#so he gave them to all of the most easily distractable and likely to wander off family members

[calamitys-child]

For all we talk about me being dog coded I feel like I somehow still can't emphasise enough that close friends and family literally summon me to their side by whistling

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 28

Dick Grayson + Markings (hickeys, bruises, tattoos)

Insert that one dove meme that’s like “gazing lovingly at his gigantic angry wife” but its Dick and the Reader whos a former criminal. I eat up all size difference, so, big reader :3c.

I may have had tom hardy in the back of my mind during this.

2024 kinktober masterlist

Dick loved a lot of things about his lover, the list was way too long for him to state right then and there. Hell, he could probably go on for hours about how much he loved you. He loved your personality, how you always acted grumpy and mean, but you cared so much under all the walls you had to build during your life.

He loved how big your hands were, and how they dwarfed his, and Dick wasn’t a small guy either. He loved how some of your teeth were chipped or slightly crooked from how many fights you have been in, or that one of your ears if permanently bigger than the other because of fighting. He loved how you saved your smiles for him, your real smiles and not just the crooked smirks you gave others.

He loved your muscles and how big you were, well, everywhere. From height, to width, to just bulk in general. You may not be the most flexible, but Dick is flexible enough for the both of you, so you don’t need to bend your legs or arms too wildly when you guys are together.

And most importantly, he loved your tattoos. They were kinda cheesy, in your words anyways. They clearly screamed “I got these tattoos when I was 17 and started gangbanging”, at least the first ones you got did. The ones you got later on as well as coverups have a sense of taste, at the very least they look good on you.

Dick couldn’t forget about your strength either, and how easily you left bruises on him. His all-time favourite is the shape of your fingers on his hips, knowing how easily you could move him around, fold him in half or spread his legs until you got what you wanted.

It was against all his bat training, but Dick had started wanting tattoos too because of you, something he regularly whined about just because he could. Every time he saw you wandering around the apartment in your baggy basketball shorts, or worn thin sweats, muscular tattooed torso on display. Well, Dick always made sure to whistle and appreciate the sight a little, before he would slump against your back, grope your pecs and whine about the ink in your skin.

You didn’t care much about what he did, if Dick got tattoos or not. Part of you understood the whole identifying thing about it, having been caught by cops multiple times based on the fact that you had tattoos all the way up your neck. But if that’s what he wanted, then who was Batman to stop him.

Maybe you were a bad influence, as some part of Dick always wanted to defy Bruce in one way or another if he could get away with it. And its not like a little tattoo would be hard to hide or anything, he just needed to get it done a place that most people wouldn’t look.

You weren’t a real tattoo artist, having never gotten the title or anything. But you had done enough tattoos on yourself and others to know what’s up and how to care for them, so it should be no surprise when Dick wanted you to be the one to put the tattoo on him.

All you needed to do was sit back and wait for Dick to put the stencil on and lay down on the spot you prepared. You hadn’t expected him to choose your initials for his stencil, or for him to place it on his inner thighs, near the crevice where the thigh became his hips. It was a nice spot to hide it, sure, but it was also so close to his… everything. You had a feeling hed put it on his taint if he could, and part of you almost asked only to hold yourself back.

Instead, you two got to work, Dicks leg draped provocatively over one of your broad muscular shoulders, your love rubbing his foot up and down your shoulder blades as you did quick work of the tattoo. It wasn’t anything big or difficult, what distracted you the most was Dicks twitching and squirming, or the tiny huffs and hums he let out.

“What?” Dick huffed as you looked up at him with an unamused raised brow, seeing how hard he had gotten from something as small as a tattoo. “It’s a normal bodily reaction” your lover pouted, only for you to shake your head and stand up to clean up the things you used to tattoo him, as well as wash your hands.

“Its really not. But you aren’t normal babe” you grunt, shooting Dick another unamused look as you hear the slick noise of him touching himself. Vigilantes truly had crazy stamina from your experience, even if your experience was only Dick, but he got worked up so easily and never knew when to control himself when it was just you two.

“Really?” you snort out with an upwards pull at your lips, as you pat your hands dry on a towel. “You… take your shirt off” your partner demands, his voice a tone higher than usual as his hand works himself in quick short flicks, as Dick gropes at his pecs with the other.

“Oh? I’m a dancer now?” you jab, even if you don’t mean it to sound confrontational, taking your shirt off in the meantime. You didn’t need to do more than flex and stand there, Dick seemingly putting in all the effort as he worked himself into a panting groaning mess.

Having someone so attracted to you was always a bit of a humbling and flustering experience. You knew you were attractive to certain people, but that was mainly those people into the whole “big dangerous criminal” look you had going on, even if you didn’t mean too. But it never felt the same as what Dick seemed to see in you.

He just needed to see you to get off to you, hell, some days he didn’t even need to see you and thinking was enough. If you had left bruises and hickeys on him the days before, then Dick always just needed to press at them and think about you to push himself over the edge.

Some may call it unhealthy to be so obsessed with his own boyfriend, but Dick could care less. You treated him well, fucked him so good he cried in pleasure just thinking about it, and you loved him because you wanted too and not because someone ordered it, or you wanted to use him.

