#scarred inmate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zarameraki · 15 days ago

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🖊️💌 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗽𝗲𝗻-𝗽𝗮𝗹 🖊️💌

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 prisoner sukuna x his penpal 𖥔 just plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 pussayy eating rawr but also u suck his dick so 𖥔 uraume and toji found family 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw

: ̗̀➛ words: 10k?? idfk it's long

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy halloween, mamas! 🎃 i know ive been MIA for a while but thats because i wasnt feeling creative. but now ive dumped a 10k sukuna fic on you for you to read at 3 in the morning. this one's got a kick to it yall. its long but give the bitch a chance, shes good. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

So, this was where you’d ended up—on a site for writing to prisoners. A pen-pal with an inmate.

How lonely did you have to be to fill out your info, pay a yearly fee, and do this? The answer: really, really lonely. Orphaned, friendless, and scarred from a relationship that had left you with broken ribs and a blind eye. And as if to top it all off, you wanted to reach out to a criminal. I guess you deserved at least that small bit of connection.

You scrolled through inmate profiles, noting their crimes—arson, theft, cybercrime, drug trafficking, money embezzlement, and so on. None of them were charged with homicides or serious offences.

One profile did catch your eye. The smirk in his mugshot suggested he’d probably killed someone and managed to evade the cops before they could pin anything on him.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” you whispered, clicking on his profile and staring at a laundry list of crimes. “Aggravated assault, drug manufacturing and distribution, kidnapping—Jesus—extortion, cybercrime, Satanism . . . what the hell?” You chuckled as you scrolled further. “Bank burglary, vandalism of religious properties—so that’s the Satanism part—illegal possession of firearms, stalking?”

Why was this man even on this website, given his long list of crimes?

You zoomed in on his mugshot. Was it wrong to find him attractive despite his record? He truly embodied the term “bad boy,” though he didn’t look like a boy at all. He was ruggedly handsome with hollowed eyes. His light-mink hair was swept back, with a few strands falling over his forehead, and he wore a single hoop earring in his left ear. Black tattoos marked his nose bridge, jaw, and the centre of his forehead, while narrow-eyed designs were inked on his cheekbones.

You wondered if he’d get any letters, given his long rap sheet. Maybe delusional women like you, who’s pussies sang for high-profile criminals, sure.

Licking your lower lip, you picked up a piece of paper and a pen, tapping the end against the sheet as you continued to study his face.

Then you started writing.

Hello, Sukuna Ryomen,

My name is Y/N.

You thought it over. For now, you'd keep it light before diving into your deeper issues. It felt easier to share your thoughts with someone you’d never meet face-to-face than with a stranger in a bar whose only interest was getting into your pants.

You kept writing.

Dear Sukuna Ryomen,

I’m currently living in an apartment complex that’s in desperate need of renovation. I’m harvesting cockroaches—no, I’m not eating them; the fuckers just won’t stop nesting in my kitchen cabinets, and I’m tired of spending money on pest sprays. On top of that, I’m pretty broke, barely managing to keep a roof over my head. I’ve even considered trying to seduce the landlord into reducing my rent, though I doubt any man would find a woman with one working eye appealing. I noticed you have an extra beneath your real eyes. Care to share?

Anyway, this is my first time writing to someone like you, so apologies if it’s a bit awkward. I wish I could send a nude, but I’m pretty sure you’d wish you were blind after that. I feel like I’m rambling like this is my diary, so I should probably wrap it up. If you want to write back, feel free. I don’t mean to sound privileged, but I’m lonely as fuck.

Thank you (?),

Y/N

P.S. About the Satanism—care to explain?

You didn’t bother proof-reading and folded the letter into an envelope, sealing it with a lick. From your drawer, you pulled out a pack of old stickers—remnants of your childhood—and placed one where the envelope met. You wrote the prison address provided on the website and added the stamps you’d bought during your walk, which was your final push into becoming a prison pen-pal. After selecting Sukuna Ryomen on the site and uploading your ID and other required documents, you waited for your profile to be approved.

After three days of waiting, you sent out the letter first thing in the morning and anxiously awaited a response.

Sukuna’s fists collided with the inmate’s face, each strike more brutal than the last. Blood splattered across his knuckles as the crowd of orange-clad convicts roared with twisted delight, their voices a chorus of vile encouragement. “Finish him!” they taunted, while others jeered at the barely conscious man, urging him to get up and fight back, to aim a desperate kick at Sukuna’s balls.

“Sukuna!” A guard’s voice cut through the chaos, and soon the officers were pushing through the throng, shutting the prisoners who dared resist their authority. “Get up, now!”

“Fuck off!” Sukuna snarled, his lips curling into a sneer as he shoved the guard aside. He watched with cold satisfaction as the man lay still, blood pooling beneath him. All this because the idiot had the nerve to laugh when Sukuna missed a three-pointer. Now, the bald bastard had paid the price for his arrogance, and Sukuna breathed in the aftermath—his own dark victory painted in blood and broken bones.

Officer Gojo Satoru strode into the circle, handcuffs gleaming in his hand.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed at the sight of the blue-eyed bastard, a wave of hatred surging through him so fierce he could almost feel his fingers tightening around Satoru's throat. The very thought of choking the life out of him fueled his dark desires.

Satoru’s father—the man responsible for dragging Sukuna down, catching him red-handed with crates of cocaine at the border, and sealing his fate with a fifty-year sentence. If Sukuna had known the old man’s spawn would end up as a deputy officer here, watching his every move with those piercing eyes, he would have never shown up to that cursed delivery. But no—he had wanted to play the good boss, personally seeing his precious cargo off. Now, every day behind bars was a constant reminder of that one fatal mistake, and Sukuna’s rage festered as he thought of the traitor, Yuji. The little fuck who sold him out would pay dearly, and Sukuna was already plotting the perfect revenge.

His own fucking nephew sold him off. Motherfucker wanted the throne for himself—an empire Sukuna built with his bare hands.

“Throw him in the ice box,” Satoru commanded, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. The officer roughly cuffed Sukuna’s wrists, shoving him forward. “Cool down, Big Guy. You’re not going any—”

Before he could finish, Sukuna rammed his forehead into Gojo’s nose, relishing the satisfying crunch as the lanky bastard staggered back. The inmates roared with approval from where they were restrained by the other officers.

Gojo chuckled, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a pristine handkerchief, the kind only a spoiled little bitch like him would carry. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

“Hilarious,” Sukuna whispered, a dark grin curling at his lips.

“Okay,” Gojo replied with a casual shrug. Without warning, his fist slammed into Sukuna’s jaw.

Once.

Twice.

Three fucking times.

The officers stood by, indifferent, as their captain unleashed his fury. For them, it was just another case of self-defence.

Sukuna finally collapsed to the ground, his vision swimming. Gojo leaned over him, his voice a venomous hiss. “Who’s laughing now?” A final, vicious kick to Sukuna’s chest left him gasping for breath. “Keep him in that freezer until he’s begging to be let out. No meals for a week.”

Sukuna’s vision blurred as he glared at Satoru’s retreating figure, the ringing in his ears barely drowning out the disappointed murmurs of his fellow inmates. His body, battered and beaten, finally surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

When he came to, he found himself in the prison’s infirmary, cocooned in three heated blankets. Yet the warmth did little to pierce the deep, bone-chilling cold that gripped him. The need to piss gnawed at him, but even that seemed distant compared to the icy numbness that had taken hold.

“Welcome back to hell.”

Sukuna raised his head from the pillows to find Uraume, the prison’s doctor. They were also the only person he tolerated, and somewhat close to since he ended up in the infirmary more than once. He hoped they considered him a ‘something’ after he killed a two-hundred pound guy for groping their ass in the cafeteria. How did he do it? He knew Uraume kept a pocket knife in their doctor’s coat and quickly swept it out and stuck it in the dick’s jugular.

“How long have I been out for?” he asked, squirming his arm out of the blanket to rub his eyes.

“A day.”

“What?” Sukuna pulled himself out of the blanket by wiggling around like the fucking worms his cell mate Toji liked to collect every time they went in the courtyard to play. They’re better company than your grouchy ass, he said once. “How long was I in the ice box?”

“Barely an hour.” Well, that’s just pussy behaviour from him. “They pulled you out before hypothermia killed you. What a way to die, am I right?” They chuckled, preparing some pills in a small disposable cup. “Here, take these. They’re nutrients.”

“I could use actual food.” Sukuna downed them like a shot. God, he missed alcohol. “That blue-eyed bitch restricted my meals for a week.”

“Fuck him.” Uraume took out a sandwich from their bag and threw it in Sukuna’s direction. “Just fake illness when you’re hungry. I’m always here to feed my favourite dog.”

Sukuna snorted. “Go to hell.”

“Already here.” Uraume clipped back their white hair with the black dyed red. Like someone smashed their head into the wall and the colour just bled to the sides. “Oh, this came for you.”

Sukuna shoved the sandwich in his mouth and stretched his muscles before walking over, snatching the letter. It was already opened, a flimsy teddy-bear sticker hanging from the paper. “What the fuck is this?”

“A letter.”

“A letter? For me?”

Uraume broke their attention from the computer to look at him. “Remember when you had me register you on that prison pen-pal bullshit after Toji received a pile of fan letters?”

Sukuna blinked.

He definitely remembered being jealous when Toji got a letter from an artist who drew herself naked on paper for him, and a shit ton more asking for his dick size or when he’ll be out. Of course, Sukuna was envious of the attention. Plus, no one in prison made good company. He just wanted the taste of the outside world again after being locked in for five years now. Even if it was through ink on paper.

But then Sukuna looked down at his first ever letter torn open. “Why is this open? Who read it?” If it was Satoru, he was going to rip his eyeballs from his sockets and feed it to Toji’s pet worm.

“Relax. They’ve got to identify if there’s any substances attached to the paper, or any other shady shit. Whoever wrote to you is just a harmless nobody.”

Sukuna frowned, bringing the letter up to his nose. It smelled like a plain envelope. No drugs, nothing.

He found purchase on the bed again, pulling out the folded paper and ironing the creases out on his leg. Here we go.

He began reading each word carefully.

A week went by since you’d mailed your letter to Sukuna Ryomen. A week of pure torture to hear something back from the criminal. You’d relaxed on Sunday because the post offices are closed, but on Monday, you were at your mailbox, watching the mailman sort out letters and slip them through the boxes.

Once he left, you dashed to your box and flipped through the coupons, flyers, newsletters—

Your breath hitched.

Everything dropped from your hand except the cream envelope with an address from the prison. You didn’t care about reading it upstairs and quickly, yet carefully, tore it open from the side, reading the writing.

Trying to read it.

Sukuna had terrible handwriting. It made you giggle.

You leaned against the mailboxes and murmured the words written under your breath.

Hey, Y/N

I don’t know how to start a letter since I’ve never written one so don’t mind if I hurt your little feelings. Don’t know if you’re aiming to entertain me or bore me to death with this “dear diary” bullshit. I thought I’d get a nude, at the very least. Hell, Toji over here—yeah, the bastard who was on the news last year with a thing for setting houses on fire—gets way better fan mail every week. Pictures, drawings, mostly nudes. And I get your whining about rent and cockroaches?

Look, I may be locked up, but I’m giving you some advice here. Don’t fuck your landlord. You’ve got one eye? Good—use it. Hell, that’s already intimidating enough. Threaten the prick to call pest control, or better yet, trap those damn cockroaches and give him a taste. Stuff a few down his throat if he still doesn’t take you seriously. People respect action, not whining.

Speaking of. One eye? Really? Now, how’d it happen? Was it torn out? Still got some sight in it, or is it just gone? That’s gangster. Hot, even. I’d fuck a one-eyed chick. Maybe when I’m out we can cross that off my bucket list. Nah, I’m just playing with you.

Or maybe I’m not.

Think on it.

Hate (in a friendly way),

Sukuna.

P.S. Yeah, I took out some satanist scum who tried kidnapping one of my people’s kids. But don’t go thinking I’m in with those freaks. I’m just the Devil they wish they could be.

“Woah,” you breathed out, hugging the letter to your chest. This was it. This was what you were waiting for. A pull towards something real, something thrilling. It’s all you’ve been craving for eons now.

“Whatcha got there, sweetie?” The voice snapped you back, harsh as nails against glass. Your landlord had wandered out of his door on the first floor, wrapped in a faded bathrobe and gripping his mug like some king holding court. “Made a mess on my floor with your papers.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly tucking Sukuna’s letter back into its envelope and reaching down to gather the stray papers scattered on the floor. When you straightened, he was already in your space, close enough that the coffee on his breath made you flinch.

“Excuse me—”

“You’re excused.” His smirk widened as he leaned in, his nose grazing your neck. The greasy warmth of his breath made bile rise to the back of your throat. “Just wanna take a little bite out of you.”

Sukuna’s advice echoed in your mind. You’d never—never—think of following through with his revolting insinuation. But letting this sleaze get away with treating you like this? No. Not anymore.

“Step away,” you commanded, your voice low but unyielding. “Now.”

He blinked, then chuckled, dismissive. “Feisty today, huh? Got a letter from your boyfriend in prison, sweetie?” How did he know that? Fuck. Did he go through your mail before it was deposited? “Let me guess—you think he’s got your back now?” He leaned even closer, the stench of his laugh wafting in the air. “Come on, where's that one eye of yours aiming, sweetheart?”

“Next person who mentions my eye eats the dirt,” you snapped, every ounce of your resolve boiling up. “And as for what I’ve got—it’s something way out of your league, old geezer. So get the hell back to your apartment, and call pest control now.”

For a second, he was stunned, face going pale as your words sank in. But you could feel Sukuna’s thrill, his twisted approval in the back of your mind. You’d tapped into something that wouldn’t settle. But then, “Well, I’ll be damned. Someone put on their big girl panties.”

Your jaw tightened as you held your ground, taking steady breaths. You’d rehearsed this moment in your head, picturing a confrontation that ended with him backing down. But things never went as planned with him.

“I’m not here to beg,” you said evenly. “But I’m not gonna let you walk all over me, either. I pay rent. It’s your responsibility to keep this place livable.”

He snorted, raising his coffee mug and giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl.

“Not for free, sweetheart. You’ve gotta give me something worth my time.” His eyes travelled down your body.

Your pulse throbbed in your ears, but you squared your shoulders. “I’m already paying rent. It’s your right to ensure your tenant's safety.”

His face darkened, lips curling into a bitter smile. “Not when that tenant’s acting like a spoiled little bitch.” And then, with a flick of his wrist, he launched the mug’s contents right at you.

You dodged, but a few hot droplets scorched your arm, leaving a raw sting that only fueled your anger. He laughed, shaking his head with a mocking scowl. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I kick you out on the streets.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You turned on your heel, heading back upstairs with quick steps, forcing the tears back until you could lock the door behind you. Once inside, you slumped to the floor, breathing hard. The letter from Sukuna crackled beneath your hands, and you clutched it close to your chest, feeling the heat of humiliation turn into something fiercer, darker.

