#pure timber

[boringsickness]

Bernard is once again questioned by Tim's family about his theories.

Bernard: look, they pay me good money, i have fun with it and I'm not harming anyone. what's the problem?

Tim: ...they pay you?

Bernard, proud: yup. 20$ every 100 words.

Batfam: [completely silent]

Tim: but I can give you money if you need?

Steph: aw, r u sad bc you can't be his sugardaddy anymore?

Tim, blushing: NO!

Bernard, whispering to him: dw, i do love being your sugar baby.

[mizzfizz]

literally

[verifiablebot]

little snow flurries (on the ground) (and in my fold)

[pure-mornings]

To do what he does I feel like I would have to become an architect of restraint. My first comedic idol about timing was @thathippiechick18 in college. She just had the best, most perfect zingers ever that would come out of left field and TPKO everyone around her. I aspire to be as funny as she was when we were in college together. She taught me the value of timing.

What I find so entertaining about Zac Oyama's comedy style isn't even the timing that everyone always talks about, it's his ability to create a full scene that feels like it's part of a longer story. Sometimes mostly through body language and expressions and with only a few words.

Like the "giving up halfway through telling a story" bit? He played this so real. He gave so many specific details. A place, a time, two other people with names, what food they serve, roughly the time when he's last been there, names of the games!!!! Like this scene does not exist in a vacuum. There are things that happened before and things that happened after. He even starts the scene like he is in the middle of a conversation! This is full on just a little glimpse into somebodies life.

Same with the "small talk at the dentist" prompt. And the only thing he says in that is "I was in class with his younger brother"! I can practically feel the presence of the dentist in that scene and he's not even real!!!

Other examples are the "trying to start a chant during a speech" and "bass part in an acapella song that doesn't have many bass parts " prompts. It absolutely feels like there are more people around him that are part of this scene.

How does he do it?

[mapecl-stories]

[lokis-army-77]

Private Viewing

Camboy!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 6.8k

What happens when your favorite camboy is in your class? You should stop watching his content... or should you? What happens when you are eventually paired together for a project? Everything will be just fine, won't it?

Warning: 18 +. This is pure fucking filth. Spit, masturbation (m and f), use of vibrators and fleshlight, choking, multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f reviving), fingering, voyeurism? Soft!dom Eddie, tell me if I'm missing anything.

Thank you @lesservillain for giving me this wonderful idea. 💗 and @munson-blurbs for figuring out if I should do this for Steve or Eddie and for helping give me a title💗.

Masterlist

Nothing but slick sounds filled your room, the occasional deep moan calling out from your laptop speakers accompanying your own sweet cries. The guy on the screen, Ed as he called himself, or DungeonMaster as he was known on Only Fans and Twitter, was fisting his cock in his heavily ringed hand. He was putting on a show for more than ten thousand viewers but the way he stared down the camera with those dark eyes made you think he was watching you, fucking his hand to the way you were pumping your fingers in and out of your soaking wet pussy. 

You had stumbled upon his Twitter three months ago and he immediately captured your eye. The way his tattoos wrapped around his pale skin, how he wasn’t all lean muscle like the other OF guys, his tummy by no means a six-pack but he still looked strong enough to sweep you off your feet with ease. His moans were heavenly and so was the deep timber of his force as he praised you through the thirty-second video clip. It was all enough to convert you from your usual consumption of smutty books to the infamous Only Fans sight. 

Since then, his streams and videos have become the one and only thing you get off to. And like then, tonight was no exception. 

You were so close to the edge, Ed’s moans spurring you on. Your fingers move at an almost inhuman pace in and out, in and out. 

“Rub that clit for me, baby. Need you to cum.” He groaned, head resting on his shoulder as he continued you pleasure himself. 

“Fuck!” You gasp as you rub your clit with your free hand. Your rhythm is horribly off but it doesn’t matter, you are so close to cumming. So so so close. “Please,” you beg out into your empty room. You aren’t too sure why or what you are pleading for. More friction? More fingers? More words of encouragement from him? Maybe you’re asking to cum? 

It’s like he had heard you through the screen as he moaned out, “That’s a good girl. Just like that. Doing so well for me. You gonna cum baby? Yeah? Me too. Want me to count for you?” He nods his head lazily. “I knew you would baby. Okay. Five.”

You want to cry.

“Four.” 

The strings tugging inside you are becoming taut.

“Three.”

You feel like you’re going to explode. He’s counting too slowly.

“Two.”

The tears are flowing now.

“One.”

You let out a strangled scream.

“Cum baby. Do it, now.”

Your walls clench around your fingers and your legs snap shut, trapping your fingers. Every muscle in your body is shuddering as those strings snap and your release comes out in a stream, wetting your hand and the bed. Your hearing has gone, there’s a ringing in your ears but you can faintly hear Ed cumming as well. 

With watery vision and slow movements, you turn to face your laptop screen just in time to see his tattoo-covered chest painted with milky white ropes of cum. 

When the ringing subsides you hear him say more clearly, “Thata girl. Always make me cum so much.” He takes a towel and wipes off his chest and stomach before adjusting the camera view to the shoulders up. “Get you some rest baby, I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

And then the live is over. 

Slowly, sluggishly, you remove your hands from between your legs and begin the now regular clean-up routine before going to bed. 

…

Three days later, Thursday rolls around, and thus begins the fall semester of your junior year of college. It’s a groggy morning, everyone is tired and very unenthusiastic about having an 8 a.m. advanced music composition class. 

You had struggled to get out of bed at six this morning just to get one of the dorm showers first before they were all taken up. Luckily two of the five were open and you were able to get to class a whole twenty minutes early, even having time to grab coffee at the on-campus Starbucks on the way.

The music building was old and the tables you and your fellow students sat at were even older. It all added to the sleepy ambiance. Your eyes drooped and you yawned every time someone else did, the black coffee you had chugged not doing anything for you. 

You’re only awoken when your professor, a stout old man with a very severe receding hairline, slams open the door to the classroom a little too hard and it hits the brick wall, creating a loud, startling bang. 

He apologizes before making his introduction.  He then gets out a clipboard with a sheet attached and hands it off to a girl in the front row, instructing everyone to fill in their name and school email for his role sheet.

It’s only once you’ve finished and passed the clipboard on, that you notice the guy two seats down from you looks vaguely familiar. You can’t quite put a finger on it and it bugs you. 

His hair is pulled back into a messy bun and his clothes make him look like the alternative guy of your dreams back in high school. He’s got rings on almost every finger and an aura that just screams confidence. 

It begins to become a problem, your inability to place this guy's face. You’ve only taken a handful of notes the entire first hour and thirty minutes into this two-hour class. Your eyes are constantly staring at him no matter how hard you try to make yourself pay attention. 

Then, he raises his hand to answer one of your professor's questions. That’s when it clicks. Your pen falls from your grasp and your mouth forms an O. 

“Oh my fucking god. No. It can’t be.” You think to yourself but just to be sure you take out your phone, turn the brightness and volume down, and hide it under the table. You open Twitter as fast as you can and you don’t even have to look for his user, he’s the first post on the screen. 

Ed @ DungeonMaster86 was boldly displayed above a picture of the guy sitting next to you with his massive dick in his hand. 

It’s a wonder you weren’t caught with how you practically choked on thin air and began furiously looking from your phone to the guy and then back to your phone. 

Your stomach drops. You can’t keep watching his videos, can you? That wouldn’t be right. That would be weird, watching the porn your classmate makes. 

When class is finally called to an end you pack up as quickly as you can and bolt out the door to your next class, hoping that by getting away from Ed, you'd be able to concentrate. Out of sight, out of mind.

That statement turns out to be false when he is in your next class and when you spot him in the student commons talking with another guy. It's like once you made the connection of who he was, he was everywhere.

…

Arriving back at your dorm, you throw your backpack on your desk, snatch your laptop out of it, and struggle to jump up onto your bed. Never had you been so thankful for the single dorm than this moment as your curser hovered over the bookmarked Only Fans page at the top of your screen. No roommate meant no one would see the moral dilemma you were currently losing with yourself. 

‘You know him, it’s wrong to keep watching his videos.”

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him though. The only way he would know you are watching is if you tell him, you aren’t going to tell him, are you?’

‘No…’ 

‘Then it’s okay, it’ll just add an extra element of taboo to his streams. Plus, he’d miss you in the chat.’

You sigh as the devil on your shoulder wins out once again, talking you into something you know you shouldn’t be. But hey, it feels good to be bad. 

Steadily, you click on his bookmarked profile and the first thing to pop up is the live stream that is currently in session. And against your better judgment, you enter the stream.

He’s only just started, people are slowly filtering in. Ed is sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, and a singular, ringed hand teasing himself through his black jeans. 

You breathe a sigh as he looks into the camera, eyes half-lidded, luring you in. It does the job, because in an instant your fingers are typing out a message in chat. 

Princess23: hi Ed

His eyes flicker as he reads his messages, smiling as he replies to you. "Hi, Princess. How's my girl been?"

There's a bubble of excitement at the fact that he recognizes your username, even if you've been a regular in the chat for months.

Princess23: stressful… you've been distracting me.

The reply to his question is truer than he realizes. 

"Aww, princess, is that so? You've been thinking of me?" He leans back on his free elbow, still groping himself with the other hand.

Princess23: yes. been thinking about your cock, how much I want it in my mouth. 

It's one of the less bold comments you make but it makes you blush all the same, especially now.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth? Of yours?"

Princess23: yes please

"Mmm." He hums, fingers now fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans. 

You set your laptop to the side and start to situate yourself. Slowly taking your clothes off one by one. 

Ed replies to a few more comments before announcing that it's time to start.

He leaves the screen for just a moment before coming back with something in his hand. Smirking at the camera he shows it. A flashlight in the shape of a mouth.

"This one’s for you, Princess. Since you need my dick so bad," Ed explains. He sets it on his bed before making a show of taking his jeans and boxers off. 

As you watch, your hands roam your body. Fingers pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples before trailing down. The light touch over your ribs makes you giggle. Then you rub and scratch at the inside of your thighs. 

Ed's moans are now coming through your speakers, you tilt your head to watch.

"Spit on my cock baby, get it nice and wet for me." He commands before spitting in his own hand and rubbing it on his thick length. 

"Your mouth looks so pretty like this, waiting, drooling for me. Need me to fill it so bad don't you, baby?" 

"Yes." You answer him breathlessly, fingers teasing around your mound. 

You watch and he sits back down on his bed, thighs spread, a hand cupping his balls and the other grabbing the fleshlight. He lets out a long, drawn-out moan when he inserts his cock into the fake mouth. 

"Fuck baby, your mouth feels so perfect." 

You can't help but whine. Allowing your fingers to finally circle your clit. 

The both of you go one like this for a bit. Him fucking the fleshlight and you massaging your clit. But then you need more, more than your hand can give you. So you reach to your bedside table, stretching at an uncomfortable angle to open the drawer and pull out the purple mini wand you kept there.

The vibrations start slow and constant as you press the toy to your clit. It pulls soft, quiet noises from you as you watch your computer screen. Your mind is blank, filled only with the pretty sounds Ed is making, the way his body looks, and the pleasure between your legs.

There are no thoughts. You follow his lead. When his hand speeds up, you kick up the vibrations, when he slows down, you turn the vibrator back to the first level. 

It's a rollercoaster, almost, taking your pleasure for a ride. The stream isn't even done yet when you feel that tight pull in your abdomen. The toy works you up fast. 

So you stop. Taking the toy away and changing positions. On your hands and knees, you hug a pillow to your chest and prop the toy up under you, keeping it standing as you push your clit down onto it. It's not even on and it's making your hips buck in sensitivity.

You turn it back on and immediately feel the slick seeping from your cunt and running down the toy. 

"Oh fuck," you cry.  Your eyes locked on the screen where Ed has also changed positions. 

He's got his own toy lying on the bed and he's laying over it. The way his leg and glute muscles contract as he thrusts into the toy has you memorized. 

He chants, "Baby, baby, baby." Over and over. What you would give to have him chanting your name instead. Like a prearranged falling from his lips, praising you, worshiping you.

The need for him grows and so does the tightness in your core. 

Reaching your hand down you turn the speed up. Your hips buck into the toy and you bury your face in the pillow. You're close.

He’s not far behind. Peering up from your pillow you can see his thrusts are sputtering. Sporadic as he draws close to his end. 

“God dammit, baby. Gonna cum in this perfect mouth of yours. Fuck. Can you swallow it like the good pet you are? Hum? The good pet I know you can be?”

“Yes.” You turn up the vibrator. “Fuck, wanna swallow all of you. Please.” 

The vibrations are becoming too much but you keep the toy pressed into you, hips shaking at the feeling of being overstimulated. 

Without warning, you cum with a guttural cry into your pillow. Body spasming, muscles twitching. You can still hear Ed moaning and the sloppy sounds of his cock fucking the fleshlight. 

With barely any energy you reach down between your heavy body and the bed and turn your toy off. You don’t even bother with your computer, too exhausted and fucked out to exit the stream. You fall asleep to the sounds of your new classmate's self-pleasure. 

…

It’s October now. The semester is halfway over and you’ve still been watching Ed, or Eddie. You learned his actual name in class when your professor called role on him by name the second week. 

Today you are being assigned a partner for the final project. You have your fingers crossed that Eddie won’t be chosen as your partner but as your professor calls out pairs, it seems luck is against you. 

You freeze when your name is called and directly after so is Eddie’s. You groan internally. How the hell are you supposed to do this? You already have trouble concentrating when he sits two seats away, what’s going to happen when he actually interacts with you?

There isn’t much time to think about that as he abruptly moves from his seat to the one directly next to you. 

“Hi.” He says, eyes bright and expectant. “I’m Eddie.” He holds out his hand for you to shake but you just stare at him. He looks at you curiously before waving his hand in front of your face. “Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

You snap out of your stupor and accept his hand, shaking it as you introduce yourself. “Sorry. I was a bit out of it.” You say, trying to play it off as you just staring off into space. 

“No problem.” He smiles. “Uh, do you want to exchange numbers so we can figure out when we can work on this together?” 

“Oh, yeah. Here,” You open your phone and push it to him with the messages app open. “You can text yourself.” 

He does just that, even going as far as putting in his contact name as Eddie with the skull and crossbones emoji beside it. 

“Great. I’ll text you when I’m free. I have work on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes on Saturdays, but other than that I’m usually free.”

You nearly choke when you realize he’s given you his streaming schedule. “I- uh. Okay. Just text me when you can.”

"Sure thing sweetheart." He grins at you before standing, grabbing his things, and heading out of class along with the rest of the students. 

You sit there for a minute, thinking. God, what are you getting yourself into?

…

You both have finally come up with meeting times that work for both of you. Tuesday and Wednesday after seven. Giving you time to get to the school library after the closing shift at your on-campus job. 

It’s been two weeks of working together on this project and it’s been easier than you had originally thought to concentrate on the task at hand and keep your dirty thoughts at bay. 

Right now, you are both sitting in one of the private study rooms looking at Eddie’s computer as he explains why this particular cord progression would fit with the emotions you are trying to convey in your composition. 

You sigh, “Eddie, as much as I love that sound, I really don’t think it fits with the overall composition of the song. It isn’t as emotionally charged as I’d like it to be.”

“Well show me something similar to what you’re wanting.” He rakes his hand through his hair. It’s been a long night for each of you. It seems that every new section of the song you are creating for the project gives you a new challenge to work through together. 

You pull out your phone and Eddie leans over to watch as you begin to type. There is a particular song you are thinking of that has the weight and emotion you are trying to convey with your own music and as you type the first letter of the song, O, the first suggestion that pops up is onlyfans/DungeonMaster. 

