anything but a smile in her face.

“Nervous, you say?” she asked in a dangerous whisper. “I didn't see you nervous.”

“Well, I…” you stammered. “I didn't really know how to act.”

“That's why you let that stupid girl touch you?” she asked, approaching you dangerously. She seemed out of her mind again, acting in a deranged way. “Hey, come here!” she shrieked, grabbing you by your dress when you decided that running away was the best solution to that strange behavior.

You, frightened by that look, tried to struggle with her, but you couldn't do it. With a growl, she pushed you against a wall, preventing you from running away.

“How long are you going to keep laughing at me?!” she asked, hitting the wall with a fist, making you shrink in fear, totally confused and scared.

“Donna… What are you talking about?” you asked with a trembling voice, with your eyes shining with terror.

“Don't play dumb… Cazzo… Are you interested in her?” she asked, pointing to the door. “Are you planning to flirt with all the girls and boys in this fucking village?”

“I don't know what you're talking about! I'm not interested in her, Donna,” you said in your defense, shaking your head. She laughed nervously, making the same gesture. “You're, you're very nervous… Calm down, please…”

“I don't want to!” she squealed, too close to you. “I've tried, I really have, (Y/N), but I can't, I can't stand it…”

“What are you talking about?” you asked in a small voice. “Donna, you're scaring me.”

“You’re scaring me, (Y/N)…” she hissed, with a dark look, putting a hand on your cheek, a shaky and warm hand. “Every night you appear in my dreams, I see you in the dark, in the light, even when you're not here… I see you…”

“Donna,” you sighed, seeing in those words something like a confession, one you didn't think possible.

“You… You're… You're mine… You're my maid… You can't leave me. I can't let anyone take you away from me…” Donna murmured, sobbing too, adding another hand to your face. “Don't you see how much I’m suffering for you?”

“Yours?” you asked confused.

“Yes… Mia!” she screamed furiously again. “No one has the right to touch you, not even look at you! You are mine, and only mine! I, I, I, I, I…”

“Donna…” you murmured again, ignoring the screams, keeping her words.

“I'm… I'm in love with you…” the doll maker finally confessed, making your eyes open in surprise and your words get stuck in your throat. “I don't care that you don't feel the same… You are mine and… No one… No one has the right to…”

Unable to do anything else, your body reacted in a desperate, risky way, bringing you closer to her lips, closing the distance with a messy kiss, one that would silence her complaints, her stupid paranoia.

 Yes, you were hers, but for a long time, and you knew it, you wanted it.

 “I'm yours…” you whispered on her lips, tasting the salty tear that ran down her cheek. Her breathing was still labored, but her screams stopped. “Donna, I'm in love with you too…”

“What?” she asked surprised, not being able to control the impulse to kiss you again, to pin you against the wall and run her hands through your hair. “But…”

“I don't want anyone else, I'm not interested in anyone else,” you said among increasingly wild kisses. “I love you, I love the wonderful woman who saved my life, your beautiful smile, you, Donna, only you, that wounded heart that reminds me so much of my own…”

“That… That's… Nice,” she said, with a calmer smile, with a subtle blush on her cheeks as she pushed the hair out of your face. “Do you feel that way about me?”

“Yes,” you said nodding, caressing the soft skin of her hands. “You don't have to be like that, darling... No one will take me away from you...”

“I'm like that because I love you, because I don't want to lose you,” Donna whispered, finally explaining that strange behavior, that latent possessiveness that was slowly becoming evident.

“You won't lose me, I promise,” you said lovingly, comforting the lady with your sincere words.

Donna smiled, but it only lasted a moment. Suddenly, her gaze darkened, pushing you back against the wall, filling your mouth with wild, out-of-control kisses. You couldn't do anything else but accept them, enjoy her lips on your skin, on your neck, feel her hot hands moving down your dress.

“It's not enough...” she whispered on your lips, her breathing as agitated as yours, running her nails down your legs, her gaze getting darker and darker, with a spark of lust shining in her eye. “You have to be mine, now…”

“Donna… What…?” you asked, when the onslaught of kisses resumed, when her body stuck to yours irremediably, when her hips began to dance with yours. You couldn’t complain, you didn’t want to.

The gasps came out of your mouth, your hands traveled over the black dress, caressing, scratching everything in your path. You couldn't and didn't want to refuse, not even when her slender fingers pulled at your underwear, when she lifted your leg and her gaze was locked on you again.

“I won't be able to bear you saying no to me, (Y/N),” the lady hissed in your ear, scratching your leg as she played with her dress, releasing her own arousal and rubbing it against your wet entrance, surprising you. “I disgust you…”

“No, no… I love the way you’re, I love your body…” you said immediately, starting to feel how her erection was getting closer to its destination as, in an improvised way, she entered you, stealing your innocence in an unexpected way. “Donna!”

“Taci…” she whispered, moving her hips abruptly, taking you wildly against the wall, without you being able or willing to do anything to stop it.

The pain only lasted an instant, the pleasure came soon after, a pleasure you had never dared to feel, the pleasure of seeing how your wet walls were conquered, how her shaft claimed you anxiously to the sound of hurried moans, just like her movements.

Clumsy kisses replaced the moans, those obscene sounds that echoed in the old hall. You were in paradise, right where you wanted, in her arms, with her inside of you, being part of her body, part of her, not wanting her to leave.

An unknown cramp tensed your body, forced you to scream, to hold on to the lady, to scratch her back, to lose control.

Well, it wasn't what you could define as something romantic but... When with an agonizing cry, her seed ran through your body, flooding it with a pleasurable heat, you didn't care at all.

“Mine… You are mine now…” Donna repeated over and over, pulling you down from the wall and kissing you erratically, pulling at your waist, at your shamefully wet body.

“Donna… I love you… I love you…”

[hhnguyen]

make me proud

Bringing my Sully Reader series to a bittersweet, yet hopefully comforting end.  

♢ Pairing: Tuktirey x Oldest sister!Reader, Sully family x Oldest sister!Reader

♢ Word count: 3.2k 

♢ Genre: angst, sibling love, fluff, grief - Warnings: cursing, major character death

⌲ Description: Time was passing by, and with hazy memories Tuk finds herself reminiscing about the person her sissy once was. 

M A S T E R L I S T

R e c o m m e n d e d   p l a y l i s t : 

⌲ ashes - Celine Dion ⌲ brother - Kodaline ⌲ the nights - Chlara  ⌲ the call - Regina Spektor

“Hello there,” Grinning, Tuktirey watched from a safe distance at the insistent yapping from a nest of Viperwolf pups. 

This pack specifically was only a couple of months old, but friendlier than those residing further away from her village, thus more used to the comings and goings of the Omitikaya and not trying to kill anyone who came too near.

Tuk found herself visiting the energetic pups several times a week, always making sure their protective mother and pack weren’t too near when she snuck closer than anyone would recommend. 

But she was confident in her abilities to protect herself, the bow slung over her body never left behind when outside the borders of her home. Not to mention the two extra daggers strapped to each thigh with firm leather holsters. 

Allowing herself a couple more moments of silent admiration, she swallowed back a giggle as one of the bravest of the pups came bouncing over in her direction, stumbling clumsily over its legs and trotting the last couple of feet before rubbing its leathery body against her ankle, no sign of viciousness present. 

Bending down to give the creature a little scratch behind its ears, the wolf gave a yip in satisfaction, tail thumping against the ground until a far-off howl sounded. 

Forgetting Tuk’s presence all the pups started to howl in reply and she used their distraction to swiftly turn back around and climb up the tree she had come from, safely keeping herself a distance away as the rest of the pack came running through the bushes with their newest prey for the day, growls mixed in with the barks of the youngest. 

With one last glance, Tuktirey started her short journey upwards before giving a sharp whistle. 

A screech replied her quickly, a shadow flying over her only for a few seconds before landing down on the large branch before her, leaves fluttering down the ground from its appearance hidden within. 