“Damn it,” you whispered to yourself, pushing back to your feet with renewed energy. You marched to your desk, grabbed your notebook and pen, and let the words pour out, hurried and jagged. If anyone would understand this kind of anger, it was him—the one man whose entire life was carved from rage.

And this time, you wouldn’t hold anything back.

“Letter for you, Ryomen.”

Sukuna dropped down from his top bunk, snatching the letter right out of the guard’s hand.

“From your girl?” Toji asked from across the table, flipping a card, halfway to beating Sukuna in Blackjack.

“Not my girl,” Sukuna grunted, tearing into the envelope. But still, he smirked as he unfolded your letter.

Hey, Sukuna.

Fuck my landlord to hell and back. I need you to know I’d kill him if I could get away with it. I’m trying to keep this “ethical” so they don’t cut off my letters, but let’s just, I hate the elderly. They should be rotting in retirement houses instead of owning properties and doing a shit job running them. That senile asshole threw hot coffee at me this morning. Burning. I nearly shattered the damn mug over his skull.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his fingers squeezing the letter hard enough to crumple the edges.

And now he’s saying he’ll kick me out, as if I have anything to pay him with. This place is a dump, anyway. I might hit up one of those shelters for women, maybe hop from couch to couch for a bit. My job at corner store’s giving me scraps; it’s not nearly enough to get by. So yeah, you could say I’m screwed.

And to answer your question about my eye—yeah, I’m blind in it. Got it from a real piece of work I used to call a boyfriend. He decided my face was fair game, and thought I could just live with it. But he's dead now. Overdosed last I heard from his brother. Good riddance, am I right?

Oh, and for that kink of yours you mentioned—sending my picture along with a little extra treat.

Hate (because I’m about to go crazy here), Y/N

P.S. For all the things you’ve done, I can’t lie—the world you talk about sounds safer than this one. Well, except for you committing the most heinous crimes.

Toji clicked his tongue. “Look at that dumbass grin on your face.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered, flipping the letter over—and there it was: a stick drawing of a woman lying on a bed, two messy circles for her chest, legs spread wide, and what looked like . . . well, he didn’t need to guess. Sukuna went from grinning to outright laughing. “She’s hilarious.”

“Not just that. She’s sexy as fuck,” Toji said, holding up a photo, ripped clean in half.

Sukuna’s eyes flashed. He swiped the photo and pieced it back together, cursing himself for tearing through the envelope like a brute. But as the two halves reconnected, he felt his pulse kick up, hard.

“Well, shit.” You were more than just beautiful. The way your hair fell, the curves of your body wrapped in that short black dress, standing under a streetlamp with the city lights glinting around you . . . But it was the smile—the easy, teasing grin—that really did it for him. “I’m definitely jerking off tonight.” Respectfully, of course.

“Can we get back to the game now, or—”

“Fuck the game. I’ve got a letter to write.” And a plan brewing to get you out of that dump and right where he wanted you.

Your landlord was pronounced dead.

An ambulance had arrived early in the morning, around nine, waking up every tenant. You were one of them, groggy from your sleep, and all the crying you’d done from realising how high rent was these days.

Apparently, he had a heart-attack, said one of the residents.

He was eighty, said another.

You stuck to the back of the crowd as his body was wheeled out on the stretcher. How could he have died just five days after you sent your last letter to Sukuna? It couldn’t have been him, could it? Maybe one of his associates? Given the man’s extensive criminal history, you suspected he had some serious connections.

As the crowd began to disperse a few minutes later, you joined them but didn’t head upstairs. Instead, you made your way to the mailroom.

And luckily, Sukuna’s letter was present.

All he wrote was:

You’re welcome.

Neutral,

Sukuna.

You broke out laughing, or crying. Whatever it was, it felt good. So good.

Hey, Sukuna!

These days, I’m feeling calm. Really calm. I’m sleeping well, eating better, even starting to enjoy work. Sometimes, I’m scared it’ll all get snatched away. By who? I don’t know. Life’s been that way, though. I’ve lost so much—my parents, my friends, even my left eyesight. At one point, I lost my will to keep going. But I guess some part of me held on, believing a better day would come.

Turns out, those days are here. Who would’ve thought a felon could make me feel less alone? I know it sounds crazy, but my life’s been full of surprises lately.

If you think you can’t bring happiness to someone, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. I’m genuinely happy, and it’s thanks to you. I already think of you as a friend—and I hope you think of me the same way. You don’t get a choice in that, by the way.

Love (genuinely), Y/N

P.S. I’d like to come visit you sometime soon.

Sukuna lowered the letter, his eyes settling on the wall where he’d pinned up your picture. “Toji?” he called out, still staring at the photo.

Toji paused mid-pushup, raising an eyebrow. “What, bitch?”

Sukuna let out a low laugh, barely shaking his head as he spoke. “I think I’m in love.”

Hello, Y/N.

When I’m out in fifty years, I’ll give you a real surprise. And don’t write me any more of that sentimental crap, alright? Save it for when you visit. I’d rather hear it in person.

Hate (but maybe not so much), Sukuna

P.S. You’re beautiful.

You pressed the letter to your chest, biting your lip as warmth spread across your cheeks, your face aching from how much you were smiling. It was official—you were falling for Sukuna Ryomen. You’d have to look your absolute best for your visit. Just the thought of seeing him, hearing his voice, maybe even feeling his hand brush yours, made your heart race. You’d kiss him if they’d let you. And if they didn’t? What could the guards do? Throw you in jail? Now that would be ironic.

But fifty years . . . Would you really wait fifty years for Sukuna to be released? How high was his bail, anyway, that even his hidden cash stash wasn’t enough to cover it? He had to have some kind of pull with the right people, didn’t he?

With a sigh, you grabbed a piece of paper and began to write your reply.

Sukuna,

Fifty years is a lifetime, don’t you think?

Love, Y/N

Sukuna read the short note you’d sent, surprised by how much you’d poured into just a few lines. He noticed small, faded dots on the paper—tears, unmistakably yours. You’d been crying, and it didn’t sit right with him. His stomach tightened, but thankfully, he’d already secured your visit through Uraume, who handled it while Gojo was away.

Now, all that was left was seeing you.

He wondered how he’d keep his hands to himself after all the nights he’d spent memorising your picture, losing himself in thoughts of you. Every night before sleep, every morning when he woke, every time Toji was out cold and couldn’t hear Sukuna’s barely-stifled groans as he imagined you were there. God, he wanted to steal you away.

The day of your visit finally came. Sukuna was led to the visitor room, wrists cuffed, flanked by two guards. He hadn’t set foot in this room since a couple of his associates had visited months back with updates on the family business and Yuji’s latest fiascos. They’d kept everything running despite his brother’s mess-ups, and Sukuna owed them.

He glanced down at his hands. Fifty years. He’d been scheming for a way out since he first set foot in here, but now, with you in the picture, the urge to escape was relentless. Bail was twenty million. Even if he could scrounge it up, he doubted he could get it done without tipping off the wrong people. No, his only real option was breaking out.

“Sukuna.”

A soft voice pulled his head up slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time his name was spoken with such warmth.

“Y/N.”

He shot up from his seat, his eyes flicking to the guards stationed in the corner before letting himself drink you in. You looked stunning—a soft sundress, hair delicately curled, makeup enhancing every curve and angle of your face. His gaze lingered on your eyes, marvelling at the contrast: one foggy, hazy, while the other was bright and striking. A smirk pulled at his mouth, but he softened it for you.

“Hey,” he whispered, the one word holding more emotion than he’d ever admit, especially with witnesses around.

“Hi,” you whispered back, eyes lowering down his muscled body, the pattern tattoos like rings around his wrist and with the first three buttons of his jumpsuit unbuttoned, you found the top of the rings on his pecs as well. His light-pink hair was brushed down, the tendrils poking his reddish-brown eyes. A peculiar colour. “Hi.”

He smiled. “You already said that, baby.”

Baby. Gosh, you were even more nervous now.

“They said I can’t shake your hand.” You looked at the cuffs on his wrists and tossed a glare at the guards. “Or hands.”

“Fuck them.” Sukuna sat down and you followed. “You’re stunning.”

You blushed. “Thank you.”

“Not gonna compliment me back?” His deep voice was cocky, smug. You loved it.

“You’re handsome and you know it.”

“I sure do.”

You chuckled and Sukuna watched you with a soft expression. “Thanks for . . . you know.”

He understood the words you mouthed and smiled. “A little Ricin never hurt anyone.”

“How did you pull it off?”

His eyebrow arched in surprise. “Just because I’m stuck in this hellhole doesn’t mean I’ve lost everyone’s respect out there. Blood is thicker than water in my clan—except when it comes to my nephew. I just want to drain it out of him.”

Your own smile faltered. “Well . . . I’d like to have coffee with you. But fifty years, Sukuna, is too long.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“Isn’t there any way to get you out?”

Sukuna saw the longing on your face and wanted nothing more than to hold it in his hands and stare at you for hours. He just couldn’t believe you were real. He would’ve killed you if you were cat-fishing him. “I really want to touch you,” he whispered instead. He did. He really fucking did.

You pinched your lips in a smile. “Me, too.”

Sukuna placed his hands on the table and grabbed both of yours. They were so soft and small. He wanted to kiss each finger. Knuckle. Vein.

“Hands off, Ryomen,” the guard warned. He didn’t relent, and simply winked at you. “I said hands off.”

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spat back.

“Visit’s over.” The pair of guards pried Sukuna away, making you reach out for him with a protest.

“I’ll see you this weekend.” Sukuna winked and let the guards drag him away.

You sat stunned before the officers escorted you out of the visiting room and apologised on his behalf.

When the weekend finally rolled around, you found yourself standing at the prison gates once more, entering alongside a pair of guards.

Waiting by the visitor room was a towering figure with straight silver hair and striking blue-eyes. You got a closer look at the badge—Satoru Gojo. You’ve read the name in one of Sukuna’s letters complaining about him.

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise,” he greeted, waving away the guards and pressing a hand on your back, leading you down the opposite direction.

“We can chat another time, officer. I’ve got to meet Suku—”

“He can wait. Prison teaches a man patience. He’s got fifty more years left. Plenty to visit then.” Gojo opened the door and guided you inside. The shutting made your shoulders flinch. The lock clicking had dread pooling in your stomach. “Sit. Would you like anything to drink?”

You eyed the dark setting bathed in a golden light from a corner lamp. There was a cart with a decanter set and a mini-fridge to the right. A bookshelf and a wardrobe on the left. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gojo shrugged and poured himself whiskey before taking his seat behind his table. You sat opposite him. “So, what’s your relationship with my favourite prisoner?”

You blinked. “Uh, we’re just pen-pals.”

“Lying to a police officer is a serious offence.”

“I’m telling the truth,” you said. “We’re strictly pen-pals.”

“I’ve read your letters to know that isn’t true, Princess. So unless you want to sit there and lie to my fucking face, I suggest you start using that mouth for good and tell me the goddamn truth.” He slammed his glass down, but his face remained smiling with false politeness.

You felt suffocated in the office, eyes darting left and right for anything sharp in case he tried some other method to get you to talk.

“I’ve been in this field for a decade now to know when someone is hiding something from me,” Gojo continued, taking a leisure sip from his drink. “I have a file on you, Y/N. You’re an only child, with no proper education or a stable job. You’re one bad decision away from being trafficked. You’re submissive, a follower, who if went missing, no one would look for.” Tears welled your eyes at his words. “And I know that bastard’s the reason you’re still living in that dump you call home.”

That was the last nail in the coffin.

“I’ve been following you since your first letter,” he said quietly. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be any more wrong.” He stood up and rounded his way to you.

You quickly scrambled out of your seat. “Please. I don’t know anything. I—I don’t—Sukuna’s a friend, yes, but I’m not involved in any of his criminal activities.”

“Friend?” Gojo spat out. “That man is the last person you’d ever want as your friend.” He stalked forward and you retracted. “He’s committed more crimes in his lifetime than any other man. He’s killed half the people in this country, extorted money from politicians, burned down houses for fun, and killed my father!” He grabbed the collars of your dress and slammed you back into his wardrobe door. A cry ripped from your throat. “And you, a nobody, has the audacity to call that fucker a friend? Sweetheart, you’re just a ploy, a pawn, a time-pass for him. A hole to warm his cock in.” A sardonic chuckle. “That’ll never happen since he isn’t getting out anytime soon. But, hey, maybe I can prepare you for him.”

Your breath quickened, a whimper slipping past your lips. “How does that make you any better than him?”

Gojo smiled and brushed his lips over your ears. “Because I have the power to get away with it.”

Your eyes, frightened and flickering, dragged up to his blue-ones.

In the blink of an eye, you slapped him across the face, taking him by complete surprise and broke free from his hands. He leaped towards you as you unlocked the door and ran out and down the hall, shouting for help.

A pair of officers turned the corner.

“Help, please!” You fell into the arms of one of them. “Please, he’s going to hurt me!”

“Who?” one asked with concern.

“Satoru Gojo!”

They exchanged a look and briskly turned away, leaving you standing. Their spines straightened as Gojo walked down the hallway, flattening a hand down his chest. The duo saluted him and walked away with their heads down.

Your heart sank.

You had no power here.

“I told you, Princess,” Gojo purred, prowling towards you, “this is my domain.”

You cried out and ran towards the visitor’s room. The door knob was locked and could only be opened with a keycard. “Help!” You slammed your palms on the surface. “Please, someone! Help—ah!”

Gojo gripped the back of your hair and pulled you from the door. “Perfect timing, actually. I’d like to see the look on Ryomen’s face before I split his woman on my cock.” He swiped the card and opened the door, pushing you inside but controlling you with the grip he had on your head.

Sukuna was already standing and enraged, held back by two guards who struggled. He must’ve heard your helpless cries. You wish he didn’t have to. “Let her go, Gojo!”

“Oh, I will,” said Gojo, “as soon as I’m done with her.”

Sukuna growled, thrashing against his restraints. “You fucking prick, I’m gonna tear you in half you if you touch her!”

“Like this?” Gojo squeezed your left breast and laughed.

Sukuna elbowed one of the guards in his nose, momentarily seeking freedom to hit the other. Hope blossomed in your chest as he fought them off and made his way towards you.

Gojo chuckled and pulled out his gun, shooting Sukuna in the leg. You jumped with a scream as he fell to the floor, clutching his thigh. “All this chaos for a common whore,” he muttered. “Come on, Princess. Let’s put you to good use.”

“No, please!” You shouted as he dragged you away. “Sukuna, no! Sukuna!”

“Y/N.” Sukuna reached his arm out, his hand curling into a fist and falling defeatedly onto the floor. “Don’t hurt her, please.” His face was squeezed in pain, as the guards kept him pinned to the floor. “Please! Don’t fucking hurt her—”

The door closed shut, and the last sight before your eyes was Sukuna crying.

Sukuna hadn’t heard from you in over a month.

He’d also spend the month in the infirmary after Uraume did an extensive surgery on his leg. It hadn’t hit a vital artery. He believed Satoru’s aim was calculated to keep him alive. To continue letting him suffer.