Mortified, you slam your phone down on the table. Eddie looks at you with an eyebrow raised. 

“What was that?” He asks.

“What was what?” You answer. 

“Why did you slam your phone down?”

“Oh, I just forgot the title of the song.”

“Right…” He scratches under his chin and then stretches back in his chair. “Why don’t we call it quits for tonight? It’s getting late and we aren’t going to agree on anything if we’re both tired.”

A yawn suddenly comes up out of nowhere and you then realize how tired you actually are. “That sounds good to me.” You agree with Eddie and begin packing up your things. You don’t want to be with him longer than you need to be right now, even if he seemingly didn’t notice his OF user pop up on your phone screen. 

“Bye Eddie.” You wave to him on your way out the door.

Faintly you hear him call out to you, giving a goodbye of his own. "See ya, sweetheart."

… 

After your little slip, you began avoiding Eddie. At least in person, you still tuned into his streams. You bailed on the next three meetups you had planned, helping only through voice notes and text. Eddie said he understood when you said your boss was forcing you to stay late to deep clean. 

It was Thursday now and when you saw him in class he barely looked your way and you wondered if he had seen what you hoped he had not. 

You tried stopping him once your lecture was over, feeling an anxiousness creeping into your mind. Your conscience had been telling you to come clean. To explain your perversion. Let him know you watched him, that you paid to enjoy seeing him fuck into a toy or his hand. 

You called out his name and reached for his arm. "Eddie."

He turns to you. "Hum?"

You take a deep breath to ground yourself. "I wanted to say sorry for not being able to come help with the project."

"It's okay, you said you had work." He replies, unbothered. 

"No, Eddie, I didn't get held back at work. That was a lie."

He doesn't look all too surprised. 

"I've kinda been avoiding you because- well, because of what I think you might have seen on my phone that day."

Eddie stops you there. "Can this wait until later? I've really got some errands to run before work."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry to keep you Ed." You had meant it as a nickname but as it came pushing past your lips it was too late to take it back. You had never heard anyone call him that outside of his onlyfans. 

You watched as his eyes widened at the name and a spark went off behind them. "I'll see you later sweetheart." The smirk he gives you isn't the usual playful one you'd seen him throw before. No, this was sinister, like he knew.

Your heart fell into your stomach as you watched him walk away, leaving you alone.

Tonight as you logged into the stream, it wasn’t to get off. It was to see if he'd show any signs of knowing you might be lurking about among the thousands of viewers.

When the video loads, Eddie is sitting in his desk chair. He's talking to the chat like he always does. There's something different in the atmosphere around him, mischief if you've placed it correctly. 

He keeps replying to comments until the clock reaches 6:10. It's time for the show to begin. 

"Tonight I have a very special treat for you guys." Eddie starts as he reaches over just off camera to his desk. "I've got the wand out." 

The chat erupts. Eddie doesn't bring his vibrator out often, but when he does, you know it's going to be a good show for every party involved. 

"I would also like to say hello to a special quest in the stream tonight." Eddie’s smirk gets bigger and your heart pounds in your chest. "Hi, sweetheart. Hope you enjoy yourself." 

You feel like you've been shot. There's a ringing in your ears and your breathing has stopped. 

He knows. Fuck. He definitely knows. You've never heard him say that pet name on camera. It's always babe or baby when he refers to the collective whole watching the stream. Eddie has only ever used that name with you.

Eddie starts up the vibrator, tracing it over his covered cock. He hums at the feeling, loud and long. 

You clench your thighs together. You tell yourself you should stop watching but you can't bring yourself to. 

'He knows." You argue with yourself.

'But he wants you to watch. Why else would he say his pet name for you? Why else would he say he hopes you enjoy yourself? He knows and he likes it.'

The devil on your shoulder makes sense again and you curse it. 

So, you watch. Intently, you watch. Your eyes never leave the screen. 

Eddie whimpers once he has his cock out of his pants. The tip is a deep purple/red color, showing how worked up he's gotten already.

He lets his head fall back, resting on his chair as he moves the vibrator down to his balls. He presses it into himself before dragging it up his shaft and to the head. 

You feel a wetness seeping into the cotton of your panties and as his legs widen, yours press together more. 

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, sweetheart." Eddie moans, mouth open slack and eyes squeezed shut. 

You can't believe he's saying your pet name and making those noises. You wonder what he's thinking about. How you'd look sucking on his cock? Maybe what it would be like to be pounding into you, watching your cunt suck him in and clench around him. 

Eddie grits his teeth when he turns the speed up. One hand is holding the vibrator just at the frenulum while the other is cupping and squeezing his balls. 

Your thoughts are running wild and your hips have started to rock in search of some kind of friction.

He moves his hand from his balls and begins to tug on his shaft. Deep guttural moans fill the air, and the sound of them turns you on even more. 

It's not long before Eddie is bucking his cock into his hand. You can see his muscles straining in his legs as he does. 

"Fuck fuck fuck- ah fuck sweetheart, you've got me so close. Fuck." His voice is pinched. You can see the exhaustion in the furrow of his eyebrows as he pressed the vibrator over his tip, the change in placement making his hips shudder. “God, I’m gonna cum. The thought of you is gonna make me cum, sweetheart.” 

Hearing his breathy, deep, timber of a voice say that the thought of you was going to do him in had you thinking you might just cum too. No touching required, just Eddie and his beautiful noises. 

In a matter of seconds, Eddie is choking on his words as his balls go taut. He lets out a drawn-out grunt and ropes of cum begin to spurt out over his chest, covering him like a painting. He doesn’t even bother to clean himself up before he looks into the camera and says good night, chuckling when he mentions your particular pet name again. Then, the screen goes dark. 

…

Fridays are slow in the used bookshop you work at. Especially after 4:30. No one had been inside in maybe an hour? Your boss left early, leaving you alone to close down at 6. For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve been putting misplaced books back where they belong, sweeping, and tidying up anything else you see. 

Because of the usual slowness, you have your headphones on. The music isn’t loud but it does drown out the sound of the bell chiming as someone enters the building. You are unaware of the person creeping up behind you until you are suddenly turned around and corralled against the bookshelf. 

You let out an alarmed screech only for your mouth to be covered by a big, warm hand. Your headphones fall to the floor beside you as they are accidentally knocked off your head. You hear his voice then, whispering in your ear. 

“Hi, Sweetheart.” 

“Eddie-” You heave, relieved it wasn’t someone coming to kill you in cold blood.

“Did you enjoy my show last night?” He leans back, caressing a strand of hair away from your face. 

You shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You deny. Even after you had told yourself you would come clean to him, granted that was before you knew he knew your secret. 

“You don’t know, do you? I think you do why else would my account have popped up on your search suggestions the other day?” 

Keeping your mouth shut, you refuse to answer. 

Eddie takes your chin between his fingers and moves your face to the side as he leans into you. His lips tickle the shell of your ear as he speaks again. “So… Which one of my subs are you? Hum?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. 

Eddie tuts. “Don’t get all shy on me. Tell me. Now.” His tone is dominating. It’s one thing to hear it over a computer speaker, it's another when you hear it in person. His presence alone had your knees knocking. 

“I-I,” You can't help but stutter. “It’s Princess23.” You shamefully tell him your user, eyes looking anywhere but his.

He sucks in a breath. “Oh, Princess. That was you?”

He forces you to look at him and you nod your head. 

You hate that he’s making you look him in the eye, but you can see what’s swirling around deep within them. Desire, lust, dominance, but nothing mean. Nothing hurtful. 

As you watch him, you catch the minute changes in his expression. His jaw clenches and his eyes darken, a hunger taking over as he stares you down. 

“I can give you a private show if you want, baby.” He leans back in. “Right here,” He nipps at your ear lobe. “Right now.” 

“Eddie, we can’t… We’re at my work.” 

He looks around you, head swiveling to peer down both ends of the aisle. “It’s fine Sweetheart, no one’s here but us, right?”

“Yes, but-”

He cuts you off with a finger over your lips. 

“Then let me show you why the real thing is so much better than what you’ve seen online.” He doesn’t give you time to think before his lips are on yours. 

They are soft, almost pillow-like as they mold against yours. His tongue slithers its way into your mouth, tasting you, he moans when he does. 

To you, he tastes like menthol cigarettes and black coffee with the faintest hint of weed. It’s intoxicating, and addicting. You’ve only had one taste and now you won't be able to function without him.  

His hand cups your cheek and pulls you closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair. His body keeps you pinned to the shelves and he spreads your legs by inserting one of his own between them.

With him being so much taller than you, it only takes you barely bending your knees for you to make contact with his thigh. You are thankful when he doesn’t stop you from humping his leg. The friction of you rubbing yourself against him has the seam of your pants pressing against your clit. It’s a wonderful pressure that leaves your mind blank. 

When he pulls away, you follow, not wanting his mouth to leave yours. Eddie chuckles when you give a needy whine. 

"It's okay baby, I'll give you what you want." He coos. "But first, since you wanna get yourself off, you've got to make yourself cum on my leg."

You pout. "But Eddie…"

"Ah ah, don't complain sweet girl, you'll only make it take longer. Now get to work."

You do as he says, rolling your hips with purpose against him. He doesn't help you at all, he only provides support and kissed along your jaw every few seconds as he watches you work. 

It's harder than you thought it would be. The layers of denim dulled the sensations yet added to the tension your clit felt as the fabric rubbed against it. 

"Mmm, fuck." You gasp, fingers gripping onto Eddie’s shoulders. "M'so close. Eddie, I'm so close."

He smiles at you and he gives your body gentle touches. "That's it, Princess. Let go. Being such a good girl for me."

You moan loudly at his praise. 

"That right sweet girl, use me to get yourself off. That's it, keep going."

His words are spurring you on, your hips, although losing their rhythm and steadiness, keep going strong. Then, you feel it. That tautness in your tummy and the ache in your bones. You are so close.

"Please, Eddie. Ah- so close. Need more." Your words are short and your hips move faster. 

"What is it, baby? What do you need?" Eddie asks, willing to give you just a little.

"Kiss me again," you beg. 

He obliges. Taking your face in his hands and practically devouring you. 

The canter of your hips stalls as your body shudders against him. A sticky wetness can now be felt,  uncomfortably, between your legs.

"So good for me." He praises.

You can feel how hard he is, his needy cock prominently pressing into your thigh.

"Wanna feel you. Eddie please, I need to feel you." You're practically begging him to fuck you now.

"Yeah, sweet girl? You need me to stretch that pretty pussy on my dick? Make you feel so good, baby." He trailed his kiss down to your neck, stopping only to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. 

You nod frantically. "Yes, yes Eddie. Need you inside me."

Hands rush to unbutton pants, fingers caress bare skin, breaths hitch. You tug at Eddie's pants impatiently as he pulls your own down. The sudden feeling of cold air hitting the pool of slick between your thighs. 

You are both a whirlwind of arms and clothes and a few books falling from their shelf. Eddie’s fingers make their way to your center, exploring between your folds. 

You throw your head back, cracking it on the shelf above. "Ow," You moan out in pain.

"Careful there, Sweetheart." He gives you another kiss and moves his unoccupied hand to cradle your head.

The pain is instantly forgotten when two of his thick fingers circle your clit before pushing into your entrance.

"Mmmm- god." He feels so good inside you, fingers curling into your walls. The wet slick of him moving fills the stagnant air of the bookstore.

"You're sucking me in, baby. Pussy squeezing me so tight." Eddie rests his forehead on yours, his breath mixing with your own. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Gasping in response, you buck your hips up into his hand. "More-"

It doesn't take much convincing for Eddie to pull his hand from between your legs and position his hard length at your entrance. Slowly he slips inside, meeting no resistance with how wet you are. 

Eddie pushes into you, cock stretching you out farther than you think you've ever been before. His one hand rests on the back of your head while the other pushes your shaking hand out of his way as he goes to press it against your neck.

You grasp his arm, nails scratching his skin as he chokes you. 

"Oh- oh, Eddie. Fuck me." You cry, cunt fluttering around him. 

Your words are music to his ears. His pace begins steadily. In and out at a lazy, leisurely speed. Then he picks it up, hips bucking faster and faster. 

He's giving it all to you. Everything you've dreamed of since you saw him on your Twitter all those months ago.

The head of his cock is repeatedly hitting that one spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. You can’t keep yourself up. The feelings coursing through you have your knees buckling and Eddie does a good job at catching your weight. 

He stops his movements to try and situate you. “Come on, baby, gotta stand up.” 

You shake your head. “I can’t, s’too much.” Your heart is pounding in your chest, if you even tried to stand you would just fall again. “There's a couch.” You point to the back of the store. “It’s in the break room.” 

Eddie grunts as he hoists you up in his arms and follows your directions. 

The couch is old and made of leather. It is cold on your skin as Eddie lays you down and you shiver as he rips your pants and underwear from around your ankles. Never would you have ever imagined being naked from the waist down in your work break room. 

In contrast to the cool leather, Eddie’s hands are searing hot. He grips the back of your knees, picking your legs up and spreading you out. You’re almost folded in half. 

“Jesus fucking christ. You. Are. Beautiful.” He enunciated every word. The complement has you keening and clenching around nothing. “Fuck, look at that pretty cunt. She’s gaping for me.” Eddie smiles, eyes flickering to yours before looking back to your most intimate part. 

You let out a wonton gasp when he spits, a glob of it falling right atop your parted slit. Eddie takes a hand away and grabs his cock. He rubs the tip through your folds, giving your clit a heavy tap tap tap before entering you again and grabbing the back of your knee again. 

Eddie wastes no time in pistoning his hips into yours. The new angle gives him free range of movement to fuck you fast and deep. The skin of his thighs makes a sharp slapping sound when he connects with your ass, it sets the rhythm for the song of your shared moans. 

“Pull your shirt up.” He commands and you do as he says. Lifting your shirt up and over your breasts. Eddie lets out an irritated grunt at the sight of your bra. “That too.” He puffs out and you pull it up as far as it will allow. 

Your breasts bounce as Eddie fucks you mercilessly into the couch. His eyes are shamelessly trained on them. “Fucking hell, Princess. Gimmie our hands.” 

You reach out for him and he grabs your wrists, guiding you to hold your legs back like he had been doing. With the newfound freedom of his hands, he extends them out to play with your tits.  He pinches and tugs at your nipples, making you moan in pleasure as he continues his assault. His thrusts become faster, harder, more desperate. You know he's close and you can't take much more either. 

“Eddie… Ah- Eddie-” You babble out his name. You wiggle under his hold and the harsh prodding of his cock into your cervix. The strings of another orgasm are being pulled tight. 

He growls. “I know baby, I know. Fucking cum for me. Cum on my cock.” 

Tears well up in your eyes and begin to overflow. Your body writhes, back bowing, muscles straining. You’re on the precipice. 

Eddie sees how close you are and moves a hand down between your legs, circling his thumb over your slick-covered clit. 

“Oooh- Oh fuck!” You scream. “Shit shit shit shitshitshitshit…. Ah!” 

“Louder.” He moans. “Want the whole town to hear you sweet girl.” 

“Eddie! Oh, I’m there. I’m fucking there.” You cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you let go. A scream erupts from your throat. Even in your ecstasy, you can feel Eddie’s tempo shift. He’s losing speed. 

“Goddammit. I cumming too.” Eddie whimpers, sinking into you fully. His cum fills you up and you can fill you as it runs down your ass as he pulls out. 

Your body is twitching as he moves you to lay more fully on the couch. He doesn’t follow though. No. He sinks to his knees and before your foggy mind can even comprehend it, he attaches his mouth to your pussy.  