“Hey there boy,” Tuk trailed a gentle hand down her Ikran’s neck, somewhat feeling a little melancholic today, tracing the midnight blue skin with yellow and green marks. “Mawey Atanzaw.”

The old ikran listened, calming down and nudging his head against her hands as she smiled, nuzzling him back. She wasn’t the only one seemingly restless today. 

Atanzaw himself was aware of what day it was, having acted impatient from morning until now. 

Oh, what a shock that day had been for everyone; Tuk’s iknimaya was a moment still prone to come up in discussion to this day, four years later. 

She had followed the same rites of passage as all her family before, making it all the way up to the Hallelujah Mountains without much issues. And just when Tuk thought she had found her bond, Atanzaw had swooped down from the sky like the vicious beast that he was known for. 

Chasing away her first prospective Ikran and snarling at her. 

No one had seen the animal since your death nearly seven years ago, the ikran having taken to the skies and never seen again after your body was brought back to Metkayina village to be buried with the ancestors. 

She had been frozen to the core, all reason of what she was doing vanishing, until the realization that the ikran wanted her to fight; prove her worth to become his newest rider. 

An occurrence that had never happened before in the history of her clan. 

Once a rider died, it was well known their mounts refused to take any other. 

But there she had been, faced with the fiercely loyal best of her long passed oldest sister. 

“You want to see her, don’t you?” Tuktirey whispered, gently tracing the lines of his face as Atanzaw scuffed. “How about a little flight, then we’ll go.” 

Swinging herself up on the saddle, the ikran didn’t need any more direction to follow their usual flight route circling her home forest. 

Leaning forward to rest her whole body upon the warm skin of her mount, Tuk took a deep breath; eyes closing and feeling the wind whip past her as they soared above the trees. 

The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky in a beautiful picture of soft oranges, pinks and yellow, bathing her in a backdrop of warmth and comfort. 

Ten years have passed since your death. 

Tuk remembered that day more clearly than the others. 

When her family had finally managed to pry her and Kiri away from the grasps of their enemies, her eight-year-old mind thinking everything was going to be alright from there out as they floated above the water on Payakan’s fin until she noticed the usual bright absence of her oldest sister. 

Her questions had been answered in the worst possible way as she was led to the flat surface of rocks in the middle of the dark ocean, the flames of the sinking boat being the only light to illuminate them

But it had been bright enough for her eyes to take in the scarily still form of you. An image of cold serenity with a wet cloth covering your body from the neck down, eyes closed as if you were dreaming. 

Tuk had thought you were. 

Simply sleeping that is. 

Sinking slowly down to her knees beside you, small hand shaking your shoulder to wake up, to hug her and assure her that everything was okay now. That their family was safe and they could go home. But you wouldn’t wake up. 

“Why won’t sissy wake up, daddy!” Her child self had sobbed, hiccuping and whipping around to stare at her dad for an answer. 

He had only scooped her up in his arms, tugging her head into his neck with comforting nothings, apologizing for something she couldn’t hear through her sobs of denial. Kiri had stared, seeing but unseeing, fists clenched by her side as their mother sank down and pulled your damp head into her lap. 

The bright roots from the tree of souls brought her back to the present as Atanzaw swooped down slowly. The area was empty from what she could see, because Tuk had arrived late to her family’s tradition of visiting you on your death anniversary.

Instead of heading straight to the tree and connecting her queue, she found a slab of high rock several feet away and sat down. Her ikran settling down on his stomach beside her with a grumble as she absently traced his neck. 

“Come on, Tuk Tuk! Atanzaw won’t wait for us forever!” Your voice seemingly whispered in her ears, your bright laughter following as the memories of her small self rushing out of the hut for your weekly sister bonding time. 

“Tuk Tuk, mom and dad won’t be happy if you don’t clean up before dinner!” What an ongoing issue it had for you to force her to simply clean up after a day of adventures outside. 

“Why are you crying, Tuk Tuk?”

“I-I had a n-nightmare of you leaving m-me…”

“Awe, my sweet little Tuk. I’ll never leave you, okay?”

“Y-you promise, sissy?” You had grinned so widely that it seemed like you could shield the entire world from her. “When have I ever broken a promise?”

Tuktirey couldn’t help but scoff, the sound feeling loud in the emptiness of the space as she plucked out handful of grass and letting them flutter to the ground. 

“You’re a goddamn liar, sissy,” She couldn’t help but mutter bitterly. 

“Careful now. She won’t be too happy hearing you say that.”

Looking over her shoulder to face the familiar deep voice of Neteyam, grinning almost innocently. 

Tuk rolled her eyes, never stopping her aggressive little plucking of nature. She would apologize to Eywa another time. 

“What are you doing here, Teyam?” 

Her oldest brother heaved a sigh as he sat down on her other side, his ridiculously broad shoulders brushing her own. Just like everyone else, he had grown into himself as a strong male Na’vi. She knew that if their father decided to step down today as Olo'eyktan, Neteyam would be more than ready to take his place. 

But alas, Jake Sully was still a stubborn male who assured he was more than capable for a couple more years before letting the role of leader go to someone else. A stubborn old fool, their mother had berated him to their amusement. 

“I assumed since you didn’t show up earlier, I would find you here sooner or later.”

Her brother, now twenty-five was one of the respectable leaders of their clan, as a general and heir to their father. Neteyam even surpassed Jake in build and height, all the teenage softness melting into a strong wide jaw and high cheekbones. 

“You didn’t have to wait,” Tuk muttered again as he chuckled.

“And let you remain here alone ruining that poor grass?” Her hand stopped at his pointed words with an inward sigh. 

Pulling her knees against her chest, she wrapped her arms around them, never taking her eyes away from the gently swaying branches of the Tree of Souls. 

“What’s the issue, Tuk?”

“What makes you think there is one?”

She didn’t have to look to know about the brow Neteyam raised at her. “You’ve been acting odd the last couple of days. Even mother and father have noticed.”

Tuk gnawed at her bottom lip. “I don’t know how to say it.”

“Since when have I ever judged you?” 

That was true. Neteyam was always willing to offer an ear for her problems, often ending the conversation with a comforting hug to brighten up her days. 

“I…think I’m forgetting her.” Tuk’s whispered admission floated into the air with a shuddering breath, eyes welling up with tears she let trail down her cheeks. 

A guilt that had bothered her ever since she realized with horror how she couldn’t seem to recall how your smile had looked like, if the colors of your eyes had been as yellow as she remembered, or a more dark orange. 

“Oh Tuk…” She didn’t fight the hold Neteyam slung over her shoulder, pulling her into his side, lips pressing against the crown of her head. “Why are you beating yourself up over that?”

“I can’t forget her, Teyam,” Tuk’s voice shook. “She’s…sissy. What kind of sister would I be if I can’t remember what her smile looked like? How her laugh sounded. It’s not right.”

“Who told you that?” Neteyam’s voice was a low comfort. “It’s the truth isn’t it?”

“No, not even close, Tuk Tuk.”

Tuktirey shook her head. “Don’t do that. I don’t want your lies, Teyam.”

“Do you believe Y/N would call you a liar?” His question made her pause because she didn’t know. 

She didn’t remember what you would have said in moments like these, and it was that exact feeling that was eating her up from the inside. 

“You were eight, Tuk,” Neteyam continued seriously. “A child in the midst of war and mayhem. We all were. Trauma has haunted us all since then, you as a child couldn’t even escape it. Your memories warp over time, and no one would blame you for forgetting details of scenarios over a decade ago.”

“But it’s sissy!” She repeated vehemently. 

“Sissy would tell you to suck it up and stop being a wimp.” 

Words that your oldest brother would never use on a daily basis made them both freeze, before sharing an airy laugh together at how you would 100% say that to their faces. 