Sukuna also went quiet. He hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone except murmuring to himself. He read back on your letters, slept with the papers under his pillow, if he slept at all.

Every morning, afternoon, night, in and out of his dry sleep, he was plotting a way to get out of this hell and find you. Would you even want to see him? Would you even care? Were you even alive? He’d dragged you into his mess, put you in danger, and fell into Satoru’s disgusting trap.

“You need to eat something, Sukuna,” Uraume advised as they have been since his injury. They placed the tray in front of him. “At least eat the yogurt.”

Were you eating? Were you still living in his house? Were you alive? That question rang in his head again.

“For fucks sake.” Uraume brought forth a stool and sat next to his bed, staring at the side of his face. “What the hell do you want to do?”

He wanted to kill Satoru first. Then escape with Toji since he was the only bastard he trusted in this place. Then find you and run away from the law as far as possible. It was a simple plan that required efficiency.

“Are you gonna talk—”

Sukuna shoved the tray aside, the food falling onto the floor. He was irritated by the questions outside and inside of his head. “I need to find her,” he mumbled to himself. “I need to know if she’s alive.” Please, baby, please be alive.

“Everything all right in here, doc?” One of the guards stationed outside the door asked with his head peering through the door.

Sukuna stared at him, then went back to Uraume. They met his eyes with their blank stare. They scanned down his body, to his injured leg, then back to his head.

A sigh left them. “No,” they replied. “Do you mind helping me clean up the mess?”

Sukuna gritted his jaw as the guard walked in, closing the door and crouching down, grumbling curses at Sukuna. Uraume stood from their stool and made their way to the cabinet, pulling out a syringe and a small vial.

Sukuna's eyes lightened, spine straightening. A smile curved at his lip as they flicked the droplets from the tip of the injection and walked over, making small-talk about the weather.

Suddenly, Uraume jabbed the needle into the officer’s neck and pushed down the plunger. He fell to his side, clutching his neck and staring up at them as they shrugged. Sukuna watched with pure delight as his body began to convulse, foam gathering at this mouth and dripping from the side.

Then he stopped.

“He’s dead,” Uraume said before Sukuna could ask. “Works the night shift so you won’t have a problem running into anyone else. Change into his clothes. I’ll drive.” They walked away to grab a face mask.

“Why?” asked Sukuna.

Uraume sighed, head dropping. “Because I fucking hate it here.”

Sukuna was definitely going to hire them once he killed his Gojo, and his nephew.

He quickly changed into the officer’s clothes, giving him a hard kick in the stomach that had Uraume rolling their eyes.

Sukuna followed behind as they led the way. “Let’s take Toji.”

“Why?” they asked. “That’s a hassle.”

“Just feel bad.”

“And when did you start feeling guilt?” Uraume easily slipped past the security gate, waving to the officer who was busy on his phone.

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling because he knew. Sure, you’d only touched him once, but your letters were what truly began to change him. Just the other day, he’d lost a round of blackjack, stacking his debt to Toji by a million, and instead of knocking the guy out cold, Sukuna shook hands and called it a ‘good game.’ “On second thought, let’s leave him here for the time being.” Until he got his money in check.

Once they settled into Uraume’s car, Sukuna quickly discarded the officer's cap, tie, and badges. Uraume entered your address from the letters, and they drove in silence for the next thirty minutes.

When they arrived, the building matched your description: shitty.

Uraume stopped Sukuna before he could leap out of the car. They scanned the street for any signs of police presence. “Go. I’ll wait here.”

Sukuna nodded and dashed out of the car, walking inside the apartment. There was no buzzer system, which meant anyone could stroll in, armed and dangerous. This was a problem. He needed to get you out of here and into one of his safe houses—a hidden place even his bastard nephew didn’t know about.

He hurried up the emergency stairwell to the tenth floor, slightly winded by the time he reached door 1090.

This was it.

With his hands gripping the edges of the door, he hunched forward, heart racing. Please, be alive.

Finally, he knocked.

He chewed the shit out of his bottom lip, hissing impatiently through his teeth. “Come on, Y/N.” He knocked again, his impatience boiling over. “It’s me, Sukuna! Please, open the door.” He pounded harder, fear creeping in with each passing second. The Sukuna Ryomen was . . . scared. “Goddammit!”

“Sukuna . . .?”

He halted mid-breakdown and turned slowly, his heart dropping at the sight of you standing there with two bags of groceries. You looked so fragile, your complexion pale, and the radiance he remembered from your visit had completely vanished.

The grocery bags slipped from your hands and fell to the ground.

In an instant, you both rushed toward each other, and he lifted you off the ground effortlessly. You wrapped your arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably as he buried his hand in the back of your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your body wash.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay, I’m here.” His eyes were directed straight ahead, and he was shaking. Terribly. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

You pulled back, cradling his face in your small hands. Gently, you brushed aside his dark, mink-like hair, tracing the tattoos on his skin with your fingertips. “You’re alive,” you whispered, overwhelmed by relief. You couldn’t help but touch him, and he simply smiled, allowing you the closeness. “God, you’re alive. Sukuna—you’re really alive. How?”

“Of course, I am. I just needed to know you were alive,” he replied, his hands enveloping your cheeks. “Where did you go? Why did you stop writing to me?”

Your face went blank. “What do you mean?”

“Your letters. You stopped writing to me.”

“They . . .” Your voice cracked. “They told me you were sentenced to death.”

He was taken back. “What the fuck?”

Realisation dawned upon you. The second time you visited Sukuna, Satoru had literally dragged you out of the station, kicking you out the doors. He’d threatened to take you to his office next time, but since he had a meeting with officials that day, he’d reluctantly let you go. That didn’t stop you from sending countless letters, pouring your heart out until, two weeks later, you finally received a notification from the police station. Sukuna had been sentenced to death by lethal injection and was no longer alive. You’d cried for days on end. You imagined he had been cremated and reduced to ashes, stored away somewhere. The thought shattered you. For an entire month, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house.

Until tonight.

And he was here. Sukuna was here. He was alive.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing the area below your sightless eye. “Let’s head inside, alright?”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his wrist. He held your hand tightly while using his other arm to carry your grocery bags. Once you reached your apartment, you opened the door and locked it securely. The deadbolt you had installed was a precaution against Satoru, just in case he showed up.

“I’m so happy you’re al—”

Sukuna kissed you before the words could leave your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning from the taste of his lips, the taste you’d been craving for months now. He didn’t allow you to breathe, didn’t pull away. You both stood there in the alcove, kissing for minutes, clinging to each other. He cupped the back of your head and drew apart from your lips, peppering kisses over your face, especially your foggy eye.

“I don’t want to fuck you, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “I want to make love to you. For hours.” Your grip tightened in his shirt. “Then I need you to pack everything in a bag and run away with me.”

“Run away?” You searched his dark-reddish eyes. “Run away where?”

His knuckles grazed your wet cheek. “Somewhere not even God can find us.”

You swallowed hard. “They’ll send out a manhunt, Sukuna. What if we get caught? What if they take you—”

He cut you off with a kiss. “No one is going to take me away from you. Do you get that?” His strong fingers moved through your hair. “I’d turn this world to dust before that happens.”

Your insides melted from the threat. “Take me,” you murmured over his lips. He kissed you. “Take me everywhere, anywhere, wherever, as long as it’s with you.”

Sukuna lifted you effortlessly, carrying you like a bride as he kicked open your bedroom door. He set you down on the bed, then began stripping off his clothes, revealing the geometric tattoos that marked his thighs and torso. You were caught off guard by how quickly he moved, fumbling to take off your sweater and jeans. By the time you looked back at him, he was already naked, and your gaze dropped to what you could only describe as a gloriously, long erection.

“Woah,” you whispered, feeling your mouth go dry. “You’re abnormally big.”

“You can take it.” He leaned over you, tearing your panties without a second thought. Before you could protest about them being your favorite pair, he spread your legs and went down on you. “Oh, my god—Sukuna—wait—”

“Waited too long,” he growled, his mouth finding your clit as he buried his nose between your wet folds. He nipped, licked, and bit, his tongue plunging deep into you, creating messy sounds that filled the air. You couldn't form words or catch your breath, gripping the roots of his hair tightly.

When you came like a flood, Sukuna lifted your hips, making sure not a single drop of you was lost to the sheets. He let out loud, deep moans as he sloppily lapped at your sensitive cunt.

He wiped his glistening mouth with his fingers and then pressed them against your lips. You eagerly sucked on his warm, thick digits, noting the lustrous glint in his eyes. He pulled his fingers out abruptly. “Suck my cock.”

Suck his what?

You looked down and saw him leaking at the tip. You clenched your legs, unsure. He wanted you to take that into your mouth?

You licked your lips, managing to kneel while he stood before you. He took hold of himself, rubbing the tip against your lips. You instinctively flicked your tongue out to taste him, causing him to flinch. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” He seemed to enjoy it. “Just take it in your mouth.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around his hot, veiny length. You opened your jaw as wide as you could and slowly took him in. His head fell back, and he engulfed your face with his palms. Your performance was mediocre, and yet he was entertained.

His tip pressed against the back of your throat, making you pull back to cough. He laughed softly, brushing your cheek with his hand.

“Come on, baby. You need to get used to it.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you replied, your voice shaky as you reached for him again.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You took a deep breath and extended your tongue. He rested the head of his cock on it and started to move his hips slowly.

Slowly, you took him in, feeling his satisfaction as he gently rocked his hips back and forth. He tasted warm and a little salty, and you found your hand wandering between your legs, seeking some relief.

“I’m going to pick up the pace, alright, baby?”

You nodded in response.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you choke,” he said, hooking a stray lock behind your ear. “It’ll just make me come faster.”

With that, he thrust deeper, and you gripped his hips tightly, struggling to catch your breath. He noticed and pulled back slightly to give you a moment, but it was brief before he pushed back in again. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Fuck.” His movements became more feverish, and you felt the pressure building as you choked and gagged, saliva escaping at the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come down your throat.”

You tapped his leg, shaking your head.

“No?” He smirked. “You don’t want me to come down your throat?”

You shook your head again and pointed between your legs.

In an instant, Sukuna pulled out. He flipped you onto your chest, lifting your ass up in the air. Without a second thought, he thrust himself deep inside you, and you cried out his name into the pillow.

He felt so full, so thick, pushing into you with a force that made your breath hitch. It was everything you needed—so good, so fucking good. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. He filled you completely, driving into you with a fast rhythm that left you moaning, completely lost in the pleasure.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as his thick tip pressed against your womb, punctuated by the stinging slaps of his hands against your ass. He showered you with a blend of sweet and dirty words—“good fucking girl,” “cock slut,” “so perfect and tight,” “little whore”—and you pushed back, needing him deeper and deeper.

Sukuna released a torrent of warm cum inside you, still driving his hips against you, holding you securely by the waist. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through you, and he pulled out, flipping you onto your back. He bent your knees, driving himself back inside without hesitation. How was he still so hard?

Your hands cupped his flushed, beautiful face, a lazy smile stretching across both your lips. Sukuna leaned in, kissing you deeply before trailing his lips down to your neck while his hand found its way to your breast. “I’m not on birth control anymore, you know?”

“Good.” He pulled back to meet your gaze. “And don’t even think about getting back on it.”

“But we can’t afford the risk, Suku—”

“I love you,” he said, his grip firm on your jaw. Everything inside you exploded. “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much that I’ll take every fucking risk.”

You moaned softly as he came again, your trembling fingers brushing against his lips. “I love you, too.” He kissed your fingertips, a promise in every touch. “I’ll take every risk with you.”

“Fuck yeah you will.” He didn’t pull out, his eyes locked on yours. “Starting with putting a baby in you.”

You happily accepted your fate.

Sukuna pulled the trigger, shooting another police officer in the back of his head. The sound of the gunfire mixed with the blaring sirens, echoing through the flickering lights of the corridors—a devious melody composed just for him. He chuckled low, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a grin as another officer lunged out, attempting to stop him—pathetic. A single shot rang out, and the man crumpled like paper.

The path to Satoru’s office was a long one, and the bodies he left sprawled out in his wake were only a brief distraction from the task at hand. He had things to do today, after all.

Another officer stumbled into view, eyes wide, panic evident. He didn’t stand a chance. Sukuna barely glanced at him as he fired, stepping over the man as he slumped against the wall. Blood splattered his shoes, but it was hardly the worst stain on his day.

You were going to be pissed. He could practically hear the biting tone, the disappointed scowl that’d meet him the moment he finally made it to Mai’s first birthday party. Sukuna scoffed as he shot a bullet straight through a door that dared open near him, knocking down yet another obstacle.

But this was necessary. He needed to do this.

Free Toji. Kill Gojo. And then, eventually, deal with his meddling nephew. Everything would finally align, and maybe—just maybe—he could stop all this. For you. For your daughter.

Satoru’s office was close now. He could smell the antiseptic scent of the door, the false air of authority that seemed to reek from it. He cocked his gun, steeling himself. Because when he was done here—when he’d finally finished what he’d started—he’d make it up to you.

Or so he told himself, as another officer charged and met the floor with a hole in his skull.

Sukuna didn’t bother with the doorknob. He slammed his boot into the door, sending it splintering inward with a loud crack. The office was stripped bare; Satoru’s usual pile of clutter, the irritating stench of his cologne—gone. Only the dust of where things once sat remained on the shelves and desk.

The bastard had fled.

Sukuna’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the room. Gojo knew he was coming and had bolted like a coward hours ago. He pulled his lighter from his pocket, flipping it open with a flick of his thumb, the small flame dancing aglow. Without a second thought, he stepped to the heavy, pretentious curtains Gojo insisted on, pressing the flame to the thick fabric. It caught quickly, embers licking up and curling black around the edges as the fire took hold, consuming Satoru’s last pathetic hold on this place.

He turned and walked out, ignoring the smoke that was already billowing into the hall. The prison alarm was still blaring, red lights flashing down the cold corridors as he made his way to the cells. Every so often, he’d pause, assessing the prisoner cowering behind bars. Rapists, pedophiles, molesters, abusers, killers of innocent lives—he moved on from them. But when he found those who didn’t quite repulse him, he took a single shot at their lock, releasing them in a stream of confused, wary freedom.

As he approached the far end of the corridor, a familiar sight greeted him—his old cell. And standing behind those hard, metal bars, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, was Toji.

“Didn’t think you’d come back to this hellhole,” Toji remarked.

“Not for long,” Sukuna replied, levelling his gun at the lock. He fired once, the lock shattering as the cell door swung open.

Toji stepped out of his cell, took one look around, then paused. “Hold up.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, watching as the man crouched beside a loose brick in the wall. With a wry smile, he pulled out an old, scratched-up plastic bottle with a wriggling, sickly-looking worm inside. He tapped the side of the bottle, making the creature twist and writhe. “Almost forgot my little friend here.”

Sukuna barked a short laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Alarms blared louder as they navigated the winding corridors and ran past prisoners surging toward freedom. Some guards tried to block the path, but they were quickly swept aside by Sukuna’s bullets and Toji’s fists. By the time they hit the outer gates, the entire prison was pandemonium, prisoners scattering into the open like ants from a burning nest.