You are pliant under his touch, unable to resist. His tongue explores you and you moan in pleasure. He’s lapping up the mixture of his cum and your slick, humming at the taste the whole time. 

You choke back a sob when his tongue flicks repeatedly over your clit before he begins to suck on the already abused bud. “Eddie, please.” Reaching down you tug on his hair but he doesn’t move. “Ed-” He starts shaking his head, burying himself in your pussy. 

Another orgasm is quickly approaching. Your breathing quickens and you can feel your body trembling as he works you up, sending you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, and your body spasms in pleasure. He doesn't stop, continuing his ministrations until you finally come down from your high once more.

“Christ. You taste so good.” He says as he crawls up your spent body. Draping himself over you he places kiss after tender kiss all over your face. “Did so good for me. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Yeah?” You whisper. 

“Mhum. So proud.” He grins, the light of the room catching in the wetness covering him from nose to chin. 

Eddie cuddles into you more and your eyes close. He’s exhausted you. You both lay there in silence, content in each other's presence. Eddie eventually falls asleep, his breathing slow and steady. You don’t have the heart or the energy to wake him. You stay awake, just barely, still in awe of what happened. 

It feels like hours have gone by when you finally do shake Eddie, calling out to him softly. He stirs, grumbling as he looks up at you. 

“Eds, baby, I need to lock up.” 

He only rests his head back down between your breasts. You shake him again. 

“Eddie.” You say it a bit more sternly. “Get up and I’ll let you take me back to yours.” 

That gets his attention and he’s up and dressing himself in an instant. You on the other hand are slower, feeling the prominent ache between your legs. He has to help you pull your panties and jeans back on. 

He has to help you close the store as well, your legs weak and not trusted to hold up your body weight without crumbling to the ground. 

Never had you thought this was how this would end. Sitting in the passenger seat of your favorite camboy's car as he drives you to his apartment, grinning like the Cheshire cat as you both think of all the fun things you’ll get up to. Round two was bound to be wilder than the first. 

[astraystayyh]

the premise : u apply lipgloss on felix because ofc he suits glossy lips except it takes an emotional turn???? because felix is perfect sorry. this is fluffyyyy and the sanest reaction to this man being ur bf (and these pics. these pics....)

“lixie, stay still,” you giggle, body nestled between felix’s legs. He's leaning against the bathroom counter, hands propped on the sleek ebony marble as you apply a shimmering lip gloss to his lips.

“but don't you wanna know what changbin said to me?”

“of course i wanna know what creative pickup line he used on you today. of course i do, baby,” you smile and he rolls his eyes at the sarcasm dripping from your tone, his tongue poking against his cheek before gliding in (fake) annoyance over his lips.

“but…” he muses, tilting his head to the side, his hands finding your waist once again (they've been away for two minutes too long).

“but when your mouth moves i can't technically apply lipgloss to it.”

“maybe you're just a bad make-up artist,” he teases, before quickly planting a kiss on your temple. “kidding baby. you're the very best at everything you do.”

“you're actually incapable of being mean,” you laugh heartily, your thumb swiping across his chiseled jaw.

“i am very much capable of being mean,” he pouts, his eyes widening slightly, golden light spilling into his pupils— it refracts into an arrow delving straight into your heart.

“you can't say this in the softest voice and expect me to agree.”

“i am very much capable of being mean,” he repeats, only this time his timber is many many octaves lower. his voice reverberates straight through your stomach, a deep melody orchestrating the untamed butterflies in your stomach.

“this is the equivalent of a kitten throwing a punch to me,” you pull his face closer, and he shakes his head, mouth shut tightly as you reapply the glitter infused gloss on his lips, going delicately over his cupid's bow. his eyes are boring onto you, yet you don't shy away from his gaze. it is a kind one— like a blanket knitted with love thrown over your body.

“done,” you whisper, hands trailing up to his hair, blonde silky locks akin to threads of sunlight. you think he must be favored by the stars— how they stored the sun inside every component of his being for him to keep safe.

“you have the prettiest lips,” your voice is suddenly hoarse, thumb grazing slightly over his lips, ones shaped like a heart— akin to the one freckle he has right underneath his eye.

it wasn't enough for him to have the kindest soul, no, love needed to be etched onto his skin too.

“felix,” you rasp out his name.

he catches your tears before you sense them falling, swiping his thumbs delicately on your cheek. “angel?”

“you're an idiot.”

“am i?” he brings you to his chest swiftly, your nose buried in the orange blossoms and sea notes of his skin— your home, the one you'd recognize in blindness, in despair, in safety, in love.

“i wanted to apply this lipgloss on you because shimmer would suit your angelic lips and then we'd make out. but you just had to be so beautiful and pure that it makes me wanna cry.”

“I'm sorry,” he says and you giggle, more tears spilling from your eyes.

“see, this is what i mean. why are you apologizing. this is so silly and you're so perfect and i can't believe you love me.”

“well i do,” he leans away, kissing your forehead tenderly. the sticky lip gloss lingers on your skin. “i love you so much, angel. i will only ever love you.”

“promise me?” you ask in a feat of vulnerability almost foreign to your being.

“i promise.”

you believe him.

“thank you. please don't put this lipgloss near anyone else or it'll make them cry too.”

“i think that's just you baby,” he grins, his thumb swiping over your thigh comfortingly, then, his nose brushing against your own. “kiss?”

you close your eyes, a sigh of relief, of longing escaping your body. “please.”

to be loved by felix— maybe you're the one favored by the stars after all.

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: suggestive content, toilet talk, mentions of injuries, hostility, tension, repressed emotions, isekai-ed reader, reader is in princess cerena's body, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo

⟡ masterlist

ACT 2, SCENE 1: THE INFIRMARY

The fading sun spilled over your mother’s deep set smile, the sight of paddy stalks swaying in the wind instantly bringing relief to your worried soul. 

You found yourself lying on the engawa with her, the veranda stretching out as far as your gaze could comprehend; your eyes lazily following the last of the brilliant orange sunset rays weaving through the idyllic pink and purple skies. Your mother laughed at something you said, and you clinked your cup of rice wine with hers, drinking deeply and heartily, content and fully at peace with where you are now.

“Wake up,” she suddenly whispered into your ear, nudging your shoulder. 

Like a mirage in the middle of a shimmering desert, her face disintegrated in front of you, warm eyes turning a crystalline, cold blue.

The magnificence of the splendid skies fade into timbered ceilings, flickers of shadows from the fireplace belching out heat dancing across the latticed wood, drawing your bleary focus towards the pockets of dark intermingling with light.

You groaned, shifting on the hard mattress, and heard a rustle from your right. 

The same blue eyes that haunted you in your dreams wavered into view, Satoru’s face hovering above yours.

You screeched, grappling for something—anything to defend yourself with—pure fear lighting up every nerve ending in your body with a vivid cocktail of adrenaline and terror.

“Calm down, woman,” Satoru mumbled, gripping your scrambling hands, trying to ease you back onto the bed.

But, your mind was filled with the rampant memories of him chasing after you through the thick foliage, the sword brandishing against your bare neck. Your pupils turned into pinpricks from the fear and your breaths came out as labored exhales, the delayed shock leaving you cold and hot all over.

“Stay away from me.” 

You tried to put some distance from him, using what little strength that was left in your limbs to push yourself further up the bed, curling your shoulders inward like a prey trying to make itself smaller in front of an apex predator.

His lips twitched in the corners, those oceanic, cold eyes freezing over with distaste.

“I spent three whole nights trying to keep your fever at bay, and this is the gratitude that I get?” 

Satoru’s incensed words barely stirred a flicker of guilt from you, your weary eyes fastened on to him, refusing to let him out of your sight. He took one look at you, this unruly princess with perspiration dewing on her brow, and sighed, reaching for a glass of water by your bedside. His grip on your chin used less considerable force than before, and reluctantly, you parted your lips, drinking from his hand deeply. 

Once you satiated your thirst, Satoru set the glass back on the hardwood side table, his crystalline gaze scrutinizing you all over. 

Closer this time, you took a good look at him. 

Dark circles bedraggled his usual princely countenance, and his frosty white hair was sticking up at odd ends, as if he had frustratedly raked his fingers through them over and over again. The scruff of a five o’clock shadow darkened his chin, and you resisted the urge to touch the fading red lesions on his face, suddenly feeling immense guilt for how you had jumped at the opportunity to harm him.

“Wasp stings,” he scoffed, raising a brow. “I knew princesses were delicate, but to faint from such a common insect bite? You are far weaker than I imagined.” 

Whatever pity you felt for him in that split second of humanity shattered at his careless and callous words. Narrowing your eyes, you scoffed, turning your face away.

“Yes, I am allergic to wasp stings,” you sneered. “I apologize that I forgot to mention that when you were literally chasing after me with a broadsword, Your Highness.”

There was little doubt of the derision at the utterance of his title, and Satoru tensed, his own eyes narrowing at your impertinence.

“Astounding. After everything I’ve done for you, Cerena—”

He turned his face away from you abruptly, as if he could not comprehend why he was here in the first place. The Prince stalked over to the fireplace, hands behind his back, watching the flames lap at the charred pieces of firewood. 

Not wanting to interrupt his thoughts, you eased from the bed, trying to stand on your shaky legs while using the headboard for support.

As if he had a beacon on you, Satoru was instantly at your side, gripping your elbow and supporting you back into bed. 

“Stay where you are, Cerena,” he hissed, the frustration in his tone unmistakable. “Do not strain yourself and hurt yourself again, you foolish girl.”

In retaliation, you glared at him, feeling the urge in your bladder overtaking your common sense to keep your distance from him. “I need to relieve myself in a toilet, you sick sadist. Let me go.”

Unperturbed by your choice of colorful words, Satoru nudged a blackened pot closer to you with the tip of his hunting boot, gesturing at it. 

“What in the world is a ‘toilet’? You shall use a chamber pot like everybody else.”

However, he didn't expect your eyes to widen as you took in the strange, earthenware. “That… is a chamber pot?” You haven’t exactly seen one before, though you had read about it in fantasy novels.

Satoru’s brows knitted together, and he looked at you as if you had sprouted two heads. 

“Do not tell me you have not seen a chamber pot before?” 

His words rang hollowly in your heated ears, and you turned your gaze from the intimidating object and back to him again, the questioning look in your eyes apparent even in the low, firelight. 

“I just… relieve myself in there?” 

You knew what this must look like to him: if you were confronted by the sight of someone who couldn’t even use a toilet bowl, you might be questioning their motor skills and mental capacities. The skepticism on his face spoke loud volumes to his consternation and faltering patience.

“Yes, Cerena. You… relieve yourself in there.” 

Unbeknownst to you, the prince was blushing, his face turned away from his befuddled fiancée, staring at the wall as if it could tell him the secrets of the universe. 

Right. You had to go and since Satoru was stubbornly rooting himself in this room, you made a sound of consternation in your throat and tried to fight off the heat threatening to burn your entire face off. 

“Could you… give me some privacy?” Politely, you added, “Please?” 

To your utter frustration, Satoru snorted, shaking his head. “So you can escape again and force me to hunt you down? No. You will relieve yourself right here with me in the room together with you.” He spun his head around to raise a brow, as if to goad you into challenging his edict. 

Flushing, you curled your upper lip over your teeth, attempting to fix a snarl on your face that you hoped would keep him at bay.

“Excuse me? And since when were you allowed to encroach into my privacy? This is insane…” 

Trailing off, you did not expect Satoru’s sneer to deepen, the flame of hatred igniting in his blue eyes, taunting you with cerulean vindication. 

“Insane? Perhaps. Smart? Yes,” his nostrils flared. “I cannot risk having you evade me for a second time, Cerena.” 

You wanted to argue that you weren’t the woman he despised, but nature’s call was hard to ignore. Huffing, you crossed your arms over your chest, trying not to think too hard about how thin the nightgown was to bring attention to your curves hidden underneath the see-through linen.

It appeared as if Satoru, too, was trying hard not to flicker his gaze to your chest, playing the role of a gentlemanly prince well enough, despite the lack of spectators here to denounce his poor treatment of you. 

Staring him down, you fought to keep your natural urges under control, needing to shake him up with your determination. But, whatever stubbornness your actions were made up of, Satoru’s were multiplied by tenfold as those icy blue eyes bore into yours with the chilliness of an ocean in the middle of an icy tundra. 

Eventually, your need to go won out and you let your arms fall to your side, exhausted sigh echoing across the infirmity. 

“Fine. But, can I be spared some privacy, please?” 

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Satoru turned around, clasping his hands behind his back as he stood to the side of the room, giving you a wide berth to conduct your bodily eliminations in private. 

Hiking up the hem of your nightgown, you finished your business, finding it extraordinarily hard to keep your balance while squatting over the earthen receptacle. Satoru, having heard you clean up after yourself, turned back around, and if you dared to look closer, you would’ve seen the splotches of red adorning his cheeks betraying his natural instinct of shame at having been in close proximity to such a private occurrence. 

You struggled to get back into bed, surprised to find his hand shooting out to steady your arm, letting you lean on his strength. With barely a hitch, you flopped back onto the bed, gasping in mild pain when your aching body met the mattress.  

Now that you were far more level-headed after relieving yourself, you could give the matter at hand your full attention.

“Why are you here, Satoru?” 

Barely mincing your words or stopping to consider the delicacy of his presence right in your infirmary room. Your glare spoke volumes of your distaste and confusion; if he were a lesser man, Satoru might indulge in your obvious confusion, gloatingly holding it above your head.

“I have told you,” he uttered. “It is because I am here to watch you.” 

You glanced around, noting the quiet room and the lack of human presence which wouldn't lead to any trouble. 

“Um. Alright…” 

Without warning, he advanced closer to you, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look right into his glacial eyes, a terrifying glare etched on his face. 

“Your antics in the forest were beyond idiotic, Cerena. I have not forgiven you for what you did to me—” pointing at the reddened swellings on his neck and face, the thunderous look in his eyes could have consumed you alive with his pure hatred for you. “—and you will pay for this once you get better.” 

The sharp gleam of his toothy grin made you flinch, the bloodthirsty look on his face enough to make you assume the worst: that Prince Gojo Satoru was going to call for a harsh enough punishment to debilitate and agonize you. Images of a flogger hitting your bare skin, or your body dangling from the gallows flashed in your mind and you inadvertently took a step back from him, your eyes wide and fixated upon his face with a look of pure horror.

“Satoru…”

Like a great white sniffing out your weakness, the blasted man advanced closer to you, never relenting upon his frightsome smile.

“Why the sudden fear in your eyes, Cerena? Are you regretting how you treated me? The crap you put me through!” His voice rang throughout the room like a gunshot and you struggled to your feet, stumbling backwards against the wall, slapping a palm to your mouth to keep your shriek of fear from slipping past your trembling defenses. 

“Satoru, stop!” 

But, he would not listen to you. A murderous glint had overtaken Gojo’s usually stoic blue eyes, stinking of retribution and retaliation in payment for whatever Cerena had done to him. 

You could not stand for such accusations hurled into your face again, the burning need to know the wrongs the Princess had committed that earned her such wrath from Satoru disintegrating the last of your hesitation as you blurted out: 

“I am not Princess Cerena!” 

As if your words were a magical incantation, he paused. You could see the cogs turning in his head, the implications of your declaration working through his brain. 

“What do you mean you are not Cerena?” Astounded and frustrated, Satoru’s blue gaze froze over, threatening to leave you in the roiling of its frigid waves. “That is absurd. Have you gone mad? Or, did the venom of the wasp stings affect your brain?” 