It did annoy you a little to see him cumming all over his own torso, abs flexing, and jaw clenched, right after you had just cleaned him up. At least he got none of it on his new tattoo, even if you feared the sweat he must have been producing would bother it.

“You just have to help me keep and eye on it” he snickers as you lift his leg to make sure everything is as it should be, and put a cover over it so it can heal a little before Dick can walk around with it. “You can help me with something else first” you snicker, easily picking Dick up and throwing him over one of your broad shoulders, your lover picking up on where you were going quickly.

And yeah, maybe tattooing your partner was hot, or maybe it was all the hickeys and bruises you left on him, or just the fact that Dick could get off just looking at your tattoo covered body flexing. But it had gotten blood pumping for you too, and maybe you couldn’t fuck him or his thighs for a while, but Dick always seemed more than willing to offer up his mouth or pecs.

[pvrkacciosan]

The Elevator

Synopsis: A Member of the Ferrari hospitality team gets stuck in the lift with the drivers who gave us the amazing moment of being stuck there, But shes not alone.

Pairing: Grid X Staff!reader

Warning; Panic attack, Single mother, claustrophobic,

Word Count: 2.3K

Your day had already been as hectic as it could get,

First the sitter for your daughter, Lexi; called in sick, leaving you with no alternative, and taking your daughter to work on a race week was never a good idea. Her high energy and hyper personality were great, but not when it was busy and you had limited ways to keep an eye on her.

Her father had left when he found out about you being pregnant, but being the person you were, you refused to give up on your daughter. Which had been the best decision you had ever made in your life, despite your current predicament.

Big crowd.

High stress.

A Toddler. What could possible go wrong?

Lexi held tightly to your hand as you walked around, your other arm aching from the cases of water bottles you carried. You worked for the Ferrari Hospitality team, so basically spend most of your day running around to make sure people had access to food and water,

You were proud to work for them, and besides. Lexi's favourite color was red, and when asked she got rater upset when you suggesting moving to another team.

"Mummy, we go track now?"

"No baby, I need to work right now, but you can get my phone to watch later okay"

She loved to watch the races, which she usually did with the sitter, you had only about ten minute to get back down to the hospitality, which with a five year old and a hefty packet of wate bottles, would be a tight window.

Her tiny feet pattered against the floor as you turned down the hallway to the stairs, you halted, there was at least a couple flights of them and when you arm began to shake under the weight of the water you knew you were never going to get down them intime.

Gritting your teeth you turned in the other direction, towards the elevator. You had never really liked them, the tight fit of being inside one made you nervous.

But it was only going to be for a few minutes, and Lexi would probably distract you, you would be alright.

Trying your hardest to drag your daughter towards the lift, when you could see it fast approaching in the numbers above the door, you managed to press the button as it slowed to the floor you were currently on.

You quickly readjusted the packet in your arm, as Lexi began to sing lightly to a cartoon song, which you couldn't quite pick the name of.

The door slide open slightly and you can already feel the shake in your hands, making it more difficult for you to keep grip of the bottles.

When the doors open however, you were equally as shocked to spot what could have been half the starting grid inside the small vertically moving box.

Lexi went to skip inside, completely unfazed by the group of adult men all who craned their heads down to watch the singing girl,

You were quick to readjust the water once more, reaching for your daughter you almost dropped it,

"No lex, Let them go first we'll catch it next time"

There was a slight shuffle amongst the group as the driver in red spun to try and look at you over the shoulders of the others, probably recognising your voice,

Lexi wandered back to you as an accented voice spoke from the group, and several hands extended out to stop the door from shutting on your daughter.

"Please. We can move over, there's space" Carlos spoke quickly, you had met a couple of them before when handing bottles around the paddock on extremely hot days, and watching them on race replays with Lexi, you could easily recognise those with thicker accent.

You didn't know what made you think that getting into an already crowded elevator, after hating the boxes in the first place.

You took Lexi's hand and shuffled into the space the drivers made for you and your daughter. The water made it equally as awkward as you tried not to bump into any of them,

The silence that lapped over the elevator, allowed you to try and settle your thoughts, until the silence was interrupted by a soft voice, as she began singing once more, you were not the only one to cast you gaze down to Lexi as she stared at her own feet, head bopping away to the tune she mumbled, not really knowing the words.

There was a couple of giggles shared amongst the drivers, you felt your cheeks bloom in heat as Daniel caught your eyes as you awkwardly looked around for something to look at that wasn't one of the drivers,

"She adorable" he gestured to Lexi, who continued to sing along, her little hand now patting your thigh in an offbeat rhythm to her singing.

"Yeah she i—" your word got cut abruptly short as the elevator jerked to a sudden stop.

There was a moment where everyone inside took a second to realise what had just happened, and it was apparent, that yes. The elevator had in-fact. Stopped.

Not even a second passed before you could already feel the rising panic creep up your spine. Lexi finally took a second to look around, little eyes wide as she stared at the man beside her, Charles waved at your daughter, Lando follow his lead when Lexi began giggling.