Outside, a sleek, black car idled just past the gate. Uraume sat coolly behind the wheel, watching the stampede of convicts with bored detachment. As they approached, Uraume rolled down the window, glancing at them with their nose slightly crinkled.

“I could smell you two from a mile away,” they said dryly, eyes flicking to the stains of blood on their clothes. “Maybe next time, schedule a prison massacre that doesn’t fall on your daughter’s birthday?”

“Just drive,” Sukuna replied, sliding into the backseat with Toji following. Toji glanced at Uraume with a quick nod, still keeping a light hold on his bottle, the worm twisting inside.

“Welcome back to the real world, Fushiguro,” they said, starting the car as they drove off into the night.

The road stretched long and dark, winding into the depths of a thick forest. The further they drove, the thicker the trees became, their branches curving overhead to cast everything in shadows. The road narrowed into a rugged trail, overgrown and wild. Uraume navigated it deftly, until at last, the forest opened up, and they could see the soft glimmer of moonlight on the water beyond.

Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean stood their safe house—a dark brick estate against the endless stretch of water. Waves crashed against the rocks far below, the scent of salt and sea heavy in the air.

Sukuna looked at the house, then at Toji’s surprised face.

“This is where you’ve been hiding for the two years?” he asked as soon as they were out of the car.

“Not for long if I fuck this up.” Sukuna slipped in through the garage, keeping his steps light. He had just one goal at this moment: reach the shower before you spotted the blood streaked on his clothes and the smell of gunpowder clinging to him.

But as he shut the door, there you were, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they landed on him.

“Sukuna,” you started, an edge in your tone that he recognized all too well. “Do you have any idea what day it is? Look at you; you're a mess!” You gestured at the dark stains on his shirt and his unmistakable smirk.

Instead of trying to dodge the lecture, he listened, that faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched you, soaking in each scolding word. You were the one person who never held back with him, and it made something dangerous in him soften, something in him settle. “I know, baby,” he replied, pecking your cheek. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you replied, sighing, though you couldn’t quite hide the relief in your voice. You glanced over his shoulder. “Toji, Uraume—it’s good to see you both.”

Uraume gave a slight bow, a wry smile still tugging at their lips, while Toji just gave you a quick nod.

You waved a hand, turning back to the kitchen. “Both of you boys—shower, now. I won’t have the two of you smelling like a prison while I’m trying to decorate my daughter’s cake. Go on!”

Toji gave Sukuna a knowing look and shrugged, as if to say, She’s right. Sukuna shot him a warning look, then followed up the stairs, chuckling under his breath as he imagined how you’d cornered him like this.

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, cleaned up, feeling far lighter as he tugged on a fresh shirt and came downstairs, catching the scent of the dinner you’d prepared.

He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that melted your anger as he pulled you close.

“Gojo got away,” he murmured. “He knew I was coming, and he ran like the coward he is. But I’ll find him. And I’ll make him pay for what he did to you. I swear it.”

You paused, looking up into his eyes, your hand settling on his cheek. “I know you will, Sukuna. But don’t miss the important things here. We’re what’s important now, not just revenge.”

The words took root in him, grounding him, but that flicker of rage still danced in his eyes. He pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let him touch us again. I promise you that.”

Just as you leaned in for another kiss, Sukuna heard the faint sound of your daughter stirring awake from her nap on the living room floor. Mai’s soft little whimpers broke the room’s quiet. Instinctively, he abandoned your kiss, his attention snapping to her as he practically floated over to where she was squirming in her pink dress, rubbing her tiny fists over her eyes.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, scooping her up with all the gentleness he could muster. Her sleepy eyes blinked open, and he was rewarded with that toothy little grin she’d recently mastered, one that brought an uncharacteristic softness to his entire face. He pressed a cascade of kisses on her cheeks, nose, forehead—anywhere he could reach. “Look at you, sweetheart. All dressed up for your birthday, huh? The prettiest girl in the world.”

You laughed softly from the kitchen, watching as Sukuna held her close, stepping into an impromptu waltz around the living room, his steps surprisingly skilled. She squealed in delight, her small hands reaching up to his face as he spun her around. Even Toji, who had just come down from the shower, stopped in his tracks at the sight, a rare, amused smile tugging at his mouth.

Sukuna glanced up, catching Toji’s presence, and with a proud smirk said, “Toji, meet my daughter, Mai. She’s already got more spirit than most of the people you and I have met.”

Toji stepped forward, studying your daughter. He reached out a hand, and she looked at him with wide eyes, inspecting him with her natural, innocent curiosity. “She looks like trouble. Must take after her old man.”

“Her mother, mostly,” Sukuna said in your direction, bouncing her lightly. “She’s going to have a whole world to handle, with us around.”

In the background, Uraume was setting the table, their usual precision in each movement. They threw Sukuna a blank look, brushing off their hands. “Now that the table’s set, if you’d all just take your seats, maybe we can have a peaceful birthday dinner without the talk of blood and violence for once.”

Sukuna chuckled, shooting them a dry look before turning back to his daughter. Holding Mai close, he took a seat at the head of the table with you beside him. He looked around, taking in the sight—the cake you’d just set down, the quiet chatter as Uraume and Toji exchanged comments, and his daughter babbling in his lap, still pawing at his face with sticky fingers.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt peace.

The “Happy Birthday” song had been sung, candles blown out, cake shared, and Toji had crashed in the guest room, completely knocked out. Uraume, too, was resting in another room, finally allowing herself a few hours of sleep.

In your bed, the soft rise and fall of your daughter’s tiny breaths filled the space between you and Sukuna. She slept peacefully between you both, tiny fingers curled into fists as she dreamed. But you and Sukuna were both wide awake, eyes locked on each other in the moonlight. His hand drifted up, fingertips brushing your cheek.

“Do you remember my first letter?” you asked.

A smirk began at his lips. “You mean the diary entry about the cockroaches in your kitchen and how you thought seducing your landlord was a better solution than paying rent?”

You laughed, covering your mouth to keep quiet, not wanting to wake your baby. He loved that laugh—the way it sounded like music only he got to hear.

“Or how no one with one functioning eye could ever be taken seriously romantically,” he added. “Debunked, by the way.”

Your laugh softened, and you looked at him with a smile that held a thousand memories. “Do you remember the last thing I wrote?”

“The part about Satanism?”

You laughed again, the sound bubbling up and melting into the dark. And as he listened, he couldn’t help but chuckle alongside, his thumb tracing along your cheek, taking in the moment like he was trying to memorise it.

You took a breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “I said I was lonely as hell, remember?” Sadness wove into your words. “And . . . I was. Back then, I thought no one could ever really understand me. Until you did.”

Sukuna shook his head. “You were never meant to be alone, baby,” he murmured. “Not then, not ever. Not while I’m here.”

You swallowed, heart catching as you looked at the life you’d built, the fragile happiness that now lay nestled between you both. “I’m just . . . scared sometimes,” you admitted. “I’m scared of losing this. Of losing you. I don’t know if I could protect what we have.”

“We’ll protect it together,” Sukuna affirmed. “Nothing will take this from us. Not while I’m still breathing.” He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was deep, reassuring, exactly like the one he’d give you when you’d sealed your vows. When he pulled back, you met his eyes, a soft smile tugging at your mouth.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you whispered, fingers brushing his sharp jaw. “Genuinely, your wife.”

He took them and gave a kiss to the tips. “And I love you most, baby. Genuinely, your husband.”

Moments later, your eyes drifted shut, your breathing evening out as you finally slipped into sleep. But Sukuna stayed awake, his gaze never leaving you, or your daughter.

This was the family he’d fought and bled for, the life he’d killed to create. And yet, an unsettling undercurrent of unfinished business tugged at his nerves. But tonight, he forced it away, just for a while.

For now, there was no room for anything but the second chance he’d been given.

Genuinely, by you.

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oizysian · 25 days ago

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22 // Masquerade // On The Inside

Summary: Wanda is an undercover cop who does some things she wouldn’t expect while in prison.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: forced kissing, pussy eating, dirty cop

Word count: 1.1k

Kinktober masterlist

Wanda’s POV:

I had never been in trouble in my life, but now I was in prison as an undercover cop, and it was terrifying. I had to pretend to be tough and brave, which I was normally, but being in an unfamiliar situation put me off my game, and this wasn’t exactly the best situation to be in. All I had to do was watch and possibly extract information from one of the inmates, but I was barely here a whole week and I was being harassed - and I had to do my best to not act like a cop.

I tried to stand my ground, but these women were in here for a reason and without authority, I was outnumbered and outgunned.

I was a new inmate - fresh meat, and they made it very obvious that they were all very hungry.

I was cornered by two bigger women; pushing me around, touching me and I knew I was in deep.

“Back off.” I growled and one of them grabbed me, pushing me up against a nearby wall.

“Hey.” A voice called out.

A girl with a scar on her eyebrow and deep, dark eyes walked up to us, interrupting the woman’s assault on me.

“That one’s mine.”

The woman swirled around and laughed, letting me go and turning her attention to this other girl.

“Yeah, pipsqueak? Says who?”

“Says me. Just ask the last bitch that thought she could take something that belonged to me.”

The woman looked from the girl to her accomplice, and from the look on her face, let me go. I fell back against the wall and gritted my teeth, knowing I couldn’t do anything to blow my cover.

“Get lost.”

The two women scurried off and I was left alone with the girl who said she owns me.

“I don’t know if I should be thanking you or not.” I said softly, standing tall to appear less meek.

“You should.” She walked up to me and closed the distance between us, pressing her lips to mine and shoving her tongue nearly down my throat.

I put my hands up to her chest and pushed, huffing angrily. She smiled and wiped my spit off her mouth, winking at me.

“That’s just a taste. Wait until tonight.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about it? I’ve been ready for it since I first saw you. It’ll be easier for us both if you just let it happen.”

I did my best to make myself look bigger and scarier than I was, but she just laughed and looked amused.

“Cute. But remember, if it’s not me, it’ll be someone else.” She looked around and nodded her head at me. “Not sure if the other broads around here will be as gentle as I will.”

Something about this girl was alluring and attractive, but this was an insane notion. I couldn’t just be used and passed around like that … right?

“It’s a madhouse in here. If you have nothing to offer,” she gestured to my body. “They’ll take something else. You need protection and I’m offering my services.”

“For what in return?”

She smirked.

“You know what.”

I frowned. Maybe it would be beneficial to team up with this girl. Teaming up was so much more different than what I would be doing, but it was the best way to describe it.

“Okay.” I whispered and she tilted her head at me in confusion.

“Okay?”

I nodded.

“I’ll sleep with you.”

“It was that easy?”

“It was that easy.”

“C’mon.” She took my hand and led me down the hallway towards the laundry room, where she led us in and then closed the door behind us. “Nice and cushioned.”

She sat on and pat a pile of sheets and I took that as an invitation, sitting next to her awkwardly.

“How often do you do this?” I asked meekly and she snorted.

“Never. I’m all talk.” She leaned back onto the sheets and looked up at the ceiling. “Make sure to make some sexy noises so the others think I’m fucking you good.”

I stared at her for a moment before taking her hand, smiling slightly at her.

“I really appreciate this.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She swatted my hand away from hers and I shook my head, smiling. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to use me for other things too, y’know.”

“Yeah?” I smirked, picking up her playful tone.

“Yeah.” She looked over at me and I bit my lip.

“I’ve never been with a woman before.”

“No?” She sat up. “I’ve only been with girls.”

“Are you a lesbian?”

“I don’t like labels.”

She sighed and I watched her face, her expressions saying more than her words.

“You wanna try it out? No strings attached?”

“None?”

She shook her head. “None.”

I leaned forward and tentatively brushed my lips against hers, testing the feel of her lips against mine. Her lips were soft and surprisingly sweet and I obviously took her by surprise because she didn’t respond right away. After a moment, she responded in full, kissing me hard.

“You wanna …” she whispered against my lips and I hung on her every word. “You wanna ride my face?”

I blinked at her bluntness and nodded. I pulled off my pants and underwear and climbed her body, sitting on top of her as she grabbed my thighs and guided me down onto her face.

Her tongue was strong and soft as she explored my wetness, and I could feel my legs shaking as she fucked me. She was definitely good at what she did. I braced myself on the laundry cart in front of me and bit my lip, my hips rolling in time with the movements of her tongue.

I had never felt like this with a man, or even with myself. I couldn’t believe this was even happening. What got into me?

My brow furrowed as her tongue found my clit, swirling circles on it and flicking at it teasingly. I was losing my mind. One hand grabbed at her hair and pushed her face against me, the other still attempting to balance myself.

“Oh, fuck!” I cried as I came, my whole body tightening then releasing all of its tension at once.

I could hear her hum, satisfied, from under me as I got up and crawled off of her.

“Guess it was as good for you as it was for me.” She joked and I smiled shyly.

“I can’t believe I did that. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I can tell. Little miss straight laced.”

“Shut up.” I laughed as I got redressed.

“Make me.”

Who knew I’d enjoy myself more as a criminal than as a cop?

#oizysian’s kinktober 2024 #oizysian’s kinktober #oizysian writes #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x y/n

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maladaptiveobsession · 7 days ago

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“Magic pocket pussy”

Synopsis: DOL NPCS acquiring a magical pocket pussy synced to you.

Contains: afab!gn!reader, discipline, multi penetration, noncon, overstimulation, somnopihlia, toys

Words: 588

A/N: I only differentiated yandere!sirris from his normal conterpart as he is the only character I can imagine having drastically different behavior for this particular prompt. You can’t convince me Gwylan isn’t cooking up magic (probably illicit substances as well) in his shop. Something about them feels underlined with nefarious intent. I’d like to flesh out this concept with some of the characters at some point; there’s so much nuance and potential.

Abuses the hell out of it

With access to your cunt at all times, your pussy will be consistently puffy and raw from abuse. He’s stuffing you with cock whenever the urge strikes, torturing you with toys when his dick can’t keep up with his libido. He purposely teases you at inconvenient times. Watching you struggle to maintain composure in public is his favorite pastime. Most nights you wake up to the feeling of an invisible cock dragging along your gummy walls. If for whatever reason he can’t torment you at night, the pocket pussy is being stuffed with a vibrator so you wake up drenched in the morning. He’ll insert random objects throughout the day of various sizes and shapes, all to watch you squirm. Sometimes he’ll cram the largest dildo he can find inside to see you waddle around town in discomfort. He’s likely to fill the silicone hole with a dildo or vibrator of some sort—possibly both or even multiple of each—and then fuck you for real with the toys still inside. Really though, seeing your reactions is his favorite part of all. While your real pussy will always reign supreme, there’s a charm to watching you break apart without even actually touching you. The fleshlight is just so convenient.