You had just noticed the thin, white linen shirt he wore which exposed a sliver of his pale chest, the frosty white tips of his hair falling across his face, shading his eyes in their disarray.

Never in your life had you felt this helpless, unsure of how to piece together your words. 

“I am not her,” you finished in a quiet tone. “I am from another world. A world which is different from yours.”

Satoru scoffed, as if finding the very idea disturbing. “What other world? You know what, maybe you need to speak to the physician. This is getting out of hand.” 

Unexpectedly, you stomped your foot, training your baleful glare onto him. 

“Get it into your thick skull, Satoru! I am not Princess Cerena!” Huffing, you decided to lay all your cards on the table, uncaring how he would receive your words. Maybe he might punish you or send you to a lunatic house, keeping you far away from court. But, there might be the slim chance that he would believe you, if only you could convince him. 

“My name is Y/N and I am from Earth. I work as a florist in a family-owned shop, and before I arrived here, I was struck on the head by a thief and I woke up in Cerena’s body just as you were berating me for hurting your precious Miri.”

His nostrils flared, probably not enjoying how you brought his lover into this conversation. 

The disbelief and distrust on his face was not hard to sense. 

“What do you mean by that?” His demands were laced with agitation. “Are you trying to deceive me? That will entail a punishment far worse than when you tried to assault me, Cerena.” 

You were shaking your head before he could even finish. “No, I am not trying to deceive you, I promise. What I’m saying is real and true.”

Yet, he looked like he could scarcely believe you. 

Your quick mind came up with the idea on the fly. “Quick, tell me something only Princess Cerena would know.” 

Satoru huffed, but played along, which was a good sign. 

“Fine. Say I believe your demented words. One thing only she knows about me…” Satoru trailed off, and for a brief moment, you swore you caught a look of grief flitting across his expression.

“Tell me when is my birthday.” 

You floundered, having no idea when he was born. The prince was a mystery to you, and this was the perfect question to prove your identity that you were not the princess. 

Tossing a random date, you murmured, “December the 7th?” 

You had expected him to scoff and tell you that getting such a simple question wrong wouldn’t prove anything, when you noticed he had stiffened, those crystalline blue eyes growing wide.

“Wait… did you just say December the 7th?” 

You nodded, gnawing on your lower lip. 

“See, I told you, I am not the Princess–”

“That is my exact birthdate.” 

Satoru’s words made you come to a hard pause. You looked up at him with horror inscribed on your features. 

“Wait, I can explain–”

“Even Cerena did not know when my real birth date was…” he added reluctantly, “Royals aren’t allowed to share the precise moment of our birth and we have a fictitious date made up for the general public’s knowledge.” 

Satoru’s fixated gaze upon you burned as if you were touched by glowing embers. 

“How did you know when my real birthday was?” 

Suspicion lined his tone now, and you were well-aware that you had stepped into a different territory with a different arena of mistrust now. 

You shake your head. “It was merely a lucky guess.”

His derisive scoff burned your ears. “A lucky guess? Hardly. You know something I do not.”

Raising your hands, you tried to placate him. “I swear to you, I had no idea my guess would be correct.” 

Once more stumped at how to prove your innocence, you were struck by the contemplative thought that if you were in her body, perhaps there was a blemish of Cerena’s that only Satoru might know about.

“Okay. Since I cannot prove my innocence to you, let us try this.” You took one wobbly step towards him, his skillful cerulean gaze pinpointing your every movement with a sharp gaze. 

Standing chest-to-chest with him, you narrowed your eyes. 

“Tell me what blemish Cerena has on her body and I will show you that it is missing on mine.”

You had done a thorough examination of Cerena’s body back in Aeva’s hut, combing through your reflection in a mirror to assess who you truly were. You made the discovery that her skin was spotless, barely a mole or a wart. If Satoru had intimate knowledge of what flaws she had on her body, perhaps when she had mentioned it to him back when they were courting, you could dissuade him by proving that you were unspotted and taintless. 

Growing pensive at your suggestion, Satoru touched his forehead, trying to get his confusion under control. 

“Fine,” he relented. “Cerena has a birthmark right on her inner thigh. If you can show me it does not exist on your body, perhaps I may be swayed to believe you.” 

Perfect. You didn’t hesitate to sit on the edge of the bed, hiking up the hem of your nightgown to display your unmarked skin, the firelight throwing a warm, orange glow over the smooth expanse of your shin, like the flames were intimately caressing you. 

“See?” You uttered triumphantly, and bared yourself further to his wandering eye. “No birthmark. No blemish. I am not Cerena.” 

What you hadn’t expected was his cheeks to brighten with a blush. Satoru coughed and looked away, averting his eyes out of respect for your honor. 

“You didn’t… you did not have to show off yourself in such a brazen way.” 

Cocking your head to the side, you regard him with a confused countenance.

“What do you mean by that, Satoru?” 

He cleared his throat, the pink flush on the apples of his cheeks refusing to abate.

“You are a princess, despite who you believe you are.” The rasp of his fingertips brushing your hand sent a jolt up your spine. Satoru brushed your fist from the hem of your nightgown away, taking it upon himself to tug it back down and make you decent once more. “And princesses do not go around baring their bodies to other men… even if he is her betrothed.” 

Your brow furrowed in befuddlement, thrown off by such a chaste idea.

“Hang on,” suspicion flooded your next question. “If you claimed you were as moral as you are now, how did you know Cerena has a birthmark on her inner thigh if you had never seen it before?” 

He raised a brow, knowing something you didn’t. “It is customary for the matchmaker to scrutinize a princess from head to toe, taking in her countenance, her health and her virtue before recommending her to another royal family. I know details about Cerena’s body despite never having seen it myself.”

Oh. You supposed that made sense. 

Circling back to the topic at hand, you purse your lips. “So, do you believe me now? Believe who I am?” 

Despite the distrust swimming between the two of you, Satoru cannot deny that there was a sliver of truth in the bullshit you laid out for him; a kernel of understanding thrown in this confusing haystack of this sudden revelation.

“Say I believe you, What are we to do now? Where can I find the real princess and bring her back?” 

Satoru’s cerulean eyes glimmered with an undeniable hope, one which you regretted having to douse before it could fully bloom. 

You have no reply for his earnest question, unsure if you even knew how to get Cerena back.

“I… don’t know, Satoru. I’m sorry. I cannot answer your question. I suppose we just have to… wait for her to reappear back and claim her body.”

The next question he sprung up on you took you completely off guard. 

“So, does it mean once she returns, you will be gone?” 

You had never given much thought to your fate after leaving Cerena’s body, but you supposed it was plausible that the both of you will return to your rightful vessels once this whole fiasco was over. 

“I believe so. Though, I cannot be sure. I still don’t have any answers.”

At a mindless movement of your arm, you winced at the sudden stench you caught wafting from your body and you balked, wondering if he was being polite by not bringing up the fact that the unclean and unpleasant odor was emanating from you.

“I need a bath.” 

Despite how he wanted to continue the conversation, Satoru knew your comfort had to come first if you were to be in the right mind to give him the answers he needed. 

He stepped out of the door, barking an order for the maids to bring a tub and a fresh wash of clothes for you to change into. 

At his behest, two young brunettes rushed in, carrying a solid wooden receptacle lined with iron accents which they tipped hot water inside, letting the steam mingle with the dry humidity of the room. 

Glancing at him with a furrowed brow, you asked, “Aren’t you going to give me some privacy?” 

Again, Satoru did not relent on his compulsion to observe your every movement, his rapt gaze catching onto your discomfort. “And risk you leaving again? I told you, Ce—Y/N… I will not let you go again that easily.”

The maids continued to work, pretending to be deaf and blind to the building tension between the two of you. 

Heatedly, you retorted, “Satoru, I am injured and sick. Why would I run away from you when I am not feeling well? You are making no sense.”

He retaliated with a glare. “Sick or not, you have proven to be a thorn in my side, woman, and I will not let up my guard only for you to slip away again.”

Sensing there was no room for him to budge, you sighed, reluctantly agreeing to have in the room while you bathed.

“Can’t you at least turn around, Satoru?” 

A huff. He spun around, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixated on a water stain upon the otherwise pristine white walls, fighting hard to ignore the stuttering beat of his heart, how he could hear every rustle of your infirmary gown melting from your body, the breath of relief you exhaled once you stepped into the warmed water.

The maids made quick work of the grim on your body, scrubbing you hard enough to make your skin shine and squeaky. They yanked through the dirt in your pink locks, brushing out the stiff clumps with a horsehair brush, tipping fresh water from more buckets by the tub atop your head and body to wash off the soap. The water was pleasantly fragranced with the scent of lavender and roses, the oils clinging to your skin and perfuming your hair. 

By happenstance, a moan slipped past your clenched teeth when they started to scrub your back, and Satoru tensed, the sudden sound sending an unmistakable thrill through his body.

The stoic prince trained his focus on the water stain, ignoring the flush of heat dusting his cheeks.

“Are you feeling better?”

His sudden question took you by surprise, and you noticed the rigid set of his shoulders, the tension underneath the seemingly innocent question. 

“I am,” you quipped, allowing the maids to grab your arms and gently hoist you out of the tub and to your feet. They wiped you down with a pair of fluffy, cotton towels, and dressed you in a new linen gown, careful to avoid the lesions on your hands. 

Once Satoru was sure you were done with your bath, he hesitantly turned back around, his cerulean gaze raking up and down your refreshed coloration, how there was more warmth on your cheeks.

A soft grunt emitted from the back of his throat, and he stiffly approached you, bearing down on you, the fire in his eyes drawing you up short.

“Now, we have to speak about the matter of your unwelcome visit to this world.”

You steeled yourself for this discussion, your mind going a mile a minute, wondering what else this detestable man might want to bring up.

Satoru, too, seemed to brace for the topic at hand, taking in a deep breath. 

“I want you to know that such a situation is not ideal, but I am willing to overlook this oversight of your presence here in court,” his curt words made you bristle, as if you had begged to appear overnight in another woman’s body—hounded and despised by the man you were engaged to. 

Your lips twisted in a glare, and you stared him down, unwilling to bend from his contempt. 

“You speak as if I wanted to be here in the first place—I do not have a wish to remain here, Satoru. I want to go back home, too.”

At the mention of home, you cursed the tremble in your voice, schooling your features to be neutral and unimpeachable. Satoru, however, was determined to paint you in a disdainful light, scorning your presence before him despite how none of it was your fault.

“Perhaps I may believe you on this, but for this moment, I am not swayed.”

You swore steam could pour out from your ears and your throat would bleed dry before this bastard of a prince would believe you. 

Echoing his maliciousness, you scoff. 

“Satoru, no offense, but you overestimate your worth to me. I am not enjoying a single moment here and if I had the chance to choose, I would never have met you in the first place.”

Dripping with poison, each word was an affront to his hubris, a dart to his superior ego and excess pride.

However, you did not anticipate those cold blue eyes to waver at your venomous declarations, a brief flash of hurt appearing across his face.

Before you could look further, he closed himself from you once more, a chilling look clouding over his entire visage.

“That is fair and reciprocated. I do not wish to burden you for a second longer with my presence, either.”

He turned his face away, and you wondered what had gotten into him; why he was being so defensive and argumentative when you were trying to help him understand where you were coming from. 

Shaking your head, you tried to dismiss those troublesome thoughts, focusing on the matter at hand.

“So, you believe me?”

Tinged with hope, you dared believe this new reveal would make him considerably friendlier towards you, or at least civil enough to not try and harm you when there was no good reason to. 

For a second, he didn’t say a word, the room filled the sounds of your soft breaths, the crackling from the fireplace.

“Hmm. A bit. But, as it stands, I have a duty towards my country and so do you.” His tone brokered no room for an argument. “While we wait for a solution to present itself, I need you to perform as Cerena—that means learn how to be an actual princess, to speak like us and act like us so as not to rouse any suspicion.”

A fair deal. 

You nodded, and fixed him with your steady gaze. Unbeknownst to you, the traitorous strap of your nightgown slipped off your shoulder, baring the rise of your collarbone to his eye.  

“Anything else?” 

Satoru’s disgruntled expression caught you by surprise, especially when he leaned in closer to grasp the edge of your linen strap and drag it back up your shoulder.

“Nothing. Have a good rest, princess—I mean, Y/N.” 

Turning away, this infuriating prince left you to your own devices and ruminating thoughts, your mind landing on the brief memory of his fingertips brushing your shoulder, leaving remnants of heat tingling across your skin. 

You tried hard to bury the sensation, clambering back into the infirmary bed and lying down, your gaze circling the ceiling. As you slipped off into an uneasy sleep, you were once again struck by the callousness of his words, how he had practically warned you to play pretend as Cerena while you tried to find a solution and go home. 

Act and speak and think like them. So as not to arouse suspicion.

You believed you could do that—you had to believe you could do that because your entire survival hinged upon putting on the best pretense this court has ever seen. 

Down the hallway, Satoru took a second to himself, leaning against the wall as he tried to keep his breathing controlled and even.

The memory of the firelight playing with your skin and hair, the feel of your smooth skin under the pads of his fingertips burned through his mind, scalding him from the longing he had tried hard to bury since the day Cerena’s betrayal reached his ears. 

His cheeks were still warm from the unexpected physical contact and he balled his hands into fists, struggling to keep them from shaking.

Once he could breathe without feeling like he would combust in flames, Satoru reluctantly walked away from the infirmary and you—focused on putting on foot in front of the other.

Attempting with every fiber of his being to smother the rising need to return back to your side and be with you again.

MTT fun fact: citrus fragrance is hard to obtain in northern haleway and is thus the royal family's signature scent

dawn says: thank you for being patient with this update! here's to more gojoyn shenanigans

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost, claim as your own or feed my content into AI.

[avocado-writing]

being the worst wolverine’s wife and one day you get zapped by the TVA for whatever reason, and it looks like you completely disappeared, this is what leads logan to become depressed, start drinking and ultimately ignore the x men when they die etc etc

he goes with wade purely bc he would if you were alive- he couldn’t give less of a shit about wade’s universe but he can feel you over his shoulder like an angel telling him he needs to do this (i imagine it’s like the jean hallucinations he had in the wolverine movie)

what if you’re in the void and he finds you with the rest of the group, like being unable to believe you’re really here?

hehe i love angst and ily avo <3

I already did a “Logan meets you in the void” fic here so I didn’t wanna make this too long or I’d just end up hitting the same beats!

1.4k. rated m for excessive use of the word “fuck”

The day you disappeared you took his fucking soul with him. 

You had been out shopping. Nothing weird about that, he wasn’t some overbearing husband who demanded to know your location every single hour. But then afternoon had turned into evening had turned into night and nobody had heard from you. The unfamiliar sensation of panic had risen, queasy, from his stomach into his chest. They sent out a search party and looked for days. Not a trace of you to be found. Logan couldn’t smell you. Fuck, he’d never not been able to smell you before.

He would hunt for you every day, hoping to find you alive but trying to level with the idea of you being cold and dead because at least then he’d have closure; he’d stay awake for hours on end until he collapsed from exhaustion… then he’d wake up and repeat the whole horrible affair. Nothing. After weeks of searching, Charles had laid a hand on his arm. Logan can still remember the look of pity on his face, like a bomb to the gut. 

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

They had to assume you were abducted and killed. Your body never turned up. And Logan just had to… keep going. How was he meant to keep going? You were his entire fucking life and then you were just…

Gone. 

To say he was left empty was the biggest understatement of his fucking life. He was a shell of the man he once was. He never laughed any more, never smiled, always trying to plug the hole your absence left in him with whatever alcohol he could get his hands on. Drink himself to a place where he could forget you.