“Yeah, she would…” 

How Tuk hated the truth of those words. You would have told them much more than that with narrowed eyes and hands on your hips. Probably including a couple of cuss words followed by your signature whack to the head. 

“A day does not go by where we don’t miss her,” Neteyam’s voice had taken a note melancholy, Atanzaw in his silence seemingly agreeing with a rumble from his chest. 

“Y/N will always leave a mark within our lives long after we’re gone as well. Just look at Lo’ak. That fool has managed pretty well for himself.” 

Giggling at their inside joke, Tuk could see what he meant. 

After the war ended, everyone besides their second brother decided to return to the forest. Lo’ak had been firm in his decision of remaining with the Metkayina, Tsireya by his side as mates and to lead the future generations to come. They were doing incredibly well last time the family had heard, welcoming a healthy baby girl as their first child and naming her after you. They had promised to come for a visit the moment the babe was old enough for long travels. 

None of the family had expected Lo’ak to be the first one to create a family and life for himself, but he had put all the credit on you. How he promised to be strong for your sake; A promise he had now fulfilled to its brim to the pride of everyone else, your parents especially. Kiri herself had taken over the role of Tsahìk, with their grandmother only growing more weary by the day, and there was no one else suited better to the role than her. 

 That left only Tuk, with her eighteenth birthday having passed, she was officially an adult in human terms. She had chosen to become a part of the hunters, often led by Neteyam as well. 

She took after you a lot in that sense, her sense of adventure and adrenalin. 

“You think sissy would be proud?” Tuk asked carefully. 

Neteyam nudged her enough to catch her eyes as she followed his gaze to the tree, his small smirk obvious. “Why don’t you go and find out?”

“W-what?”

“I think of all days, that today is when Eywa might feel a bit more giving than usual.”

Despite her confusion over his mysterious words, Tuk listened and stood up. Walking the distance towards the closest root, she expected the same familiar connection to Eywa and hearing the whispers of the past brush over her mind as well the warmth spreading through her body. However her heart hammered when she felt her mind being pulled in further, as if dragging her away from the ground itself. 

Where was she? 

Slowly looking around, Tuk could vaguely recognize it. It was still home, in the forests on one of the many wide branches belonging to their trees. But it was taller than most she remembered, somewhere further away from their village. 

“Should I be offended that you look confused?”

Gasping, Tuktirey whirled around quicker than she had ever moved. Her hand covered her mouth, blinking as if in a dream as you grinned at her. 

Looking just like you had back then. Burnt orange like the sunrise, that was your eye color. 

“...sissy?” She was too afraid this wasn’t real. Because it didn’t feel like it.

Your grin widened, beaming almost - arms opening wide. “Hey Tuk Tuk.”

Tuktirey propelled into you mid sob, somehow still feeling smaller than you despite her couple inches on you. The familiar warmth of your grasp around her body brought her back to her childhood almost frighteningly fast, making her think how she managed to ever forget that feeling. 

“How tall you’ve become,” You murmured gently, hands trailing down her long braids, kept neatly within a leather tie. 

“I-I can’t believe this. How-”

“Eywa has granted us the gift of seeing each other again. A rare occurrence.”

Although not wanting to part from your arms, Tuktirey forced herself to pull back slightly. 

Only to be startled by the fact she had to look down to meet your sparkling gaze. You had always seemed like a larger-than-life figure to her. Towering above like an impregnable shield, it was now she realized how you had only been sixteen. How young your features looked now compared to her own eighteen. 

Had you always been that slight? 

“I don’t know what to say.”

You chuckled, reaching up to brush a singular braid back and tuck it behind her ear. “Do you have something to say?”

“I-I thought I did,” Tuk admitted, grasping your smaller hands tightly as you watched her patiently. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Well, then how about I start?” Meeting your eyes, she watched them crinkle. “I missed you, Tuk Tuk.”

Eywa knows how she managed to smile, a light laugh following despite her tears. “I miss you so much, sissy.”

“You are stunning. I always knew you would be.” 

“How could you?” The words slipped out before she could stop. “You’re not here.”

But you simply snorted, obviously disagreeing. “I’m always there, Tuk. Even if you can’t see me, or feel me. Or even want to remember me. I’ll always be there.”

“Then why did you leave?” Tuktirey couldn’t help the choked question, knowing better than to expect an answer to it. 

You had been shot. Not chosen to die. But you defied all expectations as always, answering with a smirk. 

“Shit happens.”

Their dad would have been proud to hear that. 

“You are so much like Dad,” She huffed out almost exasperated. 

“And don’t you let him forget,” You winked.

A cribble crawled over her skin, the leaves of the trees rustling almost in warning as your face tilted up towards the sky, smile faltering the slightest.  

“We don’t have much time.”

“No,” Tuk shook her head, gripping your hands tighter, probably near painful but you gave no indication of it. “I want to speak with you more. Apologize or something, I can’t forget you!”

To her surprise, you laughed. Loud and coming from your belly. “Forget me? Oh Tuk Tuk, you worry too much.”

“What?”

“You fear the natural sides of life. Apologize? For what? How do you expect to forget your favorite sibling?” Your joke did not dry the fresh tears gathered in her eyes, before your eyes softened. 

Hand coming back up to cup her cheek, thumb gently brushing against it. “You are allowed to forget my face. Even my voice. I would never hold it over you, Tuktirey. But this,” You patted her heart. “That will never be gone. You’ll always find me there, okay?”

Lips wobbling, Tuk sniffled almost pathetically as she nodded. “Okay.”

Her blurry vision took in your face carefully, for what felt like the very last time for a long while. 

Looking at your shining eyes, loving wide grin with the same hint of mischief you always carried around. 

The wind rose as you reached up to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, hands squeezing hers one last time before stepping back and letting go. 

“I love you, sissy.” Tuk managed to croak out as the surroundings were starting to brighten. She swore it was a tear running down your cheek as your grin widened enough to show your teeth. 

“I love you too, Tuk Tuk.” And then a classic you-move; offering her a two-finger salute with a wink. “Make me proud, tiger.”

With a sharp gasp, Tuktirey was back; eyes flying open and stumbling back only to be balanced swiftly by Neteyam.

But he didn’t look concerned. There was a knowing glint in his expectant smile as she stared at him silently, almost stunned. 

That smile widened at the look on her face. “So what did she say?” 

As reality caught up with her, Tuk straightened before huffing out a laugh, wiping away the stray tears on her cheek. 

With twinkling eyes, she ran her tongue against the inside of her mouth in thought before blurting out. 

“That you’ll always be a sniveling crybaby!” 

Cackling, she ran away with a squeal towards Atanzaw as Neteyam growled playfully behind her, bringing up the chase as she took to the skies; heart and soul lighter than she could ever wish for. 

Am I crying? Maybe.

taglist @nao-cchi @eywas-heir @ssc7514 @spicycloudsalad @calums-betch @httpjiikook @ricecakeslove @fanboyluvr @iwaslikeblah   @the-wandering-pan-ace @avatarloversblog @eternallyvenus @enchantinggoateefox @arianapntn @heydemonsitsme @slyvixen1029 @promiseofeywa @love13tter @directioner5life @bambisposts-blogs @melllinaa  @sugarmummystuff6 @lovekeeho @marit332 @hai-kbai @missroro @lola2004sworld @kage-yaa @enchantinggoateefox> @meeeeep5 @wolfangnight @lemon-lav @singular-itae @dueiosy @bobojojoba69​ @littlelia007  @wintersfalcvns @astraeasworld @asweetblueberry2​

[warpdrive-witch]

Helloo!

If at all possible I'd like to request a little something w the Coven of Chaos and transmasc!Reader and accidentally coming out! Like...Reader gets teased about how they cut their hair themselves and it looks really choppy and "why did you do that, you looked so cute before little girl" and just traditionally 'female' nicknames until reader just blurts out "because I'm a boy!"