➥ Anxious Gaurd, Briar, Kylar, C!Sydney, Leighton, Morgan, Quinn, Scarred Inmate, Whitney, Wren, yan!Sirris

Generally only when you’re not available

He doesn’t usually care for toys (why bother when he has you), but this one is an exception. It’s hardly a replacement for the real thing, but he can at least admit the convenience is alluring. It’s not all too often it gets used, but there are times when he misses you and can’t resist. It’s just so easy to punish you for being away for too long or simply to remind you of them. He could always just shove a vibrator inside and forget about it if he feels like it. Watching you fall apart without touching you proves enjoyable, as well. There’s a possibility he could even order a custom dildo, a replica of his length, to stuff the silicone cunt with, so you seek them out sooner. No chance you can forget about him when you can’t even sit. This opens the possibility of double stuffing you using only their dick. The longer you avoid them, the less patience and willpower they’ll have, therefore being less likely to wait.

➥ Alex, Avery, Bailey, Black Wolf, Eden, Great Hawk, Gwylan, Harper, Landry, Methodical Gaurd, Niki, Relaxed Gaurd, Remy, Veteran Gaurd, Zephyr

Only once in a moment weakness

He’s rather unlikely to use any toy, let alone a magical onahole. Just owning the thing feels like a breach of trust, but they can’t risk having it fall into anyone else’s hands. It sits in a drawer, hidden away until he eventually forgets about it. It’s not until he’s humping a pillow in the pitch dark of his room that he remembers it exists. He’ll scold himself, suddenly too ashamed to feel horny. Days will go by, constantly plagued by curiosity. When he finally concedes, apologies will spill from his lips as he rocks his hips into the silicone. It feels so good, and he wonders if you’re feeling the same. More than that, he wonders if the real thing—the real you—feels this good. His orgasm is the most intense he’s ever felt, electricity taking over him and his essence flooding the silicone imitation of you. The post-nut clarity is potent, mortifying. He’ll avoid you for some time after that, unable to even look you in the eye for even longer. Shame creeps along his spine like a parasite, vowing never to lose control like that again. Below the guilt, desire grows and bites at his willpower. Who knows how long it’ll be before he gives in again?

➥ Charilie, Darryl, Doren, P!Sydney, Jordan, Mason, Mickey, River, Robin, Sam, Sirris, Winter,

Bonus

The likely creator of said pocket pussy

➥ Gwylan

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angrelysimpping · 1 year ago

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December Prompts Day 4: Scarf

Reader (you/your); Scarred Inmate (they/them); mentioned Anxious Guard (they/them)

Words: 287

They might have been the only inmate who didn’t look forward to mail call. Why would they? The only time they ever got any mail it was from their sibling, saying they were going to try to visit.

Again.

How many more times would they have to stand them up for them to get the message?

So it’s a surprise when their number is called, a package thrust into their scarred hands. The guard doesn’t meet their eyes, but they swear they had something of a faint blush dusting their cheeks. Weird, but they don’t think anything of it, going back to their cell to open their package in peace.

What were they going to do this time? They used to have…it didn’t matter. They couldn’t send someone else to visit their sibling, that wasn’t an option this time.

They don’t bother looking at the packaging. Maybe if they had, they would have realized it wasn’t from the usual address. Maybe they might have even recognized the address to the local orphanage.

Scarfs weren’t allowed in the prison, yet here one was.

Was the package not checked? No, there was the familiar red stamp that decorated every scrap of mail that went through the prison addressed to inmates. But, still. The scarf was here.

That’s when they catch it, the familiar scent. Hesitantly, they bring the scarf to their nose and inhale.

You. The scarf smells like you. It’s been months since you got out, but they’d recognize it anywhere.

Pressing the fabric to their face, they almost miss the fluttering of paper as the scarf unfolds. Something tucked into the folded scarf now revealed.

Photos of you, looking up at them from their cell floor.

#scarred inmate #gn reader #degrees of lewdity

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euthymiya · 6 months ago

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help me forget (until my only memories are you) ft. wriothesley

in which wriothesley is plagued with dreams of his past, tucked away in the quietest corner of the fortress until you find him. a thermos of tea, an ocean view, and a heartfelt conversation later, you both decide your memories only matter when they’re of each other

contains: 2.1k word count ; female reader ; established relationship ; hints at wriothesley’s backstory, including mentions of blood and murder ; nightmares and trauma (wrio) ; reverse comfort ; fluff and (cheesy) banter

“thought i’d find you here,” you say quietly as you walk up to wriothesley—it’s quiet enough that’s it’s almost as if you’re trying not to startle him.

(and yes, it’s a bit of a pointless gesture. you know he can hear your footsteps approaching him for a good distance before you even reach him, but, all things considered, you don’t think a little extra gentleness will hurt him.)

“well, looks like you found me,” he hums, legs spread out before him as he stares through the glass. he’s eyes the ocean, his pupils following the schools of fish and casts of crabs as they swim past the glass tunnel that separates you from the water.

the glass tunnel in the fortress is wriothesley’s favorite spot. for a number of reasons, really—first, the inmates aren’t allowed here without official permission, so he has the area to himself for the most part. second, there’s some sort of sign of life to witness, something breathing and moving apart from the rowdy bunch of prisoners he’s in charge of every day. and third, it’s nice to see colors, something vivid and lively outside of rusted metal and dingy lighting.

wriothesley loves this tunnel. it helps him appreciate his life, his home, when he’s especially regretful he doesn’t get to live up at the surface. that regret doesn’t come very often—he’s happy with the life he’s made for himself and the family he’s grown here, but he’s only human.

sometimes even the warden would like to know what it feels like to wake up under the sun, feeling the rays kiss the skin of his cheeks like a mother does her son, so warm and gentle and endlessly filled with love.

he supposes a mother’s love is as unreachable as the sun for him, a regretful conclusion he’s long come to since the tender age of early teen hood.

you plop down beside him, tucking yourself against his side as you hand him a small thermos, making him quirk a brow up.

“tea,” you explain, “i figured it would help.”

“aren’t you sweet?” he chuckles, unscrewing the top and pouring the warm, freshly brewed tea into the lid as he takes a slow sip. he turns, pressing the rim to your lips, letting you take your own sip before he sighs and wraps an arm around you. “did i wake you?”

“of course,” you huff theatrically, “i was so cold. do you have any idea how cold the fortress gets at night without a big, strong, muscled warden to keep you warm?”

he snorts, eyeing you with an amused glance as you bite back your own grin.

“well, my dear lady, i offer my sincerest apologies. you will never wake up cold again.” he indulges your banter with a tight grin.

wriothesley is good at that—good at pretending his feelings don’t exist, pretending he doesn’t feel them in favor of putting on a brave face. you see through the tiny cracks of his mask, though. you can see the tousled hair and bruised under eyes from his lack of sleep. you can see the sore knuckles of his hands from punching bags. you can see the distant, hazy look in his eyes as he stares off into the never ending sea ahead, not sparing you the usual soft gaze he sends your way.

wriothesley is good at pretending everything is okay. just as good as you are at knowing when it isn’t okay at all.

“i’d rather i don’t wake up alone,” you trace the scar along his chest with a finger, visible from the neckline of the tank top he wears to sleep. he doesn’t say anything, swallowing as he swirls the contents in his makeshift cup, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “wriothesley.”

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, “i figured i’d let you sleep.”

“you don’t need to apologize,” you furrow your brows, hooking a finger under his chin and gently coaxing him to turn and meet your eyes, “i’m not mad, baby. it’s okay.”

“i know,” is all he says.

“will you talk to me?” your head lays against his chest, grabbing one hand and fiddling with his fingers, lacing them with yours as you compare the size of his rough, rugged palm against yours while his other hand lifts the cup to take a long, slow sip of the tea.

it’s hot against his throat, soothing the raw, dryness that builds.

“don’t i talk to your ear off enough through the day?” he tries to tease, deflecting the topic that you try to breach. but you’re good at following just as he is at running—you bring his knuckles up to your lips as you kiss them one by one, so gentle, so feather like in touch, he can’t help but shiver.

“so you’re tired of talking to me?” you tease back, making his lips twitch fractionally.

“nah,” he breathes a small laugh, “never tired of you.”

“that’s good to know,” you exhale a relieved breath, still playful and lighthearted as you add, “i thought you were running away from me while i slept.”

“i’d have come back.” his voice is low, barely audible—you hear it anyway, feeling the rumble of his words through the vibrations in his chest. “you kick the blanket off. someone’s gotta tuck you in.”

“well you didn’t come back before i had to come find you,” you point out. “so tell me, what’s on that mind of yours? can’t be nothing if you leave me cold and alone in our bed.”

“just a silly old dream,” he shrugs off, laughing dryly as he says, “nothing a tough warden like me can’t handle.”

“oh yeah?” you press gently, leaning up to kiss his jaw with a delicate, warm press of your lips. it makes him swallow thickly, inhaling a shaky breath as he nods.

“yeah.”

“you don’t have to handle it,” you offer carefully, “not alone, at least. you know that, baby?”

“do i look that troubled?” he smiles weakly, but it drops as soon as your hand cups his cheek, pulling him to lean in until his forehead is pressed against yours and his eyes can’t leave their spot of looking directly at you.

“do you trust me?” you whisper. he nods, unable to speak. “i love you, you know.”

“i know,” he croaks. “i love you too.”

“so then talk to me.” your hand falls from his cheek to his chest, laying right on his heart while your other hand squeezes his as it keeps it in its hold.

so he does. with a shaky sigh, he tells you about them, the things he sees in his sleep.

sometimes, wriothesley has dreams. dreams of his mother brushing back his hair with her fingers as she wakes him for breakfast. dreams of his father patting his back as he throws a ball to one of his brothers. dreams of childlike, gleeful laughter ringing through his ears in a muffled, distant sound before it morphs into pained, horrified screams.

his legs carry him down the hallway of his childhood home, bare feet pounding against the hardwood until finally, he turns to corner into his living room. and there he stands—face to face with himself. one version of him in crumpled pajamas and another in oversized, scuffed up clothes like he’s drifted from street to street. he stares at himself, only he notices he looks older, more distant, more tired.

and then he notices the blood. it’s everywhere—on his hands, splattered on his face, dripped onto his clothes, pooled on the floor.

blood is everywhere. it coats the same floors he ran on, stains the same walls his height was marked against. it dirties every happy memory of this house of his, no longer a home.

w-what have you done? he asks his older self.

the boy—the one with his own face—glares down at him, so angry and betrayed, so unlike his happy self as he mutters, what had to be done.

and then he wakes up. he’s always covered in cold sweat, panting, and shuffled far, far away from your peaceful and beautiful sleeping figure. how can he wake you? how can he disrupt your pure, sweet state to wipe the blood spilt on his hands? how can he ask you to carry the heaviness of his sins when you’re so free and weightless from that darkness that plagues someone like him?

you listen as he spills his heart, quiet and unmoving against his side as your palm never leaves his chest. his eyes follow the movement of the fish outside of the glass while he speaks, and your eyes trace over the new red, angry marks on the back of his hand.

“just thought i’d come down here to clear my head,” he confesses, “you looked like you were tired.”

“i’d have woken you,” you admit, looking up at him. he meets your stare, furrowing his brows in confusion until you add, “if i had a bad dream, i mean. because you’re the only place i feel safe.”

he breathes out a soft chuckle, cheek laying on the crown of your head as he whispers, “it’s ’cause of the muscles, right? years of boxing will do that to a guy.”

“so what i’m gathering is that i have to take up boxing for you?” you grin, nudging him with your shoulder playfully as he bites his bottom lip to fight back his grin, shaking his head at your antics.

“i just don’t want to wake you every other night.”

“i want you to wake me every night if you have to,” you frown, reaching over and giving his forehead a reprimanding flick with your fingers, “it’s what i’m here for. what’s the point of being together if you’re going to be all alone, wriothesley?”

“i’m not alone,” he argues, lifting your joined hands before his warm lips press a lingering kiss to the back of an equally as warm hand. “i have you.”

you blink, staring at him blankly. “you just kissed your own hand, you fool.”

“right,” he nods, flushing a slight shade of pink before he twists his wrist to kiss the proper hand, “it was on purpose. it’s self love and all that good stuff, you know?”

“uh huh,” you lift a brow, snorting as you shake your head. he gives you a sly wink, leaning down to kiss your lips briefly as you shuffle closer against his side. “you know,” you breathe against his lips, “sometimes we dream about our pasts because our minds want to change something about them.”

“oh? i suppose i could think of a thing or two to change about mine. maybe a happy childhood. maybe the ability to trust people. that’d be nice, don’t you think?”

“i would change mine,” you admit, making him stare at you for a moment as he ponders over your words.

“would you now? and what would you change?”

“i’d meet you sooner,” you hum, “we could be like the cute stories, you know? childhood friends turned destined lovers. wouldn’t that be sweet?”

he looks at you quietly for a bit—dazed, awed, slightly bewildered. you couldn’t possibly want to know a guy like him in your youth, he thinks. how utterly foolish. but there’s no denying that unbearable, pressured clench of his heart, right where only you can reach to squeeze.

“of all stories,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “that’s what you want for yourself? childhood friends to lovers with a premeditated homicide convict that reforms a prison in his adulthood?”

“a traumatized homicide convict,” you correct, “that’s the part that gives it nuance, you know?”

“oh, you’re right,” he nods sarcastically, “how silly of me.”

“don’t laugh at me,” you huff, pouting at him as you poke his chest, “i’m serious. i’d meet you sooner if i could.”

“me too,” he murmurs, pecking your lips in a wordless apology. you accept with a soft kiss of your own in return. “i’d have met you way sooner too, sweetheart.”

“maybe you’ll dream it some day,” you wink cheekily.

“let’s hope i do,” he laughs, pulling you to sit between his legs, your back to his chest as he rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs in content. “you’re the only place too, by the way,” he adds after a few moments, breath tickling the shell of your ear as he whispers the words.

“hmm?” you tilt your head in confusion, gasping when his arms wrap tightly around you, his face burying into your neck as he presses a tickling kiss into your skin.

“where i feel safe.”

“oh,” you breathe, smiling slightly in wonder, “good. then you’ll wake me next time?”

“will it keep you warmer in this cold, unforgiving fortress of ours?”

“oh yes,” you nod, giggling lightly. “very warm.”

he smiles into your skin, replacing the vivid images of blood in his mind with the soft hues of your eyes. “then i suppose i have no choice but to wake you.”

childhood friends to lovers with wrio where reader flips neuvillette off and marches down to the fortress and drags wrio back up to the overworld by the wrist when he’s convicted bc she makes the rules around these parts

jk i love you neuvi my sweet angel dragon

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

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riwooga · 10 months ago

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Hm. In curiosity, how do y’all imagine scarred inmates scars? My brain naturally went to imagine burn scars, but there’s no actual clarity on it as far as I can find 🤔

#dol #degrees of lewdity #scarred inmate dol #for it to be the main word for their appearance they gotta be very noticeable #but my brain got stuck hshfhhsjsj #personally #I kinda imagine almost like phantom one side of the face burn scars if yknow what I mean #any input is appreciated tho!! 👉👈💕💕

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nicxl333 · 1 year ago

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LUSTFUL TENDENCIES— WRIOTHESLEY X READER

bro…i just finished the 4.1 archon quest and omfg i’m going mad over wrio- fucking hell

characters: wriothesley, afab! reader

summary: you almost get caught giving wriothesley a blowjob so he punishes you in his office (not proof-read)

warnings: 18+ content, nsfw, semi-public smut, blowjob, handcuffs, spanking, established relationship, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, squirting, breeding, slight 4.1 spoilers

it wasn’t supposed to end up this way. hell, you had only made your way into the fortress of meropide to deliver an urgent message from neuvillete to none other than the duke himself, your boyfriend.

so how oh how did you end up with a mouth stuffed full of dick?