It never really worked. At least it made him numb to the pain though. 

When he staggers home one evening, eyes bleary and head spinning, and finds the whole mansion torched? Everyone left that he loved fucking dead? Well, it takes the last vestiges of his existence and crushes them into dust. 

Oh, Logan, he hears in the back of his mind. Your voice. It breaks him. He falls to his knees, hands buried in the burning timbers, and wails. 

He survives. He does not live. Thinking about everyone he’s lost, with you haunting the corners of his consciousness, always reaching out to comfort him - but when he goes to nuzzle into the warmth of your palm he is overcome with rage and bitterness to find it’s just his own imagination playing tricks on him. 

Then a fucking idiot in red dragged him away from the shambles which was his life and forced him to be functional again, if only barely. He’s angry, so angry all of the goddamn time, even when in the back of his mind he can hear you speaking sweet, calming words to him. 

And then he hears your voice for real. 

Sees you standing across the base this pathetic resistance has made. You look older, sure, he does too - but there’s no mistaking the fire in those eyes. You’re even wearing the same fucking shirt you went missing in, he remembers it, it has a picture of your favourite band. 

His heart stops dead in his chest as you whisper his name. 

“Logan?”

“Oh shit!” says Wade, and Logan has never wanted to kill him more, “Oh shit! Is this your refrigeratored wife, coming back to throw in a third act character arc?”

Logan finishes the bourbon bottle and throws the empty at Wade’s head, where it shatters and knocks him flat. You wince at the violence and he feels like pure shit. 

“I’m fine,” Wade calls from the ground, sticking a thumbs-up into the air. 

“Logan, I…” you clearly want to say something, but you have not been met with the Logan you knew. That Logan would have spent no time running to pick you up and hold you in his arms. This one half-snarls at the man he bloodied on the floor. 

There is an agonising silence, both of you wanting to speak but not being sure how. You take a hesitant step forward. 

“I never thought I’d…”

“How do I know it’s you?”

You recoil like he’s stabbed you with his claws, confusion and hurt flooding your face. Goddamn. He is the worst man alive. He’s not sure if he’s saying it because he just wants to lash out at the nearest person, or…

… or if, because he gets his hopes up, it might just kill him to have them crash down again. 

“What?”

“All these fuckin’ timelines. How do I know? How can I be sure that you’re you?”

The sadness in your face melts away into anger. When you step forward this time, you’re on the warpath. He sees the others in the room cringe, trapped now in this caustic reunion. 

“How can you be sure it’s me? Fuck, Logan, I knew it was you, didn’t I? What do you want? You want me to show you the shitty tattoo I got after we first started dating and we were both drunk?” You lift your sleeve to reveal a little design on your shoulder. “Want me to tell you how an eighteen-year-old Marie was my bridesmaid and she cried because she didn’t think anyone would ever be that kind to her after living as a mutant again? Want me to fucking remind you that in my vows I said I would be by your side, for fucking ever, no matter what - and how when that TVA agent zapped me when I was out for the day and I ended up here, it was only the thought of fulfilling those vows which kept me going? How about all that, or do I fucking need to humiliate myself more?” At this, you gesture to the others who have lined up at the side of the room, trying to look scarce but utterly failing. 

Your shoulders are heaving with emotions, tears hot and heavy in your eyes but not yet spilling over. Logan grits his jaw. Yeah. It’s you. 

“I…” he starts, but trails off when he realises there’s nothing he can say. You shake your head, numb. 

“Fuck you, Logan Howlett,” you spit, words you’ve never ever thrown his way before, and run out of the room. 

“Wow. Aced that one, peanut,” says Wade, and Logan rips off one of his legs. 

He finds you several hours later at a campfire outside the rundown building which makes up headquarters. LeBeau has clearly been kind enough to part with some of his liquor, because you’re gulping down whiskey like it’s air. You stare at him, embers dancing in bitter eyes. 

“What do you want?” you snap. He grunts as he sits down opposite you, either from age or exertion. Stares into the flames. 

“I never stopped looking,” he manages. 

You blink. 

“What?”

“I never…” he shifts uncomfortably. It’s been a long time since he bared this much of his soul. “I never stopped. Even when the others told me to give up, that I would only make it worse for myself, I’d still search. Couldn’t face the idea you weren’t there any more.”

It’s true. If he was twelve bottles deep he’d be looking, if he was hungover as a dog he’d be looking. When the rest of the X-Men were still there and even after they weren’t. If he wasn’t sitting at a bar he was on the streets, ever a bloodhound trying to catch your scent again. 

For the first time you soften. 

“Oh.”

“So… when I asked if it was you… ah, fuck. I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole. Just couldn’t live with it if it wasn't true. Wasn’t real.”

When you stand he expects a slap. He deserves it. What he doesn’t count on is you sitting down - not on the log next to him, but in his lap. He hasn’t felt you do that for so long, and it’s so good. Your warmth on his thigh. You grab one of his hands, still larger than yours, and press it to your chest so he can feel your beating heart. 

“I’m real, Logan. I’m right here, baby,” you whisper, eyes dewy. Fuck. His are as well; he can’t help it. He’s overwhelmed by you, your feel, your gaze, your smell. He’d forgotten how much he loved it. 

Logan noses upwards against you, searching for your lips, and you let him find them. When you stroke his hair he can feel the wedding ring on your left hand. The kiss is desperate, longing, and the best one he’s ever had. 

“Right here,” you repeat, forehead against his. He grips you so tightly that it’s possible he’ll never let go again. 

[yorsgirl]

Perhaps, in another realm

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: An elixir of life – you, destined solely for his consumption. Yet, in his pursuit, he forgot, he sipped away your essence, your breath of life.

Tropes: Dark romance, Historical fiction, Angst, fluff.

Warnings: implied nsfw, implied forced intimacy, forced marriage, baby-trapping, knife play, yandere themes, isolation, trauma, one-sided love implied, non-explicit violence, mild stockholm syndrome(to empathize with one's captor), misogyny, minor character death, healthily unhealthy relationship, Sukuna being a red-green flag, Sukuna has eyes for no one except his wife.

General Warnings: Heian Era, strict Japanese setting, usage of Japanese terms(glossary provided), True form!Sukuna, husband!Sukuna, wife!reader, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word Count: 3.7k

Glossary || Pictures

Ryomen Sukuna beholds secrets which he musn't.

Each dawn's awakening, he notes the sun's radiant dance on your irises. Marking the gentle arc of your lips, a telltale sign of mirth's embrace. By the garden's edge, he watches as the winds tousle and play with your hair curls.

With each flicker of your essence, he can't help but feel a pang of frustration at his own inability to guard his heart against the allure of your presence. Each time your unpredictability unfolds before him, he curses his own vulnerability for the arising tenderness within him.

It vexes him deeply.

Gnawing at the recesses of his, once assumed, dormant heart. Yet, now brought to life by unknown sensations – fuzzy and irksome.

An elixir of life – you. Meant to be solely consumed by him.

Your intricate curls destined to be twirled in his fingers alone. Singularly, he'd stand as the privileged observer, captivated by your brilliant elegance. Your figure draped in the resplendent folds of an opulent kimono, delicately bestowed upon you by his hands.

Thus, he embarked on the sole course he could comprehend – take you.

Splitting you away from the familiarity of a family, hearth and hamlet; for in his eyes, your fragile essence demands his safeguarding against this wicked, cruel realm.

Persuading you, that a life enfolded in his embrace had no reason for trepidation. Your purity, too immaculate to endure the harshness of existence.

Yet, persuasion faltered; your resolute heart held no inclination to remain in his grasp. Mounting a relentless siege, to break free from him and his distorted path.

"You crave peril as I assume, so be it," He conceded. "But know this: I'll be the sole peril haunting your very being."

Pressed beneath the weight of his body upon the bed, your resistance proves to be futile against his strength. Leaving you ensnared in a struggle where defiance falters in presence of his immense power.

"Isn't this what you desired? Didn't you yearn for peril?" He questions, his forefinger trailed across the delicate curve of your neck, assessing the rhythmic beat of your pulse point.

"Fear not, I shall burn the world down to literal ashes until none poses a threat to you, save for me, of course."

For danger, befalling upon you while his eyes held the witness and hands were the forebearer of pain – he'd allow. After all, he embodied peril, haunting humanity for centuries.

"My dearest," He began, twirling a blade before your defiant gaze. "I've wielded this to afflict your kin but fear not, it shall yield pure ecstacy for you."

Said so, he thrusted the timber end of the blade within your slick, delicate folds. Your screams shunned out over his malevolent laughter, fingers twisted the cotton sheets as he glided the blade in-and-out of you.

Blood dripped down his wounded hand, staining the white to red, yet his countenance held no response to pain. Gaze fixated upon your shuddering form, underneath him.

He was no stranger to the acts committed in bed. Knowledgeable of all ministrations and threads he needed to ensnared in order to make it pleasurable. Yet, you found no pleasure in this undoing.

The act of intimacy, which you envisioned to be filled with love while your lover would pepper kisses on your skin much akin to the gentle touch of spring's warmth.

That dream left shattered like shards of glass when your chastity was cruelly left to ruins under his harsh caress.

The night stretched on, your anguish unending as he remained vigilant, subjecting you to his torment.

When it ceased, he gingerly held your fragility while tears streamed down your eyes. He cradled your head in his palm, enfolding your trembling form against his chest as he murmured endearments into your parched ears.

You feebly hit on his chest, for you were seeking comfort from your captor – a sickening act.

He brought you pain and despair, yet here he was, bringing you solace in his arms. A sickening man, indeed, he was.

And with him, you were to stay.

.

You kneeled before the shrine deity.

Decked in a white shiromuku with traces of pink pattern embellishing the fabric, haori lowered just above your lips – grateful to the one who dressed you. Moisture laden lashes would've been a sight for sore eyes.

Beside you, your husband knelt. A black montsukini hakama draped around your self-proclaimed fiance and soon to be husband. Perhaps, you'd have seized the moment to admire him in such a lavish attire if he didn't commit the acts he did.

Abduction and coercion reigned heavy on your mind, the priest's chanting muffled over your loud thoughts. Your fear of the impending, palpable.

Later, you stood by his side, bedecked in jewels, unknown to you. Countless villagers and curses bowed before you but you were a foreigner to such deference.

It was his decree. For he was the King of curses and you – his consort, his queen.

.

Sukuna witnessed you gazing at the pond situated in his garden.

You gazed upon the lotus blooming at the heart of the pond, longingly. Reaching out for it, the trailing end of your garment splashed in the water – a futile attempt, too distant to grasp.

He stifled a snort on the brink of his lips as he descended into the garden, tethering on the stoned pads placed in between soil – approaching you.

"You desire that flower, wife?"

You rose swiftly, clutching the dampened hem of your attire. Refusing to meet his gaze, you brushed off the fabric, clearing away the soil.

"Apologies," You murmured. "I was just curious."

"That doesn't answer my question." He stated, an arch of his eyebrow at your frame. "Do you yearn for it?"

Standing before him, a hush lingered in the air, mere seconds passing. Fingers fidgeting, you nibbled on your inner cheek.

"Perhaps," you admitted, finally locking eyes with his feet once he takes a step forward. Bracing for the inevitable, you tightly shut your eyes.

You shouldn't have considered it. Entertaining the thought of plucking it behind his back, hoping he wouldn't notice, all the while unaware of his presence. You should have realized. Defiance in the past had met harsh retribution. This would be no exception.

"I beg–"

"Enough," He interjected.

You gritted your teeth, fists clenched tightly. This was worse. A single mistake, and you're sealed to a worse fate.

Yet, the vision never bore life.

He took your right hand, delicately clasping it within his own. Slowly, he pried open each finger, tenderly placing something within. Curiosity overrides your apprehension, and you cautiously open your eyes – finding the lotus nestled in your palm.

Your lips parted in astonishment as you gaze up at him, wonderstruck.

"Apologies should not leave your lips for trying to claim what is rightfully yours." He asserted, a ghost of an arc perched upon his lips.

"You desire something, you speak up," He waited, letting the words sink down. "Its upon me, how I'll bring it to fruition."

.

"You are to accompany master to dinner tonight," Uraume conveyed, head and eyes lowered in a humble bow.

The fusuma slid shut, signaling their departure, leaving you to your solitude once again.

Lately, companionship has been ceased from your existence. Confined to your chambers by Sukuna's decree that none other than he should share a moment with you. Save for his devoted servant and few maids he deemed worthy, who prepared you for the day.

Upon your bed, you rested, gazing into a void. Softly humming a melody, reminiscent of a distant song, echoing from the depths of your memory; harkening down the familial embrace in your ancestral village.

The day commenced to dusk, the sky donning a cloak of darkness – welcoming the night's silhouette.

Attended by chosen handmaidens, you were draped in a lavish kimono of crimson and ivory. Crushed red cherry paste graced your lips, a stroke of kohl ran along your lashlines.

You beheld your reflection, lovely; yet the joy eluded you. Unable to savor your captivating visage amidst your plight.

You were escorted to the dining hall by Uraume. As the doors parted, your captor, your husband, awaited you; seated on the head of the table. You took your place across him, evading his malevolent stare, your attention fixed solely on the delicacies presented by the servants.

"Afraid to meet my gaze, wife?" He inquired, his smirk palpable in his tone.

Still, you didn't meet his gaze, eyes fixed on your folded hands resting neatly on your lap. "I fear, I am not deserving to meet your eyes, your highness."

His sight danced upon your figure, measuring you as though you were his quarry. A chuckle escaped him as he poured the sake in his ochoko, indulging in a sip.

"Amusing, how you speak so when you are moons away from birthing my offspring, wife."

Your frame grew rigid, lips drawn tight whilst you glanced at your burgeoning womb.

Restraints couldn't bond you to him forever, he comprehended that moons past. Thus, he had to resort to unruly stratagems. Seeding you with his progeny – rendering you incapable of fleeing him.

If only, you acquiesced and remained by his side, as he craved, he wouldn't have acted thus. But your resolve left him with no alternative.

Not a matter to ponder his head upon, he would've planted his seed in you eventually. A kinship with you, his aspiration.

"I wouldn't leave you famished in such a state, wife. Begin eating." He declared, slicing a strip of meat with his chopsticks.

Eating, as if it were possible in such a condition. The satisfaction of a hearty meal has long deserted you. You didn't suspect the flavors of dishes perched before you. Furthermore, you lacked appetite.

You partook in meals solely to survive.

With adjoined palms, you offered a silent prayer to the almighty reigning above you. And so, you began.

.

Blood bathed the tatami mats of your chambers.

A severed head of a, newly appointed, handmaiden, laid near your feet. Her corpse, probably resulted into hundreds– no thousands of strips, indistinguishable.

Your stance remained rigid and motionless. Terror evident on your countenance, fragile fingertips shaking with shock and apprehension.

"Ah wife," Your husband's voice echoed in your ears. He approached you, stepping over the puddle of blood and sliced flesh.

"You weren't supposed to witness that– come," He gingerly caressed your skin, ushering you out of his chambers with a hand on your back.

"Uraume," He summoned his loyal servant, as on cue, they knelt before their master. "Have the maids tidy this mess."

With the subtle nod, Uraume pivoted around, carrying out their master's command alike a proclamation from thee almighty.

Snapping a life wasn't on his schedule today. He wished to spent it with you, hence summoning you back to your chambers.

Perhaps, a foolish handmaiden, attracted by his visage, made the decision to lure him with her appeal. Lowering her uniform to display her curve of of breast, singing praises of his brilliance to him.