Thanks 😅

~💫

Sweet Anon, you have no idea what joy writing this brought me. Remember, being your authentic self is the bravest thing any of us can do in this life. I hope this makes you smile. 1.6k words. Summary: Feel good acceptance. Truly, we all need the smiles.

🏳️‍⚧️ You’ve Got This 🏳️‍🌈

Movie night in the coven house was always somewhere between a slumber party and a mild magical emergency.

Someone had conjured three different types of popcorn (all of them enchanted to taste like your emotions—Billy’s was “existential dread”), the lights were dimmed, and blankets had migrated like flocks of cozy birds to every surface of the room. You were curled up in the corner of the couch, hoodie on, sleeves half-chewed from nerves.

And then the teasing started.

“Okay, hold on,” Jen said, twisting around from where she was braiding Lilia’s hair. “Is that why you’ve been wearing your hood all week?”

Your stomach dropped.

Lilia squinted at you. “What happened to your hair, sweetpea? Did you get hexed or something?”

Alice, ever the boldest, reached across the couch and tugged your hood down before you could stop her. “Be free, little head—oh my gods.”

“Oh no,” Jen said dramatically, clapping a hand to her mouth. “Did you get bored and cut it yourself? You look like a rogue raccoon had a vendetta and a pair of safety scissors.”

Billy leaned in from the armchair. “I mean, it’s giving… vibes. Like, ‘I steal spell components from unattended altars’ kind of vibes.”

“You were so pretty before,” Lilia said, and it wasn’t cruel, just wistful. “Like a storybook girl. You looked like one of those illustrations with the ribboned hair and moonlight eyes—”

 Rio said from across the room, voice low, firm, and immediate. “Lay off,” she added, standing slowly and tossing a throw blanket off her shoulders.

But they didn’t.

Jen was mid-giggle, clearly not having heard her. “It’s kind of adorable, though, right? Like a little angry possum got into a bottle of dye and made it fashion.”

“You looked like a willow sprite before,” Lilia said wistfully. “Now you’re giving—what’s the word—feral apprentice?”

Billy smirked. “More like cryptid chic. If I saw you in the woods, I’d assume you were a misunderstood forest god who cursed all his exes.”

Alice snorted. “I’d still let them hex me. No notes.”

You sat frozen, hands buried in your sleeves, shoulders curled in on yourself like armor. Your breath felt thin. You weren’t sure whether to speak or disappear.

Your shoulders pulled in. Your fingers were trembling ever so slightly, and between them, that same golden shimmer flickered again—subtle and living, like the curl of smoke from a candle just blown out. Something soft was crackling beneath your skin, quiet but insistent. Your fingers tingled. You looked down and saw it: a golden shimmer, gentle and glowing between your palms like sunlight filtered through honey. It was a pulse of you. There were no spells, no rituals, just truth welling up and pouring out in color.

And then—your eyes found Agatha’s

She was seated on the edge of the couch, one hand wrapped around a mug that had long since gone cold, the other resting gently on her knee. She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. But she’d seen you. Not just looked—seen. As if she’d felt the shimmer in your hands before it even rose. As if she’d felt it in hers, too. She was already watching you, her stillness a kind of sanctuary, like the eye of a storm—quiet, clear, whole. She didn’t look shocked, or startled, or even confused. Just… present. Entirely, deeply present.

Her gaze held yours—not demanding, not even asking. Just there, patient as moonlight on water. Her face was unreadable at first, caught somewhere between reverence and ache. And then— She smiled. Small. Steady.

But it broke something open in your chest. A warmth bloomed just beneath your ribs. It was like the first star breaking through the last breath of twilight. A single pinprick of light—and suddenly, the whole sky was possible. She tilted her head, the barest movement, then gave a single nod. Once. Slow. Certain. A silent hand at the base of your spine, steadying you without ever touching.

You’ve got this.

The air in the room shifted. The laughter had faded, the teasing stilled, and even the house—the old, magic-worn house that groaned and murmured and sighed through every moment—had gone still. Like it, too, was waiting. There was a silence that wasn’t hollow but held. Like a bowl cupping water. Like breath drawn in, just before a spell. The shimmer in your palms danced between your fingers, catching the low light. It didn’t burn. It didn’t crackle. It simply glowed—a golden hum, soft and certain. And in that hush, with magic cradled in your hands and truth building in your chest, the moment opened— not like a break, but like a door.

And in that hush, with magic cradled in your hands and truth building in your chest, the moment opened, not like a break but like adoor.

And you stepped through it.

Your voice didn’t shake.

Not this time.

“I cut my hair because I wanted to see me in the mirror,” you said, steady now, even as the air shifted around you. “Not the girl you all keep talking about.”

Your fingers uncurled slightly, and the golden shimmer pulsed once—gentle and bright, like a heartbeat.

You took one breath.

Then another.

“Okay,” you added, with a small huff of laughter. “Great time to tell everyone I’m a boy. So. Thanks for the warm-up.”

A few stunned blinks.

One dropped pillow.

And then, like you couldn’t help yourself, the rest tumbled out in a rush:

“Also, apparently, it’s really hard to find a barber when you hate making phone calls. I mean, where do you even start? Do I just Google ‘guy haircut wizard-friendly’? Is there a spell for this? I don’t know. So I panicked. And used kitchen scissors. Badly.”

There was a pause.

And then—

Billy made a strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

“Oh my god,” he said, eyes wide. “That’s why it’s uneven. I thought you were going for a cursed sprite aesthetic.”

Jen clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes misting. “Sweetheart…”

Lilia actually squeaked. “I’m so glad you told us; I’ve been waiting for this.”

Alice blinked hard. “Wait, do we hug now? Is there a rule? Can I hug him?”

Agatha hadn’t moved. But the glow in her eyes had shifted—pride, affection, magic. She looked at you like you’d just become something more than even she expected.

And behind you, Rio’s voice came low and unwavering:

“There he is.”

She said it like a spell.

Like a truth finally spoken aloud.

And the house exhaled with you.

A few seconds passed, soft and full.

Then Jen, sniffling and trying to pretend she wasn’t, looked around and said, “Okay, but seriously—there’s gotta be a spell somewhere. Rio, don’t you grow things? Fix this boy’s hair.”

Billy choked on his drink. “Plant magic barbershop. I’d pay.”

Lilia clapped. “Yes! Vine-trimmed fade, enchanted mulberry pomade—”

“Absolutely not,” Rio said flatly, though she was clearly trying not to smile. “I grow flowers, not fades.”

Jen waved a hand. “I’m just saying we have magic. Someone in this house has to know a follicle spell.”

Rio raised an eyebrow and turned toward her. “You got a potion for hair growth as natural as that wildflower skin care routine you make in the bathtub?”

Jen tilted her chin, mock offended. “Excuse me, that ‘bathtub potion’ is the reason my skin glows like an enchanted moonbeam. Don’t be jealous just because you use bar soap like a man.”

Rio snorted. “You’re lucky I don’t hex your moisturizer.”

“Anyway,” Alice cut in brightly, hopping to her feet and grabbing your hand. “Come with me, new boy. Billy and I keep all our hair stuff in the linen closet next to the potions cabinet. If you trust me, I can clean this up into a real fade.”

You blinked, heart caught somewhere between nerves and relief. “Yeah,” you said. “I trust you.”

Billy stretched and joined her. “And I can help with the curls on top—make ‘em look messy on purpose. Not like you rolled through a hedge backward.”

You gave a small, crooked smile. “No comment.”

Alice squeezed your hand, gentle and sure. “Come on, handsome. Let’s fix you up.”

Billy bumped your shoulder as he joined you. “You’re already halfway there. We’ll just help the outside catch up to what we’ve all started seeing.”

As they guided you toward the hall, Agatha called after you, her voice soft but smiling. “Be gentle with him, Alice.”