“fuck…that’s it beautiful, doing so— so well for me” wriothesley groaned, pushing his bangs back from his face.

you moaned around his dick in appreciation and gratitude at his praise, your cunt pulsing at the sheer sinfulness of the situation. you knew damn well that anyone could see what was going on should they venture even one step too far up the staircase leading to the open plan of his office. truth be told they wouldn’t even have to set foot on the stairs, for they would hear the sloppy sounds of your mouth long beforehand.

your eyes gazed into his, enjoying how he fell apart at the sight of your mouth engulfing every inch of him. the way his eyes clenched shut, scar just below his right eye compressing as it followed the movements of his eyes squeezing from the overwhelming pleasure.

he could feel the coil in his stomach tightening, his resolve unravelling as he tried to regain his composure and control, albeit failing to find any reason to given how you were taking care of him so fucking well.

alas, before his end could occur, the sound of his heavy door opening downstairs and footsteps audible caused both parties to freeze, the risk of your filthy secret threatening to be discovered.

proving his ability to act instantaneously under pressure he lifted you off his soaked cock, pushing you under his desk and reeling in his chair so his state of undress would not be identified should whoever was quickly approaching wander too close to his grand desk.

after a continuous rhythm of steps, a head poked through, the figure confirmed to be chef wolsey.

wriothesley briefly glanced down at you, his eyes sharp in a silent warning;

stay. silent.

you spared him a single smirk just before he lifted his head to look at the man who was now standing before him.

“how can i help you today wolsey? if it’s for time off you already know the drill, you need to give in credit coupons.”

above your head you could hear the chef speak.

“ah, your grace, it’s not about that. if you are lenient enough i would need your authorisation on a slight change to the ingredients of the welfare meals. i have discovered a correlation of stomach bugs occurring with numerous inmates possibly due to the type of milk used.”

really and truly, you couldn’t give a shit on the status of the inmates, as cruel as it sounded. you just wanted to be filled by wriothesley, and wolsey was currently cockblocking you. so you did the one thing that was advised against.

“i suppose that can be done, given that it’ll lessen my work load should i allow this matter to be resolved. just give me the required paperwork and i can give you clearan—”

he immediately tensed up, seizing in the middle of his sentence. why? because he felt your hand slowly stroking his girth. although taken by surprise, he did his best to not show it, opting to clear his throat in an attempt to save himself.

“umm, sir, are you alright?”

your hand tightened on wriothesley’s dick, twisting as you stroked, your smirk widening with your wicked intentions. you could see his thighs taut and fists clenched, trying so hard to not react. he couldn’t talk, he knew if he opened his mouth to speak he would either let out a groan or moan. whatever the outcome, both were highly unsavoury and would no doubt get you caught. after a few moments of silence wolsey pressed further.

“erm…your grace?”

you slightly loosened your grip and slowed down your movements to allow the man in front of you to save his dignity, if he even had any left.

he lifted a bandaged hand, waving it around in a dismissive motion. “yes yes, i’m quite alright. don’t you have ingredients to be chopping or something? best get to it.”

wolsey immediately nodded, turning towards the stairs and swiftly making his way down. only when wriothesley was certain he was gone did he push you off him and pushed his chair back, pulling you upwards and slamming you on his desk.

“oh you are so fucked baby. did you enjoy us almost getting caught?”

he leaned over you, caging you in while he started rubbing your clit through your panties, eliciting a moan from you.

“yeah i know you enjoyed that, you’re fucking soaked you dirty girl. want me to fuck you?”

he pressed harder on your clit, rendering you unable to speak. you arched your back and rolled your hips in time with wriothesley’s hand, maximising the pleasure. when he didn’t hear an answer however he took it upon himself to bring a hand down against your left cheek, the stinging sensation leaving you crying out at the pain mixed with pleasure.

“answer me y/n, do you want me to fuck you?”

“yes wrio please! it feels so good!” the strokes of his fingers increased in rapidness, the friction of the fabric against your clit quickly bringing you to the brink of orgasm.

“you gonna cum pretty girl?”

“shit— yes wrio!”

“well that’s too damn bad.” and he pulled away altogether, standing at full height and looking down at you.

you turned your head to look at him, eyes wide with the fear he would leave you like this, unsatisfied.

“wrio please! make me cum, i need you so bad baby!”

he stood, arms crossed and expression unwavering.

“oh you do now? maybe you should’ve thought about that before you pulled that little stunt of yours.”

you wiggled your ass at him hoping to break down his resolve.

“wrio i’m sorry, i’ll be good for you i swear.”

he said nothing, instead opting to move closer to stand right behind you, dick now pressing against your clit, making your breath hitch. you heard movements of metal behind you, wondering what he was doing until he leant closer over you, chest to your back which pressed his dick even further into you. you moaned out, too distracted to realise just what he was doing until he grabbed both your wrists, bringing them together and cuffing them with his handcuffs.

he stepped back to look at his handiwork, smirking as your arms flailed to the best of your ability, struggling to get free. he then bent down, kneeling while he pulled down your panties, looking at your cunt shining with arousal.

“wrio! what are you doing?!”

“you want to get fucked right? i’m just fulfilling your wish, with the exception of one thing of course: you can’t cum.”

you whined out, jolting when you felt extremely cold fingers against your entrance, tracing the seeping hole. it was apparent that he used the power from his cryo vision to lower the temperature of his palm.

“wrio! c’mon i said i was sorr-”

you cut yourself off when you felt two of his fingers breach your entrance, stuffing you to the hilt. his fingers were thick as it is, so you already felt extremely full. even worse when he curled them against that spongey spot in your cunt and started attacking it.

your thighs immediately tried to close, proving to be quite the useless action once his iron grip prevented you from doing so.

“aht, aht, if you know what’s good for you y/n you’ll comply like a good girl, you’re already in deep shit as it is.”

and so, you succumbed to the pleasure of the sensation you were feeling, moaning at wriothesley’s ministrations on your pussy. he leaned over you once more, this time feeling his bare dick directly on your bare clit. he licked the shell of your ear, whispering into it seconds later.

“yeah does that feel good y/n? go on, tell me how good i’m making you feel.”

“so fucking good wrio! i want more— want you to fuck me. don’t hold back, i can take it.”

he complied, removing his fingers and moving his dick down to your entrance, using your previous lubrication and current arousal to fully coat his angry red tip, before slowly pushing in.

your back arched hard into a ‘c’, your hands doing what they could to grip onto his desk despite being cuffed.

he laughed at your actions, continuing to sheath himself inside you until you were completely filled, resting for a moment before slowly pulling out again. he repeated this action multiple times, teasing you to see just how long it would be until you completely snapped.

“wrio! can you stop fucking around and jus— oh fuck!”

his change in pace was instantaneous, his thrusts pounding against your ass, having you moan out in ecstasy. he quickly pulled his tie from around his neck, putting it around yours and pulling so your head fell back, being able to see him above you and therefore his next words to you.

“be quiet baby, or i’ll stop.”

although his door downstairs was big and heavy, it wasn’t soundproof. and if you didn’t shut the fuck up someone was bound to hear.

you nodded your head, opting to let out whimpers of approval instead. he doubled his pace, something you didn’t even know was possible, almost as if he was challenging you to disobey him once more.

it was becoming increasingly difficult to not cum. his thrusts drove so deep inside you it felt like you couldn’t breathe in the short burst of intervals between thrusts. each push of his hips against yours had the veins on the underside of his dick rubbing up against your g-spot, something that quickly had you tumbling towards the edge. you knew wriothesley knew that, how could he not when all he could feel was your cunt gripping him so tightly?

it’s not like he was well off either, he was quickly losing himself inside you too. although you had been dating for a little over 7 months, he still could not find himself getting used to the way you clenched around him. it had him quickly unraveling the exact same way you did, and delving deep into the pits of no return.

“you gonna cum?” his voice was strained, composure tethering on a thin thread, threatening to collapse.

“n- no.” a lie. you both knew that. he decided to play along though.

“good. cause you can’t cum.”

“wrio!” you had no choice but to beg, for you were quite literally about to cum. his earlier actions had already brought you to the edge, but now you were delirious with pleasure, and had no way to stop yourself from cumming. you already did what you could. “please! let me cum, let me cum! i’m sorry baby i really am, i need you to make me cum! i’m begging you, just do something, anything!”

wriothesley had no other option but to allow you to, given that he was about to cum himself.

“go ahead y/n, make a mess for me.”

with his approval, you immediately felt the coil inside your stomach snap, causing you to gush around his cock. you moaned out his name as quiet as you could, which wasn’t very quiet at all. he never stopped thrusting, allowing your essence to go everywhere. on your thighs, on his, and dripping on the floor. your cunt was gripping wriothesley like a vice, and he fell victim to his own orgasm, hands on your hips tightening, groaning deeply while spilling every drop into your spent pussy. his thighs shook from the sheer intensity as he slowly came to a stop.

all was silent for a moment, as you both breathed heavily, hot and exhausted from what had just taken place. after a while, wriothesley was the first to move, slipping out of you and grabbing some tissues from the side of his desk, wiping delicately at your cunt before pulling up your panties and releasing your wrists from his cuffs with a key from his draw. he gave your temple a kiss before pulling away.

he then fixed himself up, tucking himself away back into his pants and taking his tie back from your neck, wiping the sweat from his forehead and sitting back in his chair, pulling you down with him and engulfing you in a hug.

“now then, would you like some tea before you go?”

#nicxl333 #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin #genshin smut #genshin x you #wriothesley #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #genshin wriothesley #fortress of meropide #nicxl333writes #wriothesley smut #wrio x reader #wriothesley x reader smut #wriothesley x you smut

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the-writer-arrived · 1 year ago

Text

Voice lines and habits that give me unholy thoughts

Synopsis: it doesn't need much for your cute little brain to go haywire with desire for him... (un)fortunately for you, he's quick to catch on the signs and use them against you.

Characters: wriothesley, alhaitham.

Warnings: afab!fem!reader; explicit smut; established relationship; a bit of plot since i like the build up to the horny part; use of handcuffs, oral f!receiving, fingering & overstimulation (wriothesley); semi-public/office sex & oral m!receiving (alhaitham).

A/N: wrio's teaser and web event messed with my brain :D hoyoverse def knew what they were doing when they created him.

This work has sexual themes and is not suitable for minors. If you click on read more, I am not responsable for any discomfort you may feel reading this. You have been warned.

"...Sweetheart, did you hear me or were you too busy staring intensely at my hand?"

"...Oh! I, uh... was just thinking about an answer to your question!"

"Does my question of whether you want more tea or not need that much pondering over?"

Wriothesley rests his cheek on his hand, not even trying to hold back a smirk as he watches the redness of your cheeks becoming more proeminent.

Shit. So much for thinking you were being discreet about it.

You decide to exercise your right to remain silent, taking the teapot and filling your own cup, promptly ignoring the chuckle coming from the man before you.

At the corner of your eyes, you see the handsome bastard has the audacity to return twirling and moving that dastard pen again, as if to taunt you.

...Is feeling jealous of an object too concerning of a sign?

----------

Wriothesley was seeing you out of his office, a stack of documents in your arms that needed to be delivered to Neuvillette about the recent happenings of the Fortress, a task that you were more than happy to do for him.

As you were finishing your conversation, you hear a commotion coming from the Coupon Cafeteria. With a shared glance between you two, the warden walks towards the scene to investigate, you following a few steps behind.

There, you see a group of inmates-- no, it's more like one inmate is causing a ruckus while the others are trying to cool him off... without much success apparently. In fact, things are quickly getting out of control when the riled up man begins to fight anyone opposing him.

Your boyfriend is known to be level-headed, always trying to resolve internal conflicts by talking things out to reach an agreement. Cases like this one, however, require a more... on hands approach.

It all happens too fast. The prisoner turns around to hit the next person that dared to touch him so casually, only for his sloppy attack to be dodged with ease by none other than the Duke himself. One could easily see the color draining from man's face, any trace of his anger disappearing in a flash.

You gasp at the scene ahead of you, having to lean on the large pipe next to you as your legs suddenly feel weak.

Make no mistake, your reaction isn't fear by the violence you witness, far from it. Rather, it is because of the sudden wave of arousal you feel as you watch Wriothesley pin the troublemaker underneath him, pulling his arms behind his back to cuff him.

Fuck. For a split second, you wish you could trade places with the inmate.

'...What in the world. Get a hold of yourself!'

You shake your head in an attempt to clear the indecent thoughts... Which proves to be futile at the way the stern and cold look of your lover melts into a soft and warm one when his eyes turn to you. All while 'adjusting' his loose tie, aka pulling it lower and revealing a bit more of his scarred skin that you adore kissing it.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Sorry, did that scare you?"

His duality makes you crazy horny-- t-that is, deeply in love with him!

"No! No, no, I wasn't scared! I was just, um... feeling a little faint due to the heat, yes!"

You wave a hand in front of you make it more believable... which don't seem to be working very we'll, seeing the frown on Wriothesley's face. So you start your plan B: run away.

"Ah, I-I better go deliever this documents to Monsieur Neuvillette then. Seeyouathomeloveyoubye!"

Wriothesley watches as you scurry off to the elevator, clutching the files in your arms like a lifeline. He shakes his head, a hand covering the grin.

"Oh darling, you're too easy to read."

----------

"Y-You mean-- ahh, that you k-knew all along?!"

"How could I not, when your eyes were almost begging me to fuck you? You should reward me for my self control, sweetheart."

Any retort you had dissolve into a shaky moan when Wriothesley curls his two fingers inside your core, hitting that deep spot that turns your brain into mush.

You want grasp the sheets, you want to scratch his back, you want to cover your face, ANYTHING. But you can't, not with your hands locked with his handcuffs to the bedpost. You hate it and you love it.

"Wrioooo..."

"Now, now princess, don't tug the handcuffs so hard, it'll hurt you and we can't have that." His free hand trails up your arms, lightly dragging his nails to make you shiver at the ticklish feeling, until he holds your wrists in place. "Be a good girl and focus on me, yeah?"

Jokes on him, that's what you've been doing the whole day. Thinking about your dear boyfriend, his sweet personality, his cute adoration for tea, his godly body, his great strength and how you wished for nothing more than to be bent over his desk and--

"C-Close, close... Gonna-!" Your babbles are interrupted by a gasp, Wriothesley's fingers speeding up and his palm brushing against your clit over and over that it takes just a few seconds for you to see white, body taut, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure washes over you.