Taken him to be resembling any ordinary man, giving into his desires by just any woman's revealed skin. Alas! He had no interest in any woman other than his wife.

An act of like that, only receives the treatment he'd bestow upon any mortal other than you.

Death.

.

"I must say, you look lovely, my queen." Twirling a strand of your hair, he pushed it behind your ear.

Upon the engawa of your husband's abode, you knelt, sight fixated on the swarm of fireflies illuminating the garden.

Sukuna held his stance beside you, lower two hands bearing his weight behind, the third perched upon his arched knee. He set the kiseru down with the fourth, his thumb and forefinger lifted your chin; coaxing your towards him.

"Intriguing, you are," He remarked, eyebrow arched.

"Such defiance you displayed upon our initial union, and now, you show indifference. Continuously subjecting me to such blank stares and compliance." A hint of exasperation lingered his tone.

"Isn't that what you wished for?" You retorted, a moment later.

Drawing you near, his lips brushed against yours, "Perhaps, I did do." He murmured, breath caressing your cheeks, prompting a flutter of your eyelids.

"But now, I yearn for something greater."

With that, he seized your lips in a fervent, fiery kiss. Only parting, a hair's breath away, to allow you to catch your breath.

He pivoted you gently, drawing you into his embrace. Two arms encircled your waist, one caressing your swollen belly. Third, Brushing aside your hair, you heard the tinkling of ornaments. Moments later, a chain adorned your neck, a crimson gemstone nestled between your collarbones.

"Ruby?"

"Rubies are ill-suited during pregnancy, its diamond" He corrected, whispering beside your ear, securing the clasp of the chain. "Unlike most, this one's tint sets it apart than rest."

"For what?" You questioned, assessing the gem like it were poison. Grasping it between your middle finger and thumb, the lantern lights reflected on its surface. Though small, you knew it amounted to more than your ancestral wealth.

"Do I need a reason to spoil my wife with jewels?"

A moment passed in silence, your gazed him through your peripheral vision, the next. "Perhaps not, its beautiul."

"Turn around," He commanded, you complied instinctively. Turning your body to face him.

His gaze met yours at first, second they drifted to the chain bedecked on your neck and on third, he glanced at both, at once.

The jewel's radiance evoked with you being it's wearer.

A grin cracked upon his lips, gingerly holding your cheek in his calloused hands in which you begrudgingly leaned in. With a mouth, summoned on his palm, he placed a chaste kiss on your skin.

"Just how Intriguing you are, wife."

.

Love for your son eluded you.

A splitting image of his father with the identical hair and carmine tinted eyes. You pondered if he'd grow up to be just like your husband.

At days, you couldn't muster the courage to cast your eyes upon him. His mere presence: a testament to your plight, evidence that you were no longer the woman you once were and evidence to your compliance to Sukuna's desires.

Even then, you never shied away from your duties as a mother.

Perhaps, some love existed, for he wielded your flesh and blood too.

You were rendered from ever escaping. Though half-heartedly, you didn't wish to leave your child with Sukuna even though you despised both of their existence.

In this era, nurturing a child as a sole woman was beyond grasp. For all held the thought, as a woman your sole duty was to remain by your husband's side and bear his offspring.

You couldn't return to your home either. Your father, though loved you, would never let you set foot in his abode ever again.

Reasons: You were abducted by a man, your chastity stripped off of you. You were no longer pure in any sense.

He wouldn't tarnish his family name and reputation for just a daughter.

Moreover, your matrimony with the wicked, king of curses had reached rivers far; binding you to his side forever.

Peril loomed at every turn, dangling your life by a single thread. Easily snapped by even the weakest of men. Sukuna's adversaries would leave no stone unturned to reach him, venturing as far to lay down the life of his innocent wife. Someone absolved of his transgressions.

Reluctantly, you accepted that remaining by his side was the wisest decision.

You cradled your son in your embrace, rocking him back and forth as you hummed a lullaby to put him to sleep.

Once his snores serenaded the room, you tenderly placed him upon his cot, adjacent to your own resting place. Gentle pats graced his chest, once you noted him stirring in the embrace of slumber.

"Come to bed," Your husband's voice echoed in your ears. Compliance swiped in your being, a swift rotation of your heels after you had checked your son to be far from awakening. You parted the curtains and perched upon the bed – lying beside your husband.

His arms encircled around your waist, drawing you to his chest, he inhaled your scent.

Your body tensed when his lips brushed against your nape. You dreaded the inevitable.

Six moons had passed, since he last embraced you intimately. The last two, post your son's arrival, were a blur of exhaustion. From tending to your physical strain and catering to your son's ceaseless crave of attention.

Tonight, all you longed for was to surrender yourself to slumber, wrapped in embrace of gentle linens. Alas, it seemed that wish would remain unfulfilled.

You were keenly aware of his intentions tonight – for he was but a man. Thus, you braced yourself.

You waited in anticipation, for him to act on his desires. Yet, it did not come to pass.

You cracked your eyelids open, stealing a glance at him. His carmine eyes met yours in a resolute stare, holding it with unwavering poise.

"Retire to sleep," he finally remarked, tenderly brushing aside the tendrils from your weary visage.

A year prior, during the early nights of your newly forged union, you would have taken a moment to contemplate his actions, perhaps even staying awake the entire night to discern his intentions.

Now, whether out of trust or simply exhaustion from the demands of motherhood – you found yourself slipping into a dreamless slumber without further ado.

The haunting nightmare of humanity, he was; yet, you found solace in falling asleep in his embrace.

.

His son has taken just after you.

Verily, his offspring could be likened unto a veritable likeness of himself in countenance, yet in comportment and carriage, he bespoke tales of you.

Awaking to the crack of dawn, shedding tears should companionship elude him. Taking solace in the embrace of the verdant garden, to which you oft escorted him. Even directing reproachful glances towards him, his father, whilst cradled lovingly in his paternal arms.

Beneath your eyes lay heavy shadows, hollows etched upon your cheeks, and a perpetual frown graced your lips, save for moments spent conversing with your offspring.

Sukuna escorted his sobbing kin from their chambers, affording you the much-needed respite that has eluded you of late; his offspring casted a disdainful gaze upon him.

"What? Speak up if you wish to," He queried, a playful lilt adorning his speech.

He tenderly traced his son's tender cheek with his claw, wary of leaving any mark upon his cherubic visage. His son seized his finger in both tiny hands, elevating it as though clutching a covert weapon – scrutinizing the nail and the ridges with keen interest.

His little one beamed, a gesture akin to the gentle breeze of summer, bestowed upon him by the heavens above. A giggle swift past his lips – a laughter, he assumed angel's melody wouldn't sound better.

His smile was yours – Sukuna realized. Perhaps, he hadn't completely taken after him in physical features.

Rocking his form back and forth on his arms, a tender smile danced upon his lips.

"Lower the tone, child. Your mother rests inside."

.

Sukuna couldn't help but contemplate alternative scenarios.

He sipped his sake, his gaze fixed upon your figure, leaning against the amado – your eyes lingering on the cherry blossom trees outside, in the garden.

The fragrance of spring permeated the air, imbuing a soothing atmosphere, starkly contrasting with the terror he instilled upon the village beyond the river.

At moments such as these, he can't help but ponder on the possibility of attaining a kinship with you, without resorting to unruly methods.

His thoughts rewind to the clash conversation he shared with you, mere moments past.

In your gaze, defiance ablazed, aimed straight at him.

"What's your intent? To end my life? Proceed, now. Who held you back? Proceed. Perhaps, I'd choose that fate over spending another day with you."

"Make no mistake," You pressed on. "My sentiment for you isn't love, don't deceive yourself. What festers within me is pure, unadulterated hate."

How could he let slip from memory? A curse he was, brutal and unyielding. Unwelcomed, marked with shame – The disgraceful one. How could he fail to recall? Love's realm, forever beyond the reach of his reach.

He seized you, by means unorthodox yet deemed vital. Yet, he finds himself lost in contemplation.

What if he had treaded a different path?

Would a love aglow your heart if he had courted you in a proper manner? Would you accept him in your life – a husband, a companion, a lover? Would you had willingly become his? 

For your presence brought his heart back to life; in doing so, the life and light was lost from your eyes.

Scorned by the desire to claim you as his, the thought of your own desires, feelings was pushed to the desolate corners of his mind.

In another realm, he assumes– in another realm, he might have treated you properly from the very beginning.

In another realm, you wouldn't have to have a lingering threat struck on your mind. You wouldn't fear him.

In a realm beyond, you'd stand beside him by choice, not coercion. A realm where he'd navigate every step flawlessly. A realm where, instead of vowing to set the world ablaze for you, he'd pledge to journey with you until the world's end.

Perhaps, in another realm, you'd fall in love with him like he did for you in this.

A/N: uhm uhm uhm, just typed down an idea which I had for days + I used a new format of literal english (idk how it turned out, I am so sorry if it's cringe 😭) + I fucking don't know how to end stories so bear with me.

[thevillainswhore]

A Balm To The Heart

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: After a long day at the woodyard, Bucky finds peace in his best girl’s arms.

Warnings: Pure unfiltered fluff, like the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed, Bucky’s POV, driving while sleepy (don’t do it!!), pet names, established relationship, oh and did I mention fluff?

Author’s Note: Divider by @saradika-graphics. Proofread by @buckys-wintersoldier thank you so much my darling, you’re my rock 🧡 This is part of @elixirfromthestars cafe writing challenge!! Using the prompt 🍞 “I like hearing your heart beating when I put my head on your chest.” My first ever challenge I’ve been apart of and I had the most fun with it!! Thank you, my sweet Mel! 🥰

The Love In The Woods Collection ❄️

The sun began to lay on the precipice of the day, the light slowly fading out to make way for the dark of the night. Bucky fought the tiredness claiming his eyes, tempting him to fall asleep at the wheel. If you knew he was driving in his state, you’d throw a fit. 

But he had to make it home to his baby. 

Exhaustion weighed Bucky down from a long day at the woodyard. Hauling timber all day to prepare the town for the harsh winter coming up was enough to make his old joints ache with pain. However, with the lack of staff due to the storm blocking most of the roads, he had to do it all himself. 

Bucky just wanted to sink into you. 

All day, he was tormented by the prettiest image of you snuggled into your shared bed, pouty lips and pleading eyes begging him to call in sick, to stay home with you. 

And even though his sanity was tested, Bucky regretfully declined. All the old folks needed wood to keep their homes heated in the cold season and his mind wouldn’t have settled knowing a full day would be lost to his own selfishness. 

Though as he drove back to his cabin, rivers of golden beams shining into his truck, Bucky wished he had taken your offer.  

Although, his sourness sweetened into a warm affection as he caught the glint of his wedding ring in the dying sunlight. 

You love sunsets, Bucky smiled to himself. He had to take you to the top of the mountains to watch another one soon.

He could imagine you at home, watching the remnants of the day with its beautiful colours reflecting into your eyes. 

Sunsets mean the end of the day, fresh starts and hope that tomorrow will bring us more peace than today. Remember that, Bear. 

Your voice instantly calmed the mess in his mind, the stress that had wound his muscles tight. With a heavy sigh, Bucky let go of the toll the day had taken on him and instead focused on where the path ahead would lead him — you. 

The truck grumbled to a stop in the driveway and Bucky didn’t bother stopping to grab his tools or his bags. The pink painted door called to him, called your name, his home. 

Throwing the door open, Bucky quickly shook off his coat and boots. His steps didn’t falter as he made his way to the bedroom. Not when he began peeling his clothes off one by one on the way. Not when emotion clogged up his eyes at the smell of your sweet scent lingering around the house. 

And there you were as he entered his bedroom. Once crafted by his bare hands as part of his first home after he left college, now his safe space in which he was lucky enough to share with his wife. His haven. 

It looked like you hadn’t moved from the morning. Still tangled in the sheets, your hair was messy from your tossing and turning, though your skin glowed beautifully in the golden sunlight that shimmered through the window. The orange tones that tattooed your body almost gave you a vintage look and the sight was enough to render Bucky speechless. 

Just like the day you showed up on his doorstep after years apart. 

Your smile was blinding as you looked up at him, tearing yourself away from your fantasy book he knew you loved so much and placing it on the nightstand. “Hey, baby. I missed you.” 

If that didn’t do things to Bucky’s heart. 

“Dolly,” he gasped, a slight whine to his voice. 

Instantly, because you’re so well in tune with him, your arms opened wide — an invitation to join you. “Come here, you big lug.” 

Bucky didn't waste another second. Clad in only his underwear, he all but jumped onto the bed, the pristinely crafted wood of the frame creaking from old age. 

You shifted the duvet to swaddle around his frame once he reached you, cocooning him in your accumulated warmth over the day. Feeling your bare skin against his after hours away from you was liberating, like he had ascended to heaven. Even after years of wedded bliss, Bucky still got tingles whenever the two of you touched. 

You were pure magic wrapped in a bottle. 

“Can I lay my head on you?” Bucky asked quietly, relishing in the serenity you so easily provided him. 

You laughed, the sound mesmerising to his ears. “Like you even have to ask. Tell me about your day, Bear.” 

Needing no other permission, Bucky laid in your arms. Positioning his head on your chest, his arms wrapped around your stomach and his legs intertwined with yours. He was so much bigger than you, comically so. But Bucky needed to lose himself in your softness from time to time. 

He groaned as the muscles in his joints finally had a chance to relax. “I would much rather hear about your day, sweetheart. Lemme hear your voice for a while, will ya?” 

Bucky looked up to find your cheeks tightened from the large, bashful smile on your face, one that he knew you had tried to smother but failed to do so. They were his favourite. 

You shook your head fondly and squeezed him before beginning to recall your day. It wasn’t filled with much — mostly with bathroom breaks when you could rip yourself out of bed, a trip to the home library down the hall to pick the next book of your series, and lastly an hour of baking. Even so, Bucky listened to you intently, his soul replenishing more with each activity you listed off. 

Because that was his goal in life. His vow to you in marriage. To make your life as easy and simple as possible. To bring you peace when the world threatened to dull your sparkle. 

And boy was he satisfied to know he had achieved that. 

Bucky’s eyes began to grow heavy, the kind that he couldn’t fight any longer. You must have noticed from the loosening of his limbs and the sudden lightness to his body. “Are you sleepy, baby?” 

The rhythm of your heart soothed him as he murmured a lazy hum of agreement. 

“You can rest now, Bear.” Your soft voice sounded further away as sleep started to overtake him, like the prettiest lullaby he’d ever heard. “I’ve got you.” 

Before the whispers of slumber could steal him, though, Bucky smiled — drunken and free. “I like hearing your heart beating when I put my head on your chest.”

The giggle that vibrated from your body to his only made him fall even more in love with you. Bucky purred like a cat as you ran your nails through his hair and finally let himself go. 

The last sensation that registered in his mind was the feeling of your lips pressed against his head and a last declaration of love. “Thank you for being the reason it does.” 

[shycoconutt]

mdni (18+)

It is sort of pathetic, you know that much, but it hurts. Pure arousal pools heavily in your lower abdomen—aching. Desperately, you want to open the gates and release yourself from this agony, but they are chained and locked shut.

Luckily, there is one man who holds the key.

“Easy, easy there darling,” Nanami coos in your ear, fingers tips grazing up your spine tracing delicate patterns as you rut into him.

While goosebumps decorate every inch of it, your skin feels ablaze. A needy whine escapes your lips as you continue riding Nanami’s quadricep. Your pace is feverish as you lift and grind yourself against him, upset with the decrease in friction as your juices leak onto his thigh.

“Shhh, it’s okay. Keep trying, I know it’s hard.”