Before you were fully out of the room, Agatha rose from the couch and stepped to Rio’s side. Her hand found the curve of Rio’s arm—just a light touch, but grounding. Protective. Familiar.

Rio didn’t take her eyes off you. “He okay?”

Agatha’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He will be. He’s becoming.”

Rio’s jaw shifted, her expression softening, eyes glinting with something deep and proud. She let out a breath like she’d been holding it for years.

From the hallway, you glanced back—just for a second.

And there they were.

Agatha’s hand was still resting gently against Rio’s arm. Rio’s gaze is still on you, steady and bright. Both of them watched you like you were sunlight after a long winter. Like something sacred had just bloomed in front of them.

You didn’t say a word.

But you smiled.

And they smiled back—Agatha with that calm, steady pride, Rio with something almost awed in her eyes.

“And someone makes sure he actually likes how he looks when you’re done,” Rio added, voice carrying down the hall like a soft nudge.

You looked over your shoulder, the golden shimmer still curling faintly at your fingertips.

“I will,” you said, quiet but certain.

Rio’s smile tipped into a wink.

Cheers to you, Anon 🧡

[my-religion-greek-myth]

Freedom far away - N

I kinda want to write one shot of Reader X Agatha or Reader X Agatha X Rio. But gotta finish this first.

There might be typos or other mistakes, but I'm too tired to go over it again. 🤧

Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio

Part A | Part B | Part C&D | Part E | Part F | Part G | Part H | Part I&J | Part K | Part L | Part M | Part N | Part O&P | Part Q | Part R | Epilogue

Warning: Depictions of blood and violence may be disturbing to some readers

The city simmered with tension, its usual hum of life subdued under the oppressive presence of royal guards. Called upon by the spymaster himself, the guards patrolled the streets with visible unease, their sharp eyes scanning for signs of trouble. The spymaster had woven a tale of two foreigners—dangerous and unrelenting—kidnapping his granddaughter and attacking his household. The story seemed plausible to many in the city and the palace. After all, who would dare doubt the spymaster of the king?

Through the city gates, the foreigners in question arrived, their presence as commanding as a thunderstorm rolling in.

Agatha strode forward first, her flowing purple dress catching the faint sunlight. Her wavy hair framed her face, her expression a mask of calm that only made her glowing blue eyes more unsettling. Around her hands, purple sparks of magic crackled faintly as though impatiently waiting to be unleashed.

Beside her, Rio was a stark contrast. Clad in a tailored black suit, her dark eyes were sharp and cold, her posture exuding predatory confidence. Her hair fluttered slightly as though moved by an unseen force, and her aura pulsed with latent power. Together, they were a force of nature, their very presence turning heads and quickening pulses.

Rio and Agatha’s presence was impossible to ignore. The air seemed to hum around them, a faint shimmer of magic curling at their feet like restless shadows.

The guards stationed at the gates faltered as they approached. While the two women made no overt move to attack, the palpable energy surrounding them was enough to unnerve even the bravest of men.

"Stand aside," Rio commanded, her voice low but carrying an undeniable authority.

One guard stepped forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. "You’re the ones we were warned about," he said, his voice wavering slightly despite his attempt to sound firm. "By order of the king, we’re to apprehend you on sight."

Agatha’s lips curved into a cold smile, her fingers flexing subtly as the violet energy around her hands flared briefly. "Apprehend us?" she repeated, her tone laced with amusement. "Do you really think that’s possible?"

The guards didn’t retreat. Their loyalty—or fear of the spymaster—pushed them forward despite the ominous energy crackling in the surroundings. One by one, they drew their swords, grimly advancing toward the witches.

Agatha’s sharp gaze flicked over the advancing guards, unimpressed. "Amateurs," she muttered, her voice cold and disdainful.

One guard lunged, his blade aimed directly at her heart. But before he could get within striking distance, Agatha raised a single hand, her fingers moving with a graceful, almost dismissive flourish.

In an instant, arrows of pure, crackling purple magic materialised in the air, shimmering with deadly precision. The guards barely had time to react before the arrows shot forward, their speed blinding. Each arrow found its mark and pierced the guards’ heavy armour as if it were made of paper. The enchanted projectiles struck true, piercing their chests and sending them crumpling to the floor one by one. The faint glow of her arrows still hovered around Agatha, ready to strike again if needed.

"Wasting their lives," Rio said coldly as she clicked her tongue, her voice devoid of emotion as she stepped forward. Her dark eyes, sharp and calculating, let out a low, humourless laugh. "If they surrendered, it would’ve been a simple job for me."

One of the remaining guards, emboldened or desperate, charged toward Rio with a fierce yell. His sword glinted in the sunlight as he raised it high, determined to strike her down. But Rio didn’t move. Her lips curled into a wolfish grin as she raised one hand.

The ground beneath the guard trembled, a low rumble that vibrated through the cobblestones. Before he could reach her, thick, jagged roots erupted from the earth, snaking around his legs and dragging him to a halt. He struggled and swung his sword wildly, but the roots tightened, lifting him off the ground by one foot. He dangled helplessly in midair, his blade clattering uselessly to the street.

"Pathetic," Rio muttered, flicking her wrist. The roots swayed slightly, tightening their grip on his ankle but doing no more harm. The guard hung suspended, his face red with effort as he tried to free himself. Rio’s sharp eyes swept over him, and a small, wicked smirk tugged at her lips. "You’re lucky I’m not here for you today."

She turned her attention to the remaining guards, her grin widening. "Anyone else?"

The others hesitated, their gazes darting between their helpless comrade and the crackling energy swirling around Agatha. Some began to back away, their courage faltering in the face of overwhelming power. Their retreat was hesitant at first, but as Rio took a deliberate step forward, her cold gaze boring into them, they scattered in fear, leaving their swords abandoned on the ground.

The spymaster’s estate stood silent under the glaring sun, the air heavy with anticipation as Agatha and Rio advanced toward the gates. The destruction they left in their wake painted a clear message: they had come for blood.

Agatha's magic surged around her, coiling like a living entity hungry for vengeance. Her eyes burned an icy blue, and the hem of her dress whipped violently in the magical storm she commanded. Rio strode beside her wife in her pitch-black suit that reminded her of death, her dark eyes sharp and unforgiving. The cobblestones cracked beneath her feet as the earth shifted subtly in response to her fury.

The gates to the estate were heavily guarded, but the spymaster’s forces might as well have been paper before the storm that was Agatha and Rio.

With a flick of her wrist, Agatha sent tendrils of glowing purple energy lashing out, piercing the guards' chests as if their armour were nothing. They dropped like leaves, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground, creating a red river of blood.

Rio raised her hand, the cobblestones rippling like water before sharp vines erupted from the earth, coiling around the remaining guards. The screams of their enemies echoed across the courtyard, but neither woman flinched. They were past the point of mercy.

Inside the estate, the spymaster paced anxiously in his study, his sword in hand. He sneered at the muffled sounds of chaos outside. "Fools," he muttered. "They’ll regret stepping into my city."

But the doors to his study slammed open with a deafening crash, the wood splintering as Agatha and Rio entered. The spymaster turned, his face twisted in fury, but his expression faltered as he took in the terrifying sight before him.

Agatha’s magic crackled with unrestrained power, casting an eerie purple glow across the room. Rio’s dark gaze was colder than death itself, her presence suffocating as she stepped forward, her hand brushing against the hilt of her dagger.

"You dare bring your filth here," the spymaster growled, trying to regain his composure. "You think you can defy me? I am the spymaster of the king—"

"You were," Agatha cut him off, her voice sharp and venomous. She raised her hand, and purple energy shot forward, wrapping around the spymaster’s throat. He gasped, clawing at the invisible force as it lifted him off the ground.

Rio’s voice was quiet but no less menacing as she stepped closer. "You beat her. Hurt her. Spilled her blood." Her fingers twitched, and the ground beneath the spymaster cracked, jagged rocks jutting upward, grazing his dangling legs. "You thought you could take everything from her, and we would do nothing?"