The Duke slows down his movement until his hand stops completely, kissing your temple and cooing at you when you whine at his fingers leaving you empty.

You sigh when his mouth meets yours in a languid kiss, helping your heartbeat return to normal... until it races again when you realize his lips going down, down and down your body...

"W-Wrio... what are you-- Ahh!" You squeal at the sudden cold sensation in your sensitive pussy, attempting to wiggle your hips away. Your very mean lover just chuckles, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs and drags you back to his face, the asshole shooting you a smirk after he uses cold tongue to lick your folds again.

"Surely you didn't think I'd stop at one round, after you used your bedroom eyes at me the whole day, right? So..."

"Don't run away now, sweetheart."

"W-What did you say?!"

"...I said, don't let any of it, the treasure, roll away now."

Your lover looks at you with a quizzical look, not comprehending your unusual reaction to his words. You, on the other hand, are silent praying to all the Seven archons for your face to not be as red as you think it is.

In any case, you decide to turn your back to Alhaitham to get the rest of the treasure inside the chest, while he keeps on look out for any other hilichurl or abyss monsters lurking around.

You see, it's not common for you two to go adventure together around Sumeru, much less to see the scribe in action with your own eyes. So, you can't be blamed when you've been too distracted by the way his toned arms flex as he swings his sword(s), his cape gracefully flowing at each movement, the focused expression as the Chisel-Light Mirrors cut down the enemies...

Anyway, you were far too busy gawking over your boyfriend and how unfairly hot he is to actually notice the chest spawning right in front of you. And those words that he had said? It's no surprise your mind went to the gutter.

You just hope you weren't acting so obviously down bad for him as you fear...

----------

"So good... Always so good to me. Fuck, I'm getting close...!"

You really don't know how you got here. The memories from returning to Sumeru City from adventuring in the wilderness to being on your knees, sucking on Alhaitham's cock while in his office are a blur.

But, honestly? You can't bring yourself to care about these minor details.

You drag your head back slowly, torturously forcing the man above you to feel every inch of your mouth until only the tip, angry red and drooling pre cum, remains inside.

The harsh suck you give at the sensitive area earns you a groan, a growl almost, that leaves you rubbing your thighs together. Looking up at your beloved, you watch his chest rise and fall rapidly, a pretty flush on his cheeks and eyes sending you a glare.

A side of you wants to be mean, to give him a taste of paradise before taking it away, just like he so adores to do with you. You want him to be frustrated, to beg you for release, a taste of his own medicine...

But you can't. You shouldn't.

Regardless of the locked door, anyone might come knocking, requiring the presence of the scribe for some unimportant business and, archons forbid, hear what is happening inside the office.

You try not to acknowledge the dampness of your panties from this thought.

And then you feel it, three taps of his fingers on the back of your head, the sign you two came up with to tell the other when you're about to cum.

You release his shaft with a "pop" and Alhaitham is ready to question your cruel actions, but whatever words he had wanted to say get thrown out of the window when you swallow him again without warning, taking as much of his cock as you can.

With one, two shallow thrusts of his hips, he paints your throat white with his release, head thrown back, eyes tightly shut and a moan that most certainly would be heard by everyone in the Akademiya halls had the scribe not covered his mouth.

You try, you swear to Celestia that you try your hardest to swallow every single drop of cum, but there's too much and you can control your breathing only for so long. With much dismay, your mouth lets go of the slowly softening member, covered with a mix of his seeds and your saliva.

Chuckling at your dejected look, Alhaitham raises your chin to make you look at him, thumb gathering the very same mix that has escaped from your mouth to smear it over your lips, his next words making you shiver in arousal but also embarrasment of the knowledge that he had known all along what had gone through your mind during your adventure earlier.

"Don't let any of it roll away now, my love."

thanks for reading <3 likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated <3

heart divider made by @/cafekitsune

red wriothesley and alhaitham banners (smut) made by @/the-writer-arrived aka yours truly ;)

#blue.writes: genshin impact #blue.writes: smut #blue.writes: wriothesley #blue.writes: alhaitham #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #not suitable for minors #minors dni #alhaitham smut

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everythingacotarbxm1012 · 8 months ago

Text

They're Mates - with Y/N Pt 2

Summary - Feyre learns about Azriel and Y/N's story as she and Rhysand make their way to the prison

Warnings/Other Notes - Blood, injury, and physical abuse mentioned in this part. None of it graphic but please proceed with caution; 1.3k words; Again, these lines/plot points are inspired by, or directly quoted from, ACOMAF.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Masterlist

✨💫

Even days after the dinner, Feyre still had questions about Rhysand and his Inner Circle. Specifically questions about the spymaster, about the emissary. What was Azriel’s story? What was Y/N’s story? What were those burns from? If Y/N was Illyrian, why did she still have her wings? And the shadows…? Feyre shuddered at the thought. She fell asleep repeating those questions in the back of her mind.

The following morning, Feyre jolted awake to find Amren standing at the foot of her bed. She rubbed her temples as Amren made some comment about vomiting her guts up before throwing something onto the bed. “That got me out of prison. You wear it in––they can’t keep you.”

Feyre didn’t so much as move.

Amren leaned forward slightly. “Let me be very clear. This is not some toy. I do not give it lightly, but I’ll allow you to have it while you go to the prison and do what must be done. When you are finished,” Amren took a breath, “return it or suffer the very unpleasant consequences.” Amren was gone the moment Feyre had her fingers against the cool metal.

Feyre quickly dressed for her visit with Rhys to the prison. The questions still mingled in the back of Feyre’s mind, but the prospect of the prisoner dulled the curiosity.

“What?” Feyre asked when she noticed the High Lord looking at the amulet around her neck for the tenth time.

“She gave you that amulet,” Rhys stated.

“It’s serious, I suppose,” Feyre responded. “I, well, the risk––”

“You don’t want to say something you don’t want the others hearing,” Rhysand warned. “Those inmates have nothing to do but listen through the earth for information to trade for food or sex or even some air.”

Feyre didn’t respond as he offered his hand to her to help with a particular steep bit of rock. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” Feyre said as she took Rhysand’s hand. She referred to the inability to get out of bed after seeing the prison for the first time.

The High Lord shook his head. “There is nothing to be sorry about, Feyre. You are here now. And don’t worry.” He winked. “Your pay won’t be docked.”

They continued their climb until the upper face of the mountain was a wall before the pair. Below, Feyre and Rhysand could see the flow of the grass. Feyre’s gaze quickly shifted to Rhys when he pulled out a sword. He noted the look on Feyre’s face.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said.

“I’ve just never seen you with a weapon before,” Feyre responded.

“Cassian would laugh until he couldn’t talk if he heard that. Then make me spar with him.”

“Could you beat him?” Feyre asked. “Cassian I mean.”

“Hand-to-hand combat? Certainly not.” Feyre noticed the lack of pride and arrogance in Rhys’s tone. “He wouldn’t win easily, but he would win. He is the best warrior I’ve ever met, ever. The reason I’ve entrusted him to lead my armies.”

There were a few short moments of silence as Feyre thought. The other two. Azriel and Y/N. “Azriel, his hands,” Feyre questioned. “The scars, I mean. How did he get them?”

Rhys’s face darkened, a flicker of pain in his eyes as silence stretched for a moment. “His father, a lord, had two legitimate sons who were both older than Azriel. Spoiled. Cruel. Learned traits from their mother, the lord’s wife. For the first eleven years of his life, he lived under his father’s keep. The lord’s wife saw to it that Azriel was kept in a cell with no window or light. They let him out for an hour every day…only let him see his mother for an hour once a week. He was not allowed to train, fly, or doing anything else his Illyrian instincts screamed at him to do.”

Another pause and Rhys’s voice softened. “When Azriel was eight, his brothers thought it would be fun if they mixed an Illyrian’s quick healing oil and…and fire. His father’s warriors heard his screams, but they found him too late. He was left with the scars from the burns.”

The image of Y/N gently kissing Azriel’s hand when she had met everyone flashed through Feyre’s mind, the action having a whole new meaning to her. But Y/N. She said she was Illyrian, but she also said Illyrians have a habit of ridding females of their wings. “And Y/N, her wings.” Feyre searched for the right words for a moment. “She is Illyrian, but still has her wings?”

The most subtle sigh escaped Rhys. “She is, she does. Her story is intimately tied with Azriel’s. She was born to an Illyrian family, who trained her from a young age to attract the attention of males to be able to produce another generation of warriors. When they were both eight, a few months before Azriel’s hands were burned, she was out and about when he was having his allotted time with his mother. His shadows took it upon themselves to go and say hello to the young girl. In hindsight, they likely realized the connection between Azriel and Y/N before either of them even considered it. Y/N interacted with his shadows before they returned to their master, whispering what she had shared with them.”

The image of the his shadows weaving through the edges of Y/N’s hair came into her mind’s eye.

“At some point his shadows starting sharing secrets about Azriel to Y/N. The shadows became a lifeline for the both of them, using his shadows to share messages with each other. She was the one to keep him company during those last three years of confinement. Despite there being no windows or light, the shadows found a way. When he was brought to the training camp where Cassian and I were, I suspect their messages to each other continued. Soon after my mother took Cassian and Azriel under her care too, Azriel’s shadows informed him that Y/N was in distress, in danger during the night. He didn’t have to think twice, he was flying out of our home in an instant.” Rhys shuddered at the next thought, the image of Y/N, bloodied and injured in Azriel’s arms that was long since buried came rising to the surface. “Azriel walked in to see her father in the beginning moments of cutting her wings up, to permanently destroy them. It wasn’t enough for her father to just clip them.”

The thought setting a nauseating feeling into the pit of Feyre’s stomach.

“I suspect that if Y/N was not so badly injured, Azriel might have had a go at her father, maybe even tried to kill him. My mother took her in too and by miracle saved Y/N’s wings. Azriel helped her learn to fly again after she healed. One of his shadows was always with her if he couldn’t be with Y/N himself. He taught her to how to defend herself. He adopted the name Y/N after she declared she did not want the name her father had given her. Y/N after the name of a bakery in Velaris she adored. Their mating bond snapped about a year later. Neither of them hesitated to accept it. During the war they rarely saw each other, using the bond to communicate, to ensure the other was alive. She managed a few short, brief meetings. Azriel is my spymaster because he can infiltrate courts undetected, gather information, keep tabs on our allies and enemies. Y/N is my emissary because her ability to take the information Azriel has gathered and use that charm she has to gather allies is, invaluable.”

The truth that Rhys would not share, at least not yet, was Azriel and Y/N’s story was the one that gave him an inkling of hope with Feyre. Both Azriel and Y/N were scarred, beaten down by the world, torn apart, but they always found their way to back to each other. All Rhysand could do was hope that the same would eventually be true for himself and Feyre.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #rhysand #feyre #feyre x rhysand #cassian #3rd person pov

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srslyblvck · 1 month ago

Text

the devil you know, avengers

pairing: avengers x fem!reader, bucky x fem!reader

synopsis: the avengers seem really desperate as they come to you—the person who went under their skin like no one else to help them win against hydra. while they are walking on eggshells around you, you are having fun causing chaos.

warnings: mentions of y/n (maybe), blood, violence, gore

word count: 3.1k

chapter: 1/?

series masterlist

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE LAST TIME YOU fought the Avengers, you didn’t just leave a mark—you left scars. They were supposed to be Earth’s mightiest heroes, but they couldn’t even handle you alone. Your power wasn’t just raw strength or fancy tech. No, you were chaos, untamed and unpredictable. You had fun, didn’t you? Watching them scramble, trying to keep up as you dismantled their team, piece by piece.

The streets of New York were your playground. Thor swung his hammer, lightning crackling in the air, but you were faster. You sidestepped, sending him crashing into a nearby building. Tony tried to come at you from the skies, a barrage of missiles raining down. With a flick of your wrist, you sent them spiraling back into his suit, and watched with a smirk as he plummeted to the ground.

Then there was Natasha, sharp, lethal, and far too clever for her own good. She tried to get close, slipping through the chaos to land a blow. You almost admired her for that. Almost. But you caught her wrist before her knife could make contact, twisting it just enough to disarm her without snapping it—because where’s the fun in ending the game too soon?

And Steve, Captain America himself. Righteous, noble, irritatingly persistent. He charged at you, shield raised, eyes burning with determination. But his resolve only made you more excited. You met him head-on, your strength colliding with his as you deflected the shield with a grin. You knew it wouldn’t last forever. You knew they’d eventually overwhelm you with numbers or some sneaky trick. But that didn’t matter. For a while, you were winning. And that’s all that mattered.

It had taken all of them, working together, to finally bring you down. And when they did, they didn't leave you in some cushy maximum-security prison. No, they put you in The Raft—the highest of high-security prisons for supervillains. They wanted to make sure you couldn’t wriggle out and wreak havoc again.

Funny thing is, you didn't mind.

You lounge in your cell at the Raft, feet kicked up, arms folded behind your head. The guards pass by occasionally, but they don’t bother with you much anymore. No point. You’re the least troublesome prisoner they’ve got here. Not exactly the model inmate, but you’ve made it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You didn’t mind the Raft—no noisy world, no chaotic battles, just peace. Besides, you always enjoyed the looks people gave you. The way they seemed unsure if you were calm or just waiting to snap.

“Psychotic,” they called you. Maybe they weren’t wrong. But if that’s what it takes to keep things interesting, then so be it.

The Avengers. Now that’s where the fun had been. Fighting them, teasing them, pushing them to their limits. Especially Stark. He hated that he could never figure you out. You’d gotten under their skin in a way no one else had. And even though you were eventually caught, dragged off to this fortress in the middle of the ocean, it didn’t feel like defeat. No, it felt more like… a vacation.

The tension in the Avengers HQ could be cut with a knife. Seated around the long, sleek table, everyone had their eyes fixed on the glowing hologram floating in the center, displaying a map riddled with flashing Hydra insignias.

“Hydra’s moving faster than we thought,” Tony Stark said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “They’ve got new tech, new firepower, and something else—something we don’t understand yet.”

Steve Rogers leaned forward, his jaw set in that familiar determined way. “We’ve taken down Hydra before. We can do it again.”

“We didn’t take them down,” Natasha Romanoff chimed in. “We knocked them back. This is different, Steve. Their intel’s better. Their strategy is… smarter.”

Steve crossed his arms, frowning deeply. “We are the Avengers. We have faced threats from beyond this world. Surely this Hydra can be beaten.”

Bruce Banner, quiet until now, shook his head. “No, Steve. This isn’t like our usual enemies. Hydra’s moving like they know every step we’re going to take before we make it. And whatever they're building—it’s got enough gamma signatures to make me nervous.”

That last statement made everyone pause. Even Clint Barton, who’d been silently fidgeting with an arrow, stilled his hands.

“Great,” Clint muttered. “So not only are they out-thinking us, they’ve got Banner-level problems in their back pocket. Awesome.”

Sam Wilson leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the hologram. “There’s got to be a way to track them. Cut them off before they finish building… whatever that is.”