The soft timber of his voice causes your muscles to flutter around nothing, your body begging to feel more of him. Like honey, you feel yourself drip and melt over his skin.

Leaning into him further, you wrap both arms around his neck, using him as leverage.

“Ah, yes, there you go. That’s a good girl.”

Your pace quickens but the pressure isn’t intense enough. Your moans and cries become more strained as you try with everything you have to reach your release. Sensing your struggle, Nanami slides both hands down your back to the bottom of your plump ass, roughly squeezing the flesh there.

“Do you need my help, baby?”

You nod and whimper into his neck, eyes shut tightly in attempt to heighten your other senses.

Nanami gives you a hum in reassurance as he roughly grabs around your waist, fingers sinking deep enough to leave behind angry marks. Without hesitation, he presses your core firmly down against him and manually grinds your body back and forth with reckless abandon.

With his help, things finally begin to click into place like they always do. The pressure on your clit feels just right, and it jolts your soul back to life. You intentionally breathe in more of his scent as he works, determined to flood yourself of him. You feel Nanami smile into your shoulder as he catches on to your actions.

“Feeling better?” he muses.

You nod shakily as you huff out in pleasure, only to jolt in pain as you feel a cold smack to your ass cheek.

“Tsk,” he scolds, “use your words, darling.”

“Yes!”

“Good. Now look at me and cum.”

You feel like you have no strength to meet his demands, but you know disobeying Nanami Kento doesn’t come without punishment. Your body is begging to cum, so there is no choice but to try.

You peel your upper body off of him and use his shoulders to steady yourself. Slowly, you open your eyes and blink a few times to focus on the large-bodied man in front of you.

Your eyes first meet the expanse of his chest, glistening in a sheer sheen of sweat. Traveling upward, you fixate on where his collarbone meets his neck, pale skin littered with your love marks. Next, his kiss-swollen lips are slightly agape, resembling your own. Finally, his eyes, partially hidden behind his messy gold strands, appear dark as his pupils are blown out in pure desire.

Maxing out on visual stimulation, you throw your head back and cry out in pleasure while keeping eye contact with your lover. You watch as he tilts his head back as well as sucks on his bottom lip in attempt to muffle his moan. One of his hands leaves your hip to palm his erection that’s straining his boxer briefs.

One final push, one final command, the key turns, and the gates open.

“Cum.”

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Eight

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Riding, unprotected sex, titty sucking, groping, Ghost being a stalker + his perspective

Taglist: @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan

Masterlist

Glass panes fogged over, the abyss surrounding you long forgotten through the rusted panes, your reflection like static as your hips ground down against a plush belly, curls of pubic hair wisping up as they tickled against your pelvis.

Sweat dripped from your pores, leaking down the backs of your thighs, trapping themselves amongst the aperture of your knees. The Scotsman was everywhere, tummy practically bulging with his member as you whined out every time you bounced onto him, cock kissing your bruised cervix as a grunt left his lips.

Soap’s eyes were curled up towards your breasts, occasionally glancing over your fucked-out face as you cooed sweetly into the air. Veined hands ruggedly found your tits, squeezing the flesh in his palms as he lapped in every movement caused by the collision of your pussy sinking down on him.

“F’cken milking me bonnie, keep going jus like that,” He spat into the open air, his pupils blown with lust as he watched you. Your lips tucked in between your teeth, metallic spilling into your mouth as you bit back a squeal, head rolling back desperately as your thrusts grew sloppier.

“Dinnae tell me ye’ getting tired, lass.”

You barked out a, “Shut up,” hand slapping against his chest as you raised your hips once more, the squelch of your wetness filling the blank walls, bouncing from timber to window as you whined, thighs burning. Soap cocked out a laugh, now gripping at your hips, groping the fat as he thrust his hips up, meeting your slowed movements.

His length was fathomlessly stroking your walls, eyes cavernous as he watched your face contort up, squeals singing from your throat as he began to take over, cock ramming inside you with an insatiable vigour as your hands fell beside his head, tits hanging low against his face as he fucked up into you.

Scorched skin found his mouth as he licked against your breast, the saltiness of your sweat spurring him on as he grazed against a nipple, tongue wrapping around it as his hands gripped your waist. As Soap continued, you wailed out an expletive, practically choking on the dust that littered the room.

“That’s it, love, fuck – so fucking tight, ain’ ya? Jesus-“

His mouth was filthy, only pulling away from your chest to spit out praise as your walls milked him. Your neck was littered with sweat, hairs clawing against the skin as you held yourself in place, taking every thrust he gave you. Heavy hands slapped at your ass, keeping it apart as he set his bruising pace, balls crudely grazing against the flesh.

“Fuck – Johnny, too deep – I can’t.”

“Ye can f’cken take it,” he grunted, his pace somehow growing faster as you screamed out obnoxiously, pleasure wracking through you. Your body was on fire, veins gushing with pure arousal as your cunt squelched around him, every hair on your body raised as your skin prickled under his touch.

Your legs were weak, shaking mercilessly as the Sergeant held you in place, orgasm bracing you as your stomach tightened, incoherent babble ludicrously scorching through the air as you gripped onto his shoulder blades, a cocky smile across Soap’s face as he fucked you through an orgasm, pussy milking his member before he stuttered out a deep thrust, holding your thighs as he flipped you over.

You whined at the overstimulation against your g-spot, tears breaking the surface as your legs continued convulsing before he pulled out, hot spurts of ivory ceasing against your plush tummy, pants wracking through the both of you as you collapsed.

Your lashes fluttered around subtle light as you felt Soap moving against you, dampness hitting your stomach before prickly cotton engulfed you.

Arrogant gold hues crept up through the slumber of the night, tenacious stars clawing at the midnight of the sky, the early settlers of birds cawing out to the living dead in a mocking manner before settling in the depth of the trees, out of reach to groping, rotting hands.  

Silk weaved between the trees, dew settling between the earth and the branches they clung from before soaking into the dirt, the stench of the morning stalling across the forest. Heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, the indents between large boots stunk of mud and broken sticks as leaden hands grabbed at spider webs, tearing them apart between sudden movements.

A hoarse grumble left the man’s throat as he trenched through the woodlands, the soft bristle of the wind whistling against the thick, black cotton of his mask, eyes salty with sleep. It wasn’t unusual for Ghost to never sleep past sunrise, his body achingly creaky from the distant memories of military life, fists slamming against punching bags whilst others were only just settling down to sleep.

A rugged scar ran across his lip, the faded colour a shimmering pearl under the morning light as he pulled the balaclava down. Even alone, during the apocalypse, the eeriness of vulnerability sank into his stomach as he took in a deep breath before pulling it up again.

Thick fingers gripped around carbon steel, the head of the sniper inches away from the forest floor as the Lieutenant crept through, almost unhidden by the woodland creatures, the occasional squirrel popping its head out before flustering away into its burrow once more.

Thick thighs held their ground, buried in the bushes, the occasional snag of a thorn rustling throughout before the silenced sound of a gun went off, a gentle flurry of birds scattering around before quietude muzzled the wood surrounding him.

He worked best alone and used to never rely on anyone, no matter the stage of his life. The task force became a second home, a cold place that was only warmed by the familiar faces he worked with. His body ached with every movement, the remnants of past wounds only seeming to heighten when he began to forget about them. It was an alarm that gunned through his head, working at the speed of light through his spinal cord to remind him that he would never escape his work.

No matter where, no matter how, it would always stay with him. Sometimes Simon wished for death, the peacefulness of nothing welcoming him like a hot bath, skinning the flesh from his bones in a chamber of perdition.

Blood stained his padded hands, soft speckles of the afterlife draining from the deer’s eyes step by step as he trekked back to the farmhouse. There was a soft patter of rain that littered across the sky, the crops thriving amongst muddy soil, fertilising amongst burrowing grubs and worms.

Your eyes met the door, staring down at his damp figure, the gruelling emphasis of nature splattered among the subtle tears in his clothes and weaves of silken strings displaced on the dark clothing. You peered down at the carcass in his hand, offering him a polite small.

“Thank you,” you murmured, the morning air still shivering across the walls as you adjusted to not making as much noise. After all, you didn’t live alone anymore.

Ghost was unsure of you. He watched you a lot, umber shades shelling over with an unknown feeling. He took in the way your spine creaked through the skin of your back when you bent over or the way your lids would crease over as you laughed. He noticed the way you looked down when you didn’t want to answer a certain question and he could hear from the crack in your voice when you reached your peak, sweaty body writing under anyone, anyone but him, as you clenched around them.

Maybe it was jealousy. Jealous that you found this place, you got to make a life for yourself and earn potential freedom, a rarity that he was unsure he would ever have. Jealous of the fact that he watched you first, eyes glazing over you weeks ago in a town hours away, muscles soaked in salty residue, thighs burnt out from the relentless biking.

Jealous that he didn’t get to sink his teeth into you the night he walked in on you, pussy pathetically gushing around nothing as you attempted to shelter your moans, his cock aching with a demand for release as he stalked back into his room, rutting into Johnny’s mouth.

The deer fell on the kitchen counter, your bodies in close perimeter as he gaped at you. His voice was rugged, holding a girthy tone of citrus to it with every syllable he pronounced.

“You gonna show me how to be a man around here or you just gonna fuck m’ with your eyes?”

[odoraful]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓

wriothesley has been hesitant to tell you about his past, afraid that it will tarnish your view of him. reconciling with this is no easy task, but he has you by his side to guide him

content: wriothesley x gn!reader; established relationship; 'baby' pet name; reader and wriothesley live together; nightmare sequence; mentions of blood; spoilers to wrio story quest!; reader doesn't know the full truth of wriothesley's past; wriothesley worried about how good of a partner he is :( ; hurt/comfort; reverse comfort; 4k words

a/n: i just wanna gently hold wriothesley and tell him that he's doing so well <3 also i give full credit to critical role and the wonderful talisen jaffe for the quote "pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Before opening his eyes, Wriothesley smelled iron. Pungent and pervasive. It filled his nostrils and sunk unpleasantly in his churning stomach. He knew he was lying on his back on a cold, hard surface, but that was about as much information he was certain about. Where he was or how he ended up in this state escaped him.

He tested his other senses. Every swallow of saliva went down like sand in his throat. His fingers were limp as he tried squeezing them into fists, the strength siphoned out of him. Slowly regaining some sense of himself again, he could finally label what the scent was. Blood.

At that realisation, he peeled opened his eyes, dreading the scene he would find himself in. A scene he knew that would be painfully similar to memories he quashed a long time ago. He grimly thought whether the blood would be trailing from his hands, or already dried up beneath him, a red dye stained on the floorboards. The lights above accosted him, dazzling his vision. Fontainian households were always so bright, and it didn’t help that the walls of them were white too. But, even then, there were always nooks and crannies shrouded in darkness. Wriothesley found that the more glittering lights there were, the darker the shadows they casted.

He sat up with a groan, his body the weight of bricks. Looking around, there was no such scene he imagined before him. The room he was in was… ordinary. Pristine white walls lined with book shelves against spotless light timber flooring. A fireplace was tucked between two shelves, where the hearth held blackened remnants of burned wood. Wriothesley was situated on the floor between the fireplace and two brown cushioned sofas facing each other separated by a low table. He swore there were other furnishings in the room, but for some reason he couldn’t focus on them. The edges of his vision blurred and he couldn’t make out any other details besides what was most salient.

It wasn’t necessary though.

He knew where he was.

He was almost even in the exact spot they found him slumped in when he was a boy. Back rested against a bookshelf, hollow eyes gazing into the distance. The officers were unable to hide the pure shock on their faces at the grisly tableau in front of them.

Bile rose in Wriothesley’s throat. Despite there being no evidence of violence, the scent of blood lingered in the air, filling his lungs. He went to stand, the movement ungraceful and slow, as if he were swimming in the ocean with thick layers of clothing on. Lying on the floor wouldn’t do well for his nausea. He walked towards to sofa to sit and assess this situation. Sinking into the cushions, he rubbed his temples with his hands.

He thought this house had long since been torn down. How had he been taken back to his old home? His mind sharply retracted those words. No, he wouldn’t call it that. Home was a place of safety and love, but the place he grew up in was built on a foundation of lies and malice. The only small glimmer of home he could recall was his bonds with his siblings.

“█████.”

A voice whispered from just beside his ear, as if speaking a secret.

Wriothesley’s skin prickled. His head snapped around, but he was only met with empty space.

Impossible, he thought. No one who should know that name. He buried it a long time ago when he was handcuffed to the bed in that emergency ward. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Digging up memories of his past.

“█████, where did you go?”

This time, a different, more louder voice came from the opposite direction. Wriothesley could make out its qualities—young and wistful. It was that of a child.

Wriothesley was not often scared. When someone like him had seen both the worst and best of what life had to offer, he was seldom caught off guard. Even backed into a corner, there was always a way out for him. A few carefully chosen words was his preferred method, but now, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Hearing that name being said aloud chilled him to his bones. The colour drew from his face, skin turning ghast-like. He was terrified.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

A young girl sniffled, sounding on the verge of tears. Wriothesley scanned the room frantically, trying to find the source of the voices.

“Why did you leave us?”

A young boy this time. Familiarity clawed at the back of Wriothesley’s mind. His eyes bulged in horror.

“█████, we miss you.”

“You said we would play together.”

“They took some of us away.”

“█████, will you ever come back?”

Wriothesley covered his ears, but it did little to quiet the ceaseless voices. Multiple of them spoke at once, rising in urgency, surging around him. Overlapping and defeaning, burrowing into his skull no matter how hard he squeezed and squeezed his ears shut. He was backed into a corner with no way out. He screamed in his head, roaring in agony. He couldn’t stay here, he needed out.

Hearing the pleading of his own mind, Wriothesley jolted awake.

Like a conductor ending a symphony with the close of their hand, the cacophony of voices abruptly stopped.

Void-like silence met him in the waking world.

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He felt his heart lodged in his throat, as if he had been pushed off the tallest point of the Palais Mermonia. Steadying his shallow breathing, he pushed his back further into the bedsheets, trying to ground himself.

Just a dream, just a dream. He repeated, sighing loudly. His bedroom had never been a more welcome sight as he sat up, careful not to awake his resting partner. At least, that’s where you should have been. There was no weight of your body beside him. He swept a hand over the bed, and made contact only with the sheets and crumpled quilt blanket.

Still reeling from the terrors of his dream, Wriothesley’s mind drew the worse conclusions. Had you been taken? Had you left him? Panicked, he began to call out your name. His voice was hoarse, but he was glad he could speak after being robbed of it in his dream.

A triangle of yellow light cut into the darkness of the room as the door cracked opened. Relief flooded him seeing you standing there, wrapped in a fluffy robe, hair ruffled.

“Baby, is everything alright?” You asked softly, approaching the bed.

Wriothesley’s chest rose and fell in quick intervals. His body arched over like a crooked branch, shivering ever so slightly. Alarms blared inside you. You had never seen him in this state before.

“I- I thought you had gone somewhere,” he said, voice quavering.

The mattress dipped as you sat atop, kneeling beside him. “I didn’t leave.” You lay a hand on him, watching closely at his expression with a furrowed brow. “I’m here, I’m here,” you soothed gently, rubbing small circles into his shoulder.

He gave into your touch, his posture easing. Seeing him slowly relax, you raised your hands to cradle his face. Warmth radiated through him, expelling whatever anxieties had possessed him. His breath shuddered. Immediately, he nuzzled into your touch, burying his face in the faint scent of soap and lilies. He could stay here forever. It would be all he needed to revitalise his senses and keep him alive. He covered one of your hands with his own, encompassing it completely. His calloused fingers slid between yours—a sensation that contrasted against the softness of his lips as he kissed the inside of your palm. A feather-like touch that caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter.