Agatha tightened her grip on the magic, her gaze burning with hatred. "You call her a disgrace," she hissed. "But the only disgrace here is you." Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper as she added, "You don’t deserve to call yourself her family."

The spymaster struggled, his face red as he choked against the magical noose. "You think you’re better?" he rasped, his voice barely audible. "You’re nothing but monsters. Foreign filth who—"

His words were cut off as Rio stepped forward. Her posture was calm, but the air around her shifted, thickening with an oppressive weight. Her dark eyes glowed faintly as she spoke, her voice carrying an unnatural resonance. "You like to speak of disgrace and power," she said quietly. "Let me show you what true power looks like."

Agatha only glanced at her wife as Rio’s form began to change. The room grew colder, and the light dimmed as a black mist seeped from her body. Her once-perfect face twisted, revealing the truth beneath. The lower half of her face faded into bone, a grinning skull that glinted ominously under the dim light. The transformation was grotesquely beautiful, a reminder of the being she truly was.

The spymaster’s eyes widened in horror as he struggled harder against Agatha’s grip. His breaths became laboured, his body shaking as he tried to claw at the invisible force choking him, as though he could escape Death itself.

Rio’s skeletal hand reached out, her cold fingers brushing against his chin. The touch sent a visible shudder through his body, and he froze, his eyes wild with terror. "You fear me now," she murmured, her voice a haunting echo that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "You should have feared me then."

"Wh-what are you?" the spymaster gasped, his voice barely audible.

"I am Death," she said simply, her skeletal grin widening. Her grip on his chin tightened as she tilted his head, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I’ve come to collect what you owe."

Agatha stepped closer, her magic swirling more violently as her fury reignited. "You wanted to treat her like a pawn, a tool for your ambitions. Now look at you—powerless and pathetic."

The spymaster tried to speak, to protest, but Rio’s skeletal fingers dug deeper into his skin. The room seemed to darken further as she leaned in, her voice soft and chilling. "You will feel every ounce of pain you inflicted on her, every bit of fear and despair you caused. And then," she drawled deliberately, "you will die."

The spymaster’s screams echoed through the estate as Agatha and Rio unleashed their wrath. Agatha’s magic struck like lightning, searing through his body, while Rio’s vines coiled tighter around him, pulling and crushing with merciless precision.

When the end came, it was slow and torturous, his final breath a gurgling plea that fell on deaf ears. As his lifeless body crumpled to the floor, Rio returned to her human form, her dark eyes meeting Agatha’s.

"It’s done," Agatha said, her voice heavy with finality.

As Rio and Agatha turned to leave, their path was interrupted by F/N's father, who stood frozen in the doorway. His face was pale, his hands trembling at his sides as his gaze flicked between the lifeless body of his father and the two women who had so effortlessly ended him.

Rio’s dark eyes bore into him as she stepped closer, her voice low and unyielding. "Be a better father than the monster you served," she said coldly, her words sharp and cutting. Agatha followed, her piercing blue gaze snapping at him with equal intensity. "She deserves a family who will protect her, not one that will destroy her," she added, her tone dripping with disdain. "You have a chance to make amends for the years you failed her. Don’t squander it." The weight of their words hung heavy in the air, but before F/N’s father could respond, a panicked voice cut through the tension.

"You can’t take her," a young boy cried out, his voice trembling with both fear and desperation. He had been standing in the shadows with F/N's mother and sister, his wide eyes darting between the two witches. His voice shaking but firm. "I don’t trust you to take care of her."

Rio raised an eyebrow, a dark glint flashing in her eyes. Agatha, however, didn’t look surprised. She merely tilted her head, her gaze sharpening. "And why is that?" she asked, her voice laced with icy amusement. The brother hesitated, his gaze flicking nervously between them. "Because I’ve heard things," he said finally. "Purple shaman…you cursed her, didn’t you? You were called by another noble house—my friend’s family—to ruin her life. That’s why all this happened, isn’t it?"

Agatha’s hand twitched, a faint crackle of purple magic sparking at her fingertips. Though she didn’t move closer, the charged air between them was palpable. "Am I?" she asked smoothly, her tone unsettlingly calm. Her piercing blue eyes bore into him, making him falter and take an instinctive step back.

"I…" he stammered, visibly unsettled but still holding his ground. "You’re dangerous. Both of you. How do we know you won’t hurt her? How do I know you haven’t already cursed my sister by destroying my family?"

The sharp accusation hung in the air, and Agatha’s magic flared briefly before she reined it in with a deep, steadying breath. She stepped closer, her gaze icy. "Cursed your sister? Destroying your family?" she echoed, her voice dripping with incredulity. Her hand tightened into a fist, the faint glow around her fingers subsiding as she forced herself to remain composed. "And where were you?" she asked softly, her words cutting like a blade. "When was your eldest sister hurting?"

His lips parted, but no sound came out. Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable yet cold. "Where were you when your grandfather beat her when he stripped her of everything but her dignity? Where were you when she was crawling on the floor, protecting your second sister with what little strength she had left?"

"I…" His voice faltered, his resolve cracking under the weight of her words. He averted his gaze, shame flickering in his expression as his inability to answer became painfully obvious.

Agatha tilted her head, her voice softening just enough to be heard over the silence. "Your second sister—she stood up for her. She put herself in harm’s way. But you? You’re here now, questioning the people who saved her, who would die for her." She took a step back, her eyes still fixed on him. "Where was your bravery then?"

Rio, standing quietly until now, let out a low, mocking chuckle. "Seems bravery comes easy when the stakes aren’t as high," she said, her dark eyes gleaming as she crossed her arms. "But don’t mistake our restraint for weakness. If we were here to destroy anything, boy, you wouldn’t have the chance to stand there accusing us."

The young man’s face flushed with anger and humiliation, but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The heavy silence that followed was punctuated only by his sister’s sharp intake of breath and their mother’s muffled sobs from the corner of the room. Agatha's expression was unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed the storm she held within. Agatha took a deliberate step forward, her presence suffocating as she loomed over him. "The only danger she faced," she said quietly, her voice dripping with menace, "was in this house. From your grandfather, from your silence, and from your family’s failures." Her magic sparked again, brighter this time, but she stopped short of doing anything more.

F/N’s father, still standing frozen nearby, finally broke the tension. "Enough," he said, his voice hoarse. His shoulders slumped as he stepped forward, glancing at Agatha and Rio before turning his gaze to his son. "They helped your sister," he said softly, his voice steady but weary. "Let it go."

The young man opened his mouth as if to argue but faltered under his father’s exhausted yet resolute expression. His shoulders sagged, and he looked away, his frustration palpable but muted by the weight of the moment.

Agatha’s sharp gaze lingered on him for a beat longer before she turned her focus back to F/N’s father. Her features softened slightly, though the tension in her posture didn’t fully ease. "Wise words," she said, her tone still edged with steel. "I suggest you all heed them."

Rio gave a slow, approving nod, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of wariness and restrained anger. "The past can’t be changed," she said, her voice calm but firm. "But you’d do well to stop clinging to it before it drags you all down further."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on everyone.

A softer voice cut through. "Am I never going to see her again?" F/N’s sister asked, stepping forward. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears as she looked up at Rio, then Agatha. "Are you taking her away forever?" Rio’s gaze softened for a moment as she glanced at Agatha. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air between them. Agatha pursed her lips, her expression conflicted as she looked at the younger girl. "It’s not our decision," Agatha said finally, her tone quieter now but still firm. "It’s hers."

The sister’s face crumpled slightly, her hands clasping together as if trying to hold herself steady. "Please…just tell her I love her," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Before anyone could say more, F/N’s mother stumbled forward, her tears flowing freely as she sobbed, "Leave us be! Just take her and leave us be!"