“I’ve tried,” Rhodey said, his voice exasperated. “Hydra’s cloaking this thing like it’s Fort Knox, and every time I send in recon, we come up empty-handed.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Everyone was thinking the same thing, even if no one wanted to say it. The Avengers were backed into a corner, and they hated being in this position. Hydra had outmaneuvered them before—but never like this.

Tony leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "There’s one option we haven’t considered."

Steve’s eyes snapped to Tony, immediately suspicious. “What’s that?”

Tony glanced around the room, hesitation clear on his face for the first time in a while. “We bring in someone who knows how to deal with these kinds of dirty tactics. Someone who’s unpredictable… dangerous.”

“Oh, no,” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “We’re not doing this.”

“What?” Clint asked, glancing between them. “What are we not doing?”

“You know exactly who he’s talking about,” Natasha replied, her voice cold.

Bucky Barnes, sitting quietly in the corner, shifted in his seat. “You mean her.”

“Yup.” Tony gave a tight smile. “her.”

“You can’t be serious, Stark,” Steve said, his tone edging into anger. “That… that psycho is locked up for a reason.”

“Yeah, well, unless you’ve got any other brilliant ideas for how to get through Hydra’s defences, I’m all ears,” Tony shot back, standing up now. “I get it, Cap. She's not exactly on our Christmas card list, but facts are facts. When we fought her, she nearly wiped the floor with us. She's good—too good.”

“That’s because she's insane,” Bucky said, his voice low, dangerous. “You think she's going to help us out of the goodness of her heart?”

“No, but she’ll help because she likes causing chaos, and right now, chaos is what we need,” Tony replied.

Bruce, still seated, raised a hand. “You’re suggesting we trust someone who has a history of, uh, not playing by the rules?”

“I’m suggesting we use someone who’s good at breaking things. We can handle the clean-up afterward,” Tony said. His tone was sharp, but there was logic behind it.

Steve stood up, crossing his arms, clearly trying to contain his frustration. “No way. We’re not that desperate.”

“We might be,” Sam said, leaning back in his chair, though his expression was skeptical. “I don’t like it either, but Tony has a point. Hydra’s not playing fair. Maybe we need someone who knows how to play dirtier.”

“I’m not working with her,” Steve said firmly. “We don’t need someone like that. We’ve beaten Hydra before.”

“Yeah, but not like this,” Clint muttered under his breath. “Not when they’ve got the upper hand.”

Rhodey, who’d been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “I hate to say it, but we’re out of options. We need something to break this deadlock. Even if it’s a wildcard.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “This is a mistake.”

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Probably. But we don’t have time to sit around and weigh the pros and cons. Every minute we waste, Hydra’s getting closer to finishing whatever nightmare they’re cooking up. We need to act.”

There was a long pause as the team exchanged glances, weighing their options. No one wanted to admit it, but they were out of ideas. And you were the only person who could help.

Steve finally exhaled, nodding once. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, it’s on you, Stark.”

Tony gave a small, triumphant smirk. “Trust me, Cap, I’ve got it handled.”

When they arrived at the Raft, the air was thick with tension. The Avengers weren’t exactly the kind of people who made house calls to criminals, and it showed on their faces as they were led down the long, sterile corridor toward your cell.

You knew they were coming long before they reached you. Hydra must have had them in knots for them to come crawling back to you. The idea was almost enough to make you laugh.

Lying on the small cot in your cell, your arms stretched behind your head, you kept your eyes closed. The hum of the Raft was soothing, a far cry from the chaos of the outside world. It was almost meditative.

Then, the cell door slid open with a sharp buzz, but you didn’t bother moving.

“Stark,” you said lazily, eyes still closed, voice dripping with amusement. “What, come to throw a going-away party?”

The Avengers stood before you, and when you opened your eyes, you didn’t miss the mix of tension and frustration on their faces.

“We need your help,” Tony said bluntly, cutting straight to the chase.

You sat up slowly, a lazy grin spreading across your face. “You must be really desperate to come to me for help.”

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but you raised a finger, cutting him off. “Let me guess. Hydra’s doing something nasty, and you’re stuck. Can’t get your shiny suits dirty, so you come to me, the wildcard.”

Steve glared at you from the back. “This isn’t a joke.”

You grinned wider. “Oh, I know it’s not, Captain. But I have to say… this is going to be fun.”

The Avengers stood there, tense, unsure. And you? You were in control, and it felt fantastic.

You strolled into the Avengers compound, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, wrists cuffed in front of you with those annoying power-suppressing restraints. They’d made sure of that, didn’t they?

Of course, they had. The Avengers weren’t stupid. At least, not completely.

Around you, the team walked in a tight formation, like you were some kind of wild animal they needed to keep on a leash. Tony was up ahead, chatting with FRIDAY about god knows what, Steve right beside him, walking with that stiff-shouldered tension that was so him. Behind you, Natasha and Clint followed, their eyes boring holes into the back of your head. You could almost feel Bucky’s glare from across the room, like he was daring you to make a wrong move.

But you weren’t going to make a scene. Not yet.

“Gotta say,” you drawled, glancing around the compound, taking in the high-tech security, the polished floors, the holographic displays flickering along the walls. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Real homey.”

You whistled softly, admiring the upgrades. The last time you’d seen the compound—well, it hadn’t exactly been in one piece. You might’ve had something to do with that, but hey, nobody’s perfect.

“Hope you didn’t put in too much work fixing it up after our last meeting,” you added with a grin, turning toward Tony. “Wouldn’t want all that effort to go to waste.”

Tony didn’t miss a beat, glancing over his shoulder at you with a raised eyebrow. “Funny. I seem to remember you being more concerned with trying to take my head off than interior design critique.”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” you said with a shrug, as if it was all just some fun memory. You could feel the others bristling behind you, no doubt regretting this decision more with every word you spoke.

Steve’s jaw clenched, his voice low and commanding. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Easy there, Cap,” you replied, enjoying how his fists tightened just a bit more. “I’m here to help, remember? Or did you bring me back just for my sparkling personality?”

“Let’s not test that theory,” Natasha cut in, her voice cool but sharp. “You’re on a short leash here.”

You grinned wider, turning to give her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

The group led you further into the compound, and you let yourself take it all in. It was strange being back here, walking freely (well, as freely as the cuffs allowed) through their precious headquarters. Last time you were here, they’d been chasing you down, trying to stop you from doing what you did best—causing chaos. Now, they were practically welcoming you with open arms.

Funny how things changed when they needed you.

As you passed by one of the large windows, you caught a glimpse of the sprawling training grounds outside. Stark’s money had definitely gone into this place—it was a fortress. High-tech, polished, the works. But beneath all that shine, you knew what was really going on. Desperation. They wouldn’t have come to you unless they had no other choice.

“So, what’s the play?” you asked, breaking the silence as you sauntered forward, hands still shackled but your posture loose and casual. “You bring me in, throw me at Hydra, hope I don’t enjoy myself too much?”

“You’re going to do what we tell you,” Steve said firmly. “No more, no less.”

You met his gaze, that stoic, unflinching look he always gave, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly how this is gonna go.”

Clint, ever the quick shot with a retort, piped up. “If you don’t follow orders, we’ll make sure you regret it.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch Clint’s eye, your grin widening. “You threatening me, Barton? I thought we were all friends now.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. Behind you, you could sense Bruce watching quietly, keeping his distance but always on edge, probably ready to Hulk out the second you made a wrong move. Bucky was the same—silent, seething. Everyone in the room knew you were a threat. Everyone knew that the cuffs on your wrists were the only thing keeping you from unleashing a storm.

But what they didn’t know was that you were actually enjoying this little game. They were walking on eggshells around you, pretending they had everything under control, but you could feel the tension crackling in the air. It was palpable. Delicious.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence again as you strolled past the holographic displays, glancing at one that showed a map of Hydra’s activity. “What exactly is it you need me to do?”

“You’re not in a position to ask questions,” Steve answered, his voice firm and unyielding.

You rolled your eyes. “Still playing the Boy Scout, huh? Fine. I’ll bite. But just so you know, I’m not here for the teamwork, Captain.”

Tony let out a small chuckle at that. “We’re not exactly looking for team spirit. We need someone unpredictable. Someone who can get into Hydra without raising alarms.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I’m your guy,” you said with a wink. “Hydra and I go way back. They’ll be thrilled to see me again.”

“And that’s what worries us,” Natasha replied, eyes narrowing as she studied you. “You’ve got a history with them. We’re not letting you go in unsupervised.”

You sighed, feigning disappointment. “Always so serious, Romanoff. Fine, keep your watchdogs on me. Just don’t blame me when I get bored.”

The group finally stopped in front of one of the briefing rooms, Tony gesturing for you to enter first. You raised your cuffed hands slightly, giving them a little shake. “And these?” you asked. “Gonna make it a little hard to do anything useful.”

“They stay on until we’re sure you’re not going to turn this into a free-for-all,” Steve said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You stepped through the door with a shrug. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

As you entered the briefing room, the large screen lit up with detailed schematics of Hydra’s new operation. Bases, weapons, movements—things even you hadn’t seen before. It was impressive. Even more impressive that they were willing to trust you with this kind of information.

Then again, trust was a fragile thing here, wasn’t it?

You took a seat at the table, leaning back in the chair as best you could with your hands still cuffed, watching the Avengers file in around you. Tension filled the room like a thick fog, everyone waiting to see what you’d do next.

“Well,” you said, kicking your feet up onto the table, flashing them a cocky grin. “This should be fun.”

The briefing room hummed with energy, a silent current of tension hanging thick between you and the Avengers. Tony took his place at the head of the table, arms crossed, tapping his fingers against his bicep impatiently. Steve stood just behind him, the shield slung across his back, his posture stiff. The others filtered in, taking up their positions like chess pieces ready for a match.

You leaned back in your chair, cuffed hands resting on the table in front of you, a lazy smirk playing on your lips. “Alright,” you said, stretching your legs out. “Why don’t we cut to the chase? What’s the big Hydra mess you need me for?”

Tony glanced at Steve, who gave him a short nod, the silent agreement of reluctant allies. Tony activated a holographic display on the table, bringing up a 3D map of several cities across the globe. Red dots flickered ominously, marking Hydra's known operations.

“You already know Hydra’s been rebuilding,” Tony began, his tone sharp and focused. “But this isn’t their usual underground terrorist network anymore. They’ve got something bigger, more coordinated. And now, they’ve been making moves we can’t trace. Military-grade weapons, tech we haven’t seen before, and worst of all, something that’s throwing up red flags on our radiation sensors.”

“Gamma signatures,” Bruce chimed in, his face serious. “A lot of them.”

Your eyebrow lifted, intrigued. “Gamma, huh? That sounds like fun. They planning on making their own Hulk? Gotta say, that’s a bold move.”

“It’s worse than that,” Bruce continued, eyes darkening. “They’ve been siphoning gamma energy from somewhere, but we don’t know what it’s for yet. And if they’re storing it, they could be trying to build a weapon.”

“Something big enough to level cities,” Natasha added, her voice cold. “Or worse.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Always with the doomsday weapons. Hydra really doesn’t know how to take a break, do they?”

Clint gave you a hard look. “This isn’t a joke. If they get this thing operational, it’s game over for a lot of people. Not even you want that kind of chaos.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” you quipped, leaning forward slightly. “But go on. Tell me what makes you think I care enough to get involved.”

Steve stepped forward, leaning on the table as his blue eyes locked onto yours with that intense, all-business stare of his. “Because you know Hydra. You know how they think. And you know their tactics better than anyone we’ve got. If we go in guns blazing, they’ll see us coming from miles away. But you? You can walk right in.”

You tilted your head, considering. “And you think I’ll just play nice, follow your lead, and do exactly what you want?”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “No. I think you’ll do it because you love playing the game. And because if Hydra gets their hands on this weapon, even you won’t be safe. They’ll come after everyone—Avengers, civilians, people like you.”

Tony stepped in, his expression tight but calculated. “We need someone who can play dirty. Someone who can think like Hydra, act like Hydra, and blend in without setting off alarms. That’s you.”

Bucky, sitting quietly to your left, finally spoke. His voice was low, dangerous. “They’ll kill you the second they get the chance. You know that, right?”

You turned to Bucky, flashing him a grin. “Hydra’s always had a soft spot for me, Barnes. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Tony flicked the hologram again, zooming in on a specific location—a heavily guarded Hydra facility buried deep in Eastern Europe, surrounded by military checkpoints and defense grids. “This is the target,” he said. “We’ve been monitoring this base for weeks. It’s their hub for whatever project they’re working on. It’s locked down tighter than anything we’ve seen before. We tried sending in a team, but they didn’t get far. Too many layers of security.”

“Layers I can bypass,” you concluded, smirking at the challenge. “Alright, I’ll admit, it sounds like fun. But what makes you think I won’t just stroll in, grab what I want, and leave you all hanging?”

Natasha, leaning against the wall, finally stepped forward, her gaze cold and calculating. “Because you know what happens if Hydra finishes whatever they’re building. You’ve got a history of playing both sides, but even you can’t outrun a bomb that size. And let's be real—you hate losing control more than anything. Hydra’s playing a game you’re not a part of right now.”

You tilted your head, the smile slipping just a little. “So what? You’re offering me a chance to take them down from the inside?”

“We’re offering you a chance to prove you’re not as self-destructive as we think you are,” Steve replied, voice steady but firm. “This isn’t just about us. It’s about keeping Hydra from leveling cities and killing millions. You help us stop them, and maybe—just maybe—you walk out of this without a target on your back.”

The room went quiet, the weight of the situation sinking in. You leaned back, letting the silence stretch out as you considered your options. They weren’t wrong—Hydra was dangerous, even to you. And sure, there was a part of you that liked chaos, liked toying with the line between hero and villain. But even you had limits.

“You really think this will work?” you asked, locking eyes with Tony.

Tony’s expression softened slightly, just enough to show a glimmer of trust. “I think it’s our best shot.”

Another beat of silence passed. Then, with a slow grin, you nodded.

“Alright, I’m in,” you said, sitting up straighter in the chair. “But let’s get one thing clear. I’m not here to be your hero. I’m here because I like to win. Hydra made this personal when they tried to cut me out of the fun.”

Steve straightened, arms crossed. “As long as you follow our lead.”

You shot him a wink. “No promises, Captain.”

The team exchanged a few tense glances, but the decision had been made. You were in. And, for now at least, that was all that mattered.

“Good,” Tony said, the hologram flickering away. “We move out tomorrow. FRIDAY will upload the mission details to your room.”

You grinned wider. “A room, huh? How fancy.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Natasha said as she turned toward the door, her voice flat. “This isn’t a vacation.”

You chuckled, rising to your feet. The cuffs clinked lightly as you stretched your arms, casting a glance back at the Avengers. “Oh, trust me, Romanoff. I’m anything but comfortable.”

And with that, you followed them out of the briefing room, feeling the weight of the cuffs on your wrists and the eyes of the Avengers on your back. You were back in the game, and Hydra had no idea what was coming.

dividers by @dollywons

#marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #marvel cinematic universe #the avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #clint barton #bruce banner #sam wilson #bucky x reader

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