“I was just in the bathroom.” You reassured him. Wriothesley hummed in response. “Did something happen?”

He hesitated, wondering how much he should tell you.

“I just had a nightmare.” His voice was muffled, lips grazing your skin as he spoke. “It was nothing, really.”

You gently turned his head towards yours, prompting him to focus on you. “It doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”

His heart stung at the pure concern on your face. Different from the times when you tended to him when he injured himself whilst boxing, or when you saw him passed out at his desk from his persistent workload. There was desperation layered in your knitted brows and parted lips.

“Let me get you a glass of water.” You said, caressing his face. Hints of stubble brushed under the pads of your thumbs. “You’ll feel a little better after being hydrated.”

Coldness returned to his cheeks as you pulled away. You couldn’t even turn around before Wriothesley’s hands were on you once again. He snaked his arms around your waist, embracing you tightly.

“Don’t go.” He rasped. “Please, stay with me.”

His pleading tugged at your heartstrings. As much as you wanted to stay in his arms, you could tell from his voice just how dry his throat was. “I won’t be far from you. I’ll be gone only for a moment.” You kissed his forehead, sealing your promise.

You waited until he loosened his hold on you (albeit begrudgingly), and hurried out of the room to fetch some water. Wriothesley leaned against the bedhead. His head was clearer now, and he tuned his hearing to the far-away whir of machinery in the Fortress.

He was glad to have a shared room with you away from his working environment. This was an entirely new floor he had extended above his office. The design of which began after he had seen you curled up in sleep on one of his chairs, waiting for him to finish his duties for the day. Resting somewhere backgrounded by piles of administrative paperwork didn’t make for the most relaxing setting. And so, he swiftly drafted plans to create private quarters for the two of you.

After a long day, he would head straight upstairs to meet you. You’d be there snuggled on the lounge with a novel, and his footfalls would be enough for you to abandon your book on the table and rush over to the door. Now, while the sun could not be seen in the stronghold beneath the waves, it found its place with you. In the way your smile beamed and eyes twinkled as you greeted him. You were so, so bright, and yet he could never look away. At first, it almost startled him how easy you gave your love to him. There was no ulterior motive with you. You loved him wholly.

He sadly wondered how quickly your glimmer would fade if he revealed parts of him that had never seen the light.

The tapping of your slippers approached the door, and you entered with a glass and pitcher of water. Placing them both on the bedside table, you poured water into the glass and handed it to him. Wriothesley didn’t realise how parched he was until he took the first sip. Eagerly chugging the rest down, he you in the corner of his eye, chewing on your bottom lip. You were on the cusp of saying something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, taking the empty glass from his hands and putting it to the side.

“Your dream that is…” You faltered through your words. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you seemed upset when you woke up.”

More than upset, you thought to yourself, afraid.

Wriothesley reached out for you wrist. You let him guide you into bed, slipping under the blankets. He pulled you in closer, arm draped around your waist, until your bodies were flush with each other. Your expectant gaze fell on him. He plastered on an assuring smile, but couldn’t quite draw the corners of his lips up to reach his eyes.

“I was only a bit shaken,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “It had things relating to my past. My subconscious must have it out for me for not letting me get a good night’s rest.” Hopefully that was enough to mollify the true contents of his dream.

You toyed with the edge of the blanket. Wriothesley’s past was something he didn’t divulge in too much detail. Even after being together for some time, all you knew was that his childhood was a difficult time, and he had to run away from his foster parents home. You had a good sense that he no longer wished to recall these events from the way he was quick to brush off the topic. It was hard for you to balance between wanting to know more, and also respecting his privacy.

“You know that you can tell me about anything that’s bothering you, right?”

Your eyes never left his, watching the way they brimmed with fondness as he answered.

“Of course I know that baby, it’s just that…” His eyes casted downwards.

In his line of work, keeping up a poker-face meant keeping things under control. However, with you, he never hid his true emotions, and you saw conflict dance across his features.

“I’m worried it might change how you see me,” he confessed, fidgeting with his fingers as if he were itching to move.

“Wriothesley,” you covered a hand over his, halting his movement, “nothing will make me change the way I see you now. You aren’t the same person as you were back when you were young.”

Those words settled in his mind, prodding at the uncertainties he had about opening up. You continued,

“You can share anything about your past with me. And, what is it they say…” You tried to recall a line you had read recently. “A burden shared is a burden halved?”

He couldn’t fight back a smile, teeth peeking out from beneath his lips. “Putting those philosophical books you’re reading to use?”

“Actually, it’s a collection of poetry from Mondstadt.” You corrected, pursing your lips smugly.

He breathed a laugh, spirits lightening at how endearing his partner was.

From the day he selected a new name for himself, he chose to begin anew. Although he knew that nothing in his past constituted any part of his life now, it still clung to him. A fog clouding his mind during moments of solitude, drawing out doubts that stumbled into the open. If he did tell you the full truth, would you see him as nothing more than someone raised in a loveless place? Who was pushed to do what many considered unthinkable? Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled slowly—ruminating.

You calmly awaited his next words, knowing that you would accept both if he chose to tell you or not.

Wriothesley spoke again,

“I mentioned to you before that I didn’t have the most… peaceful childhood.”

You nodded, grim at the thought of what those adults had done to those innocent children. “Mmm, you told me about your foster parents, and how you ran away from them.”

“Yes, but that’s not the whole truth.”

Pausing, he steeled himself. He caught on a thread that had long since been loose and began to unravel his past.

“After I escaped, I couldn’t shake off the guilt of abandoning my siblings, but there was also no way I could stay in that household after what I had learned.”

He recounted the story in the same way one would read aloud an article published by The Steambird. So separated from his past that he had little inflection in his tone. Even so, you saw a flare of emotion in Wriothesley’s eyes.

“So, I tried to keep myself alive and tried to get stronger, so that I could return and protect them.”

“Archons,” he bowed his head, dark hair falling over his brows, “I don’t even know how much time passed out there, everything seemed to blend together.”

You felt an ache in your chest, like someone had tightly gripped your heart. “I can’t imagine how tough it must have been.” Picturing a younger Wriothesley in your head, frightened and alone, made you shiver.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “It was.” He returned a sad smile to you, though regret laced his words. “I wouldn’t wish that life for anybody, but I did learn a lot.”

“I snuck back into the house after a while of being on the streets. I-“ He rubbed his temple with his free hand, unable to find the right words. “One of my siblings told me that while I was gone, a few of them had been… adopted into other families.”

Your skin turned cold, knowing exactly what that meant.

“I-I think I heard their voices in my dream.” His voice wavered, face scrunching up as he remembered those ghostly voices in that empty room. “They were asking why I left them there, wondering where I was.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you did return. You swore that you would come back for them and you did,” you asserted.

Shaking his head, he turned his hand over to interlock your fingers with his. “Perhaps I was too late.”

“I found my foster parents sitting happily in the drawing room, and suddenly, I felt so, so angry.” His expression turned sombre, staring down at the blanket covering you two. “At them, at myself, at the world, and something snapped in me and I did the only thing I felt I could do in that moment.”

A heaviness tugged down on his chest as if in protest at the continuation of his sentence. But, there would be no hiding it now. He swallowed thickly.

“I killed them.”

The words left his lips in a whisper, and hung in the space between you.

You stilled. The faint beating of your heart could be felt between your hand in his.

Sensing your stiffness, Wriothesley forced himself to look at you, searching your face in the hopes of finding any kind of reaction. He half expected you to pull away in terror. Disillusioned at the fact that your partner was a murderer. But, he found no such revulsion. Instead, your eyes glossy with tears captured a sadness so sincere and profound that his heart shattered into pieces, piercing him from the inside out.

“It was a long time ago.” With every word he spoke, the shards seemed to dig deeper. “And I definitely don’t associate myself with that person anymore.”

“But, I understand if this changes how you see me. If you need time away-”

“Don’t say that,” you interrupted, shaking your head fervently.

You blinked, tears lining your lower lashes. The sight of your partner blurred slightly in your vision, his face contorted in pain. You understood. The distance he wanted to put between you was merely a façade. Buried beneath it was a wordless plea for you to stay. He had bared everything to you, and you would not let him hurt by himself any longer.

“It doesn’t change how I feel towards you.” Determination rose in your cracked voice. “You were so young. No child should ever be placed in a position like that.”

Surely, there must be some part of him that agreed. Some part that would allow forgiveness. Wriothesley’s gaze flicked between your eyes, lost in your expression, as was you in his. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I-I can’t be the one to say whether it was the right thing to do,” you continued, “but what I do know is that you were just a child who needed to survive and wanted to protect those you cared about.”

How many people had treated him with kindness as a child? It upset you to think of all the adults that turned their backs on him. Reducing his character to only what they saw on a case report. Likely considering him to be nothing more than a psychopath. Your pulse thumped in your ears at the injustice of it.

“You are not who you were in the past.” You said slowly, enunciating every word. “Pain doesn’t make people, Wriothesley. It’s love that makes people.”

His expression melted softly. The creases between his brows smoothing.

“And I know that you love and care so strongly, you’ve shown me that every single day.”

Icy blue eyes held so much affection as he stared back at you—transfixed. Now more than ever did he believe you were the sun to him. Basking in your warmth, feeling the comfort of it tingle his skin. What you had said to him had begun to sink in. However, while he couldn’t refute your words, the mindset he had formed could not be altered in a single moment. Perhaps he would not completely believe your words now, but that was alright. You would be there by his side every day to remind him.

Clearing his throat, Wriothesley tested out if his voice was still fit to speak. Though this room was private to the two of you, he spoke quietly, as if he craved only your attention.

“When I was serving my sentence here, I always dreamed about what my new home would be."

He recalled the confinement of his cell, and how his mind would drift from counting the bolts in the metal wall to imagining a new life for himself. Wanting a place that was safe and people he felt at peace with felt like a mirage to him. However, if he could go back in time and speak to his younger self in that cell, he would tell him that things would turn out alright. The journey would not be without difficulties, but he would finally be in a place where he no longer had to look over his shoulder, fearing for his safety. And, he would be with someone who would be proud to call him their love.

“I think I found it here, with you.”

He took the chance to close the distance between you two. His forehead rested against yours. You closed your eyes.

“I love you, Wriothesley,” you whispered, instinctively.

His breath caught in his throat. How fortunate he was to have you in his life. Not only to receive your endless love, but to learn just how capable of loving he is.

He whispered back in reply, his breath gently fanning across your cheeks. “I love you too.”

Neither of you broke away, staying in this position for a moment. Everything had been untangled before you, and a odd mixture of both sorrow and solace stirred inside you. Sorrow at listening to what Wriothesley had gone through as a boy, and solace at how tender the man before you was, his hair tickling against your forehead.

You continued to speak softly to each other for a while longer. The conversation floated from his time at the Fortress to how he became its administrator. As he spoke, the accuracy of the quote you shared before was confirmed in the inexplicable lightness he felt in his chest. A burden shared is a burden halved, he recited to himself.

Time drew on, and you both sensed that if you didn’t sleep now, you’d be up until the Fortress’ inmates began their morning shifts. Curling up beside each other, you asked to play big spoon this time so he could fall asleep easier. Though he was taller in stature to you, you insisted on it. If it were a different day, he probably would have put up a greater fight, but there was little argument in him now at the chance of being wrapped up in your arms. He was lulled to rest by your rhythmic inhales and exhales. The night quietened, and no more voices followed him in slumber.

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post a/n: thank you for making it to the hidden easter egg author note haha, i appreciate you greatly, and i hope it was an enjoyable read!!! 🥺 i just wanted to yap about my thought process writing this piece. you definitely don't have to read all this, it's primarily for my own notetaking! <3

i felt like this was probably one of the hardest pieces i've written so far (?) i found it tough to build up that tension of reader not knowing wriothesley's full past and him still grappling with his actions as a young boy, and even what that dialogue would look like! i had to step away and come back a few times just so i could look at this with a fresh pair of eyes. it may not be perfect but i'm glad to have finished this! :')

[icarusredwings]

Some things to remember:

-Wolverines are extremely territorial solitary creatures that often have huge chunks of territory. If someone enters said territory, they're very quick to scare them away.

They lack the social instincts and pack-hunting adaptations that have developed in other predators like wolves through natural selection.

-Wolverines actually aren't even agressive rather then forced to over protect themsleves, their family, and food sources from living and adapting in such rugged and harsh environments.

But at the same time, Wolverines have been said to be "realitivy easy to tame" are "just about one of the most unique companions" and "quite enjoy harnesses"

-Domesticated Wolverines love bite their handler fingers, swat at them like curious cats, hold their legs while they walk on their own hind legs, and become very attached to one person. They enjoyed being stroked as well as tolerates being picked up by their trusted handlers.

-Female Wolverines mate May to August, nest deep in the snow, and have a thing called delayed implantation, which means their eggs don't become feralitized until winter. Most Wolverine kits (sets of 6) are born in February (around the 14th) and are born with no teeth and pure white soft fur.

-Male Wolverines are Polygamous and will mate with multiple females, but usually the same throughout their lifetime regarding location. Male Wolverines mate like wolves and often will hold the females' hips with claws and bite their neck.

Males also have what is called a Baculum, which is quite literally a penis bone. It's thin and curves upwards towards the end to help the male mate.

(This is probably why Wade called Logan a Needle dick, but no, he most likely doesn't have a Baculum bone, so stop that)

-It is very common for Wolverines mating rituals to involve some time of constant fighting, playing, and only mating after the female becomes confident in the males fighting etiquette. It's been said that males who back off yet retun are more likely to mate than males who are too rough or only engage once or twice in the play fighting. This playfighting can (and often does) include biting ears, scratching, TONS of hissing, teeth baring, swatting, snarling, and tackling.

-Wolverines are SCAVENGERs and opportunity eaters, meaning they'll eat whatever they can find or kill with their strong jaws. They also have thick neck muscles.

-No 2 Wolverines have the same chest pattern, and their feet are where they hold their territory sweat glands.

-Wolverines are said to stink because of their excessive scent glands for marking territory and mate luring. They were given the name "Gulo gulo" and "skunkcat"

-Wolverines have been known for going up against things 50x their weight and still winning, such as grizzly bears, timber wolves, moutian lions and bobcats.

Do with this information what you will :)

[mapecl-stories]

The Love Hymn of Angeliterland

The Love Hymn of Angeliterland (by Marcus Petersen-Clausen, köche-nord.de)

Oh Angeliterland, so wonderful and fine, With your green meadows and the wide, pure field. In Schleswig-Holstein lies your magnificent territory, A paradise of love that I desire so much. The Baltic Sea coast, so gentle yet so wild, A place where souls meet and linger. The wind gently caresses the blonde grass, And I wish our love would never wane. The fields stretch out in lush green, An image of beauty that makes my heart boldly bloom. In the midst of this natural splendor, I find my love, pure and true. The charming villages, so idyllic and small, Where time stands still and the heart feels joyful. With timber-framed houses, so quaint and old, A place where love will never grow cold. The Angeliter mountains, majestic and proud, A sky full of stars and hearts so bold. Up here, we can forget the world, Give ourselves to love and tenderness, unforgettable. Oh Angeliterland, you are my place of the heart, Where I become so happy in your arms. In the shade of the trees and by the riverbank, We love each other forever, without any distress. The love in Angeliterland, so pure and genuine, A love ode that makes my heart sing. May this be our homeland forever and ever, In the beautiful Angeliterland, where love never fades.