Agatha turned sharply, her piercing blue eyes flashing with contempt. "Leave you be?" she echoed coldly, her tone cutting through the mother’s wailing like a blade. "After everything you’ve allowed to happen to her, the only thing you have to say is 'leave us be'? Not even a single question about how she’s doing, whether she’s all right, or if she’ll ever recover?" Her words dripped with venom, each one striking like a whip.

The mother’s sobs grew louder, but she didn’t respond. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of Agatha’s condemnation hanging heavy in the air.

F/N’s mother had always been a coward, too afraid to stand up to her father-in-law and too wary of her eldest daughter’s mysterious power over animals. Her fear had distanced her from F/N, leaving a chasm between them that only deepened over the years. While F/N’s father and siblings had tried in their own ways to protect and connect with her, the mother had kept her distance, retreating into herself rather than confronting the injustices F/N had endured.

Rio shifted slightly, her dark eyes narrowing as she observed the family. "The way she turned out is a surprise to me," she muttered, her voice low but audible enough to cut through the tension. Her tone carried a quiet rage, tempered only by the presence of her wife beside her.

Agatha’s gaze lingered on the family for a moment longer, her expression a mixture of disgust and finality. With sharp, deliberate movements, she turned on her heel. "We’re done here," she said flatly, her tone carrying the weight of a verdict. Without another glance, she strode toward the door, each step heavy with barely contained fury.

Rio followed her pace more measured but no less resolute. As she reached the gate, she paused, her dark eyes narrowing as she glanced back at F/N’s father. "Be better," she said simply, her voice quiet but brimming with unspoken weight. "For her sake, and for theirs."

The silence following her words was deafening. The family stood frozen, the sting of Rio’s statement cutting through the tension like a blade.

The witches strode away together, their departure leaving an indelible mark on the broken family. The room remained still, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged guilt. The brother stood stiffly, his earlier bravado shattered, while the sister sobbed quietly, her trembling hands covering her face. The father, his shoulders slumped under the weight of shame, stared after them, the shadows of his failure etched into every line of his face.

As the door creaked shut behind the two women, the sister’s voice broke through the stillness, a whisper filled with trembling despair. "She’s really gone… isn’t she?"

No one answered. The mother’s tears flowed freely, but she remained silent, her guilt too profound for words. The brother’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight with a mixture of anger and confusion. The father’s head bowed, his voice failing him as the full weight of what had transpired settled over them.

Outside, the witches disappeared into the distance, their path lit only by the flicker of fading lantern light. The echoes of their confrontation hung in the air long after they were gone, leaving the family to grapple with the scars left behind.

[liryquin]

Hellooooo 🥺 could I possibly ask for a tohma fic? Reader finds a tired and overworked Tohma and offers him a moment of rest. He first acts like he’s fine but eventually gives in and lets reader offer him a break ❤️ thank youuuuuu

A rest well needed

for Tohma :p

Tohma Ishibashi x gn!reader

summary: you find the vice-captain in quite a perplexed state. you decide to help him get away from work, at least for this little while.

cw: ooc character/s, lapslock, canon divergence, reader is mc/pc, the nature of your relationship is unspecified though I feel like I leaned into romance here lol, fluff

word count: ≈ 1,5k

a/n: I only have to write for Luca to gather the whole frostheim group here! do people prefer longer or shorter fics? thank you for your request and enjoy :33

proofread ✔️

๑｡‿♡⁠˖༚⑅    everyone knew him as a well-bred man of high origin, or at least they thought they knew the persona he choose to pose in public. Tohma Ishibashi is an extremely responsible man, as you've discovered fairly early into your relationship. despite being in charge of pretty much every single aspect of the dorm's inner business in Jin's absence, he also manages the Darckwick's vault. you can only imagine how much fortitude it takes of a person to be able to have so much on their plate and yet keep a somewhat sustainable social life.

it is no surprise for anyone that Tohma works his days and nights away, be it running around busying himself with errands, attending to some puny matters – the ambiguity makes you a bit wary but you dare not ask further, or holing himself up in his office, engrossed in paperwork. you don't orient much in all that stuff; not that you'd want to anyway, regarding the amount of time the missions you've been performing in with other ghouls consume.

but one thing you know for sure is that even the toughest, bravest warriors need rest from time to time. Tohma seems to struggle losing the habit of taking care of others even in his time off duty – he always asks if you've ate a proper meal today, which might simply seem to be his way of making small talk, or remind you to rest and take proper care of yourself in passing, with you couriering some documents to the staffroom and him rushing past you in the corridors.

even if your ego makes you a bit reluctant to admit it to yourself, but you've grown quite fond of his presence over time. even if he isn't always physically present by your side, you still feel him support you indirectly, even in the most mundane day-to-day things you do. you've been thinking about this for a bit – he's always there for you when you need him to be; actually, he seems to be for everyone else as well. lending a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on and cry on. the more you take notice of his slightly unhinged schedule – thickly packed with chores but without a single minute of rest, the more concern you feel welling up for him.

you didn't catch him for quite some time now, deciding to pay him a little visit after class – or perhaps 'after class' would be an understatement, as the sun was already hanging pretty low above the skyline. your soft steps echo in the halls of frostheim dormitory, sound reflecting from the rather high ceilings and passing back along the walls. the overall bluish color of the environment here always makes you feel at peace – not in the same way hotarubi's steady and gentle rain with a faint melody of biwa heard in the distance does, but instead it makes you feel cool, like all the worry has been lifted off your mind, like the quick rushing of your blood has finally slowed down, allowing you to catch your breath.

the clicking of your uniform shoes carries on to the entrance to his office. lost in thought, you don't think anyone's heard you approach the door as you sense no movement from the other side. you give three careful knocks to the door, your knuckles coming in contact with it's surface and exuding a shallow sound. a formal, albeit a little bit strained, you made a mental note, voice resounded from the inside, "you may enter". you don't object and twist the doorknob, letting yourself in.

the dusk sinks in, making some viscous shadows gather in the corners; the lights in the room are dim – only a thin string of it present to illuminate the desk you see Tohma hunched over, pooling down from his tabletop lamp. you glimpse up at his face, taking in the scrutinizing expression etched into his elegant features. his ashy-blond brows are absentmindedly drawn together towards the bridge of his nose, his gaze cast downward, not even bothering to greet his late visitor properly. you guess he knew it was you, somehow, otherwise he wouldn't act so... relaxed. consider this a privilege, as he seems to be the type of person to pay some mind to even the most miniscule details of someone's personality, down to the way they walk or breath. his usual navy blue coat is discarded, left to sit on the back of his chair. it's surprising to see him out of his formal attire for a common eye.

you hesitantly clear your throat before you started to speak. "Tohma", you called out, and your voice came out unexpectedly soft. without another word, you proceeded toward him. your footsteps halt right behind his chair, and he realizes the warmth of your palms laying on his shoulders, the feeling especially comforting in comparison to frostheim's chill – the warmth that no cloth or blanket can provide.

there is a short pause before he places the pen he was writing with down, you noticing a few ink stains on his slender fingers. he cranes his head to gaze up at you, and you think you're glad that you're close enough for him to drop the formalities at least when only you are around – no one else is granted the pleasure of seeing him so vulnerable. al vulnerable as Tohma Ishibashi can be, at least. "I didn't expect you", thesw words left his lips followed by another tired sigh.

your can't help but look over the papers in front of him with curiosity – one imposing stack to his left, and another even bigger to his right. how come there's so much? your best conclusion is paychecks, and even with the amount of expensive stuff at the dorm's disposal, they still do not amount to even half of the documents. you gently press your palms into his shoulders, feeling him leaning back into your touch. "how long have you been at it?" – you don't think before the thought rolls off your tongue.

"does it matter?" his reply is as curt and matter-of-factly as ever. "that is my duty as a vice-captain" – your hands wander down his arms while you think of how to counter, and there's comfortable weight applied over your chest – Tohma leans into your frame completely, the back of his head comfortably rested against your torso.

a thick veil of silence falls over both of you again. it doesn't feel bothersome at all, but instead cosy and quite enjoyable to simply bask into it. you place your chin atop of his head, emmiting a quiet 'oh?' sound from him. your arms now snaking around his neck hugging him and cradling close to your body, as much as the position allowed you. "thank you for working so hard", you affectionately press your cheek to the crown of his head, the disheveled strands of his hair tickle your face making you stiffle a giggle. it's soft, his appearance almost seemingly unaffected by a long list of assignments he's completed today – he still looks as pristine and perfect. you admire his hair framing his face so sophisticatedly, casting purplish shadows on his pale skin. "you take care of a lot of things. you should do the same to yourself, too".

due to the way you're situated standing over him, the way the corners of his lips lift curled into a coy smile escapes your field of vision. it's most likely the final glare of the setting sun glimpsing through the window's glass that makes it look like his cheeks are dusted in peachy pink, right? "how about I make you some tea? or coffee, what would you prefer?" – you quickly added. Tohma doesn't protest nor does he deny your offer, perhaps you did the right thing coming in to check on him tonight. "that would be very well appreciated. but do you know where the kitchen is?"

you opened you eyes, staring nowhere in particular. it's not like frostheim is your permanent place of residence! you've only had the chance to partly acquaint yourself with the dorm's layout whenever you paid a visit, about nine times out of ten for measure, for very important business! you don't have the time to roam around aimlessly when you have much more meaningful tasks to turn your attention to. noting your silence, but making no comment on it namely, you feel Tohma shake your arms off himself, standing up from his seat.

"come, I'll show you. I'd like to spend my break together with you, if you don't mind?" – he takes your hand in his, and your gaze slides up his frame only to be met with his greyish blue eyes staring back at you. it isn't the same watchful, evaluating look that he always carries – there is undeniable tenderness behind it. you didn't expect the pleasant, buzzy feeling to spread out in your chest like blooming spring flowers. Tohma will let you be his knight in shining armor for tonight, whisking him away from his exhausting routine to a glorious new world, entirely foreign to him prior to his meeting with you ˖⑅~๑‿｡ ⁠.̮⁠ ｡`

[divinitysotherside]

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

PRAISE ME , KING !

⋆˚✿˖° . the king of curses, ryomen sukuna, is actually gentle?

a/n . go easy on me this is my first time writing smut :) (it’s kinda obvious)

contents . reader is an adult , soft!sukuna

warnings . mentions of abuse , gentle sukuna , trueform!sukuna , fingering , unprotected sex , praise , p in v sex

Ryomen Sukuna was known by a lot of people, not in a good way. He was feared, and even the bravest of all couldn’t help but melt under his piercing gaze. Sukuna had multiple servants, ahem, and concubines.

One day, the people of the West Village came by his mansion to give their offering to the King of Curses. A concubine.

Sukuna eyed the man who led you to the throne, bowing down in front of the marked beast. “Alright, just get to the point. What’dya have for me?” Sukuna grumbles, sighing.

“H–here they are,” The man spoke, voice shaking with fear. He gestures over to you, who was just standing there and looking at the ground.

Sukuna observes you for a short bit, before shrugging. “You can get out now.” He gestures over, and the man quickly came running away.

“Alright, let’s see if you’re any good.” Sukuna stands up from his throne, approaching you. He grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him, making his grin fade.

“You look.. soulless.” Sukuna commented, tilting your head around for further inspection. The thing that caught him off-guard was your eyes. They had.. no emotion. Almost as if it was soulless.

Due to Sukuna’s orders, Uraume led you to your new room. “Lord Sukuna will be requesting your presence later. Please prepare yourself.” Uraume bowed, before leaving your room.

After a few minutes of you just silently sitting in your room, Uraume knocked on your door, before opening it. “Lord Sukuna is now in need of your presence.”

Walking to his room, Uraume opens the door, letting you step in. As soon as the door closed, the faint sound of Uraume leaving was the only thing that you could hear.

It was awkward, standing there, while the King of Curses was looking at you. “Come,” he gestures over to you, and you hesitantly step forward.

When you reached him, Sukuna grabbed your wrist. “Let’s train you, little concubine.” He mutters, pulling you closer to him.

He put his large hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer. When his rough lips pressed against your softer ones, you felt surprised. Despite his monstrous appearance, he was unexpectedly gentle.

Your eyes widen, and you find yourself kissing him back.

Sukuna wasn’t any beginner with these, as expected, but he surely wasn’t expecting you to kiss back. You looked so soulless, so hurt.

But I guess this was the first time you were treated gently.

He slowly, carefully placed you on his bed, his tongue continuing to ravage yours. Sukuna finally pulled away, a string of saliva marking as evidence to your lips’ encounter.

He began to take off the robe you’re wearing. Rough, calloused hands untying the knot of your clothing. Sukuna leaned down, pressing soft kisses on your ear.

“Is this okay?” He asked, looking into your soulless eyes. Sukuna knew they did something to you, but he’ll deal with that later.

As you were left bare before him, he grabbed your thigh and pushed it back, positioning you in a mating press.

He paused, though. Sukuna thought of how fragile you were, and maybe.. he’ll stretch you out first, so you can take him. Even though he wasn’t a big fan of stretching out the hole he was gonna use, he liked to see his concubines scream in pain as his cock splits them open.. but you’re different.. in a way.

Sukuna’s other hand sneaked down between your legs, rubbing your small hole. You squirmed underneath him, but he held you down. Pushing one of his fingers in, he felt how tight you were.

Fuck, you could barely take one finger. He’ll spend a bit of time stretching. “Relax f’me, ’kay? This won’t hurt if you just relax..” Sukuna coos, a second finger prodding at your entrance.

“Hnngh—noo..” You whined, attempting to squirm away. “Relax, relax.” He whispered, pushing the second finger in. Sukuna whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he stretched you, his long fingers curling in your walls as you came. “Mm, good, came for me.”

Wait a damn minute. If you were a concubine offering, why the fuck did they not stretch you out before you were offered? Sukuna scoffed, knowing he’ll turn that village into ruins after this.

After you were properly stretched, Sukuna pulled his fingers out of you, kissing your tears away. “See? Wasn’t so bad, no?”

He positioned himself, the head of his cock prodding at your entrance. “Shh, shh.. relax, I’ll go slow.” Sukuna slowly pushed in, his dick disappearing inside of you. “Shit.. this hole’s eatin’ me up..”

“Fuck,” he cursed, pausing to let you adjust. You sobbed, tears streaming down your flushed face. “Don’t cry, it’s okay..” Sukuna mutters, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

When he finally buried himself fully inside of you, he groaned, gripping your thighs. “Aight, ya ready?” Sukuna asked you first, waiting for you to nod before pulling out where only his tip is in, and thrusting back in.

He continued this pace, slowly thrusting into you. Sukuna can’t lie, even though he prefers it rough, he feels good. Maybe it’s your sweet hole? Or the pace he’s setting up? Either way, he’s enjoying himself.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss. You wrap your tiny arms around him, his cock still thrusting in and out of your warm hole. “Fuck, fuck.. makin’ me feel amazing..”

Just as he’s about to cum, he pulls out, the white spurts landing on your stomach and thighs. Sukuna pants, that was incredible. But.. how?

He looks at your face, giving your jaw gentle kisses before finally cleaning you up.

It wasn’t like Sukuna to go soft on these trainings, but he just felt this random urge to be nice to you. He’ll manage with this soft side.. for you.

You slept in his bed, but Sukuna could care less. He knew that the way your soulless eyes widened earlier was because.. that village hurt you.

He will definitely come back to that village to destroy it, but for now, all he sees is your sleeping form.