But you couldn't focus on your daughter, you tried, but the air began to constrict in your chest.

You could briefly hear the noise of a recording button being pressed and the noise of the drivers muttering amongst themselves.

The camera was switched off and the men around you shuffled to get comfortable as they settled into waiting, one of them already had pressed the emergency help button by the door.

The walls felt like the were getting closer to you, and your grip on the bottle became slick, until you were fumbling to keep them against you. At last they slipped out and thumped against the floor of the elevator,

The metal box shook slightly and when the drivers on either side of you, reached down to help you pick them up, the boxed moved once more, the room around you shook, which only seemed to make the walls close in faster,

You couldn't help it anymore, emitting a small whimper, as tears began to streak down your cheeks.

The elevator fell silent as all the drivers took in the sounds as you began crying,

"She cries" Lexi said simply, as though it wasn't obvious to the men that you were doing so,

As your knee began to shake slightly when more panic sets in, You stumble but don fall as you feel a couple sets of hands grab your body, holding you up. There was not enough space to sit yourself down, which only made your breathing turn more ragged.

"Whats wrong?" George whispered from behind her, he sounded close enough to be one of the drivers currently holding her up, but with this metal tin can, they were all too close and that was the problem.

"She custrabobic" Lexi said, patting Pierre on the leg lightly,

The french driver pulled a face, and looked to the English speaking drivers for aid, not entirely understanding what exactly the small girl was attempting to tell him,

Lando cast a quick look at you, being closer to Lexi then George and Danny he leaned down slightly she peered up at him,

"What is she?" he asked trying to get the little girl to repeat herself,

"Custrabobic" Lexi spoke, happy with herself she smiled at Lando, her smile beaming as she looked around the elevator.

You rasped slightly, squeezing your eyes shut tighter, leaning into the closest body to your own, which ever driver it was wrapped his arms further around you, seeming to take the majority of your weight.

Lando nodded at your daughter before shooting a pleading look to George, who looked in thought over the toddlers words, as he watched you.

Lando moved aside as Romain squeezed past him, leaning down to grab one of the bottles you had previously been holding, twisting the cap open he passed to Valtteri who brought it in front of you.

You tried to reach for it, but as your hands shook, you let a frustrated sigh leave you, Lexi had somehow gotten to the other side of the elevator and in her haste to get back to her mum she crawled along the floor, Romain and Charles had to widen their stance as the little girl crawled under them giggle as she got closer to you.

She was too young to understand that you weren't exactly in the right state to answer her as she began to ask about the track once more.

"Claustrophobic!" Carlos yelled suddenly, hand raising in happiness as he somehow managed to puzzle out your daughters words, Lexi turned to the man now. She jumped in excitement, nodding wildly at him,

"Yea , yeh!" She flailed her little arms around, and when you whimpered softly at the movement, Carlos was quick to settle your child, distracting her with something on his phone.

The air was no longer getting into your lungs any more, despite the rattling of people outside the door, working to pry the elevator doors open.

With your eyes widening in panic you fumbled to grab the hand of the driver which still had you hugged into his chest, when the men shuffled around to let Charles past them, he knelt slightly at your front,

"You're Y/n, Right?", eyes scanning the familiar red crew uniform you wore.

He gently took the bottle from your grasp, looking back at George who held you in place against him.

The surroundings of your vison began to grow fuzzy and dark, blinking rapidly to try and clear it away, you could just see Charles as he realised just how unsettled the crowding had made you,

Unsure whether to touch you or not, he awkwardly held his hands around you, looking to the other drivers who all looked equally at a loss on what to do,

With your mind in a flurry, you couln't really pay much mind to what was going on around you, as the room spun, you squeezed both eyes shut tightly, despretly hoping to block out the feeling of a bubble around your body. Wrapping you up and squeezing the air from you.

Weakly you could feel the hands tighten on your body, holding you up, until you were passed into the hands of another, and finally sat onto the ground.

The ground was cooler beneath your palm when you placed them flat onto the surface,

"Y/n?"

The voice sounded like a speaker underwater, the words lost on you,

"Y/n?"

When the corners of your sight began to come back into focus, you could just see two bodies in front of you, One extended a bottle to you,

You took it gratefully, trying to still the shake that gripped you,

The two drivers, Charles and Pierre sat with you as they patiently waited for you to come back to reality. You watched on as a couple of the other drivers continued to watch your daughter,

She had been picked up by Daniel who bounced her on his hip, while Lando hid behind the Australian's shoulder, before 'jumping' out from behind him to scare Lexi.

Her giggle filled the air, people were milling about working to close of the elevator.

"Mummy" She squealed out loudly, as Daniel placed her back on the ground, she took off in your direction at a run, stumbling a little over her shoes, which fashioned Lightening McQueen on the side, with red flashing lights on their base.

She stopped to observe the drivers that still sat with you, taking in their faces now they were her head height,

"You drive big red" her happiness was palpable as she pointed to Charles's red shirt, her small hand pressing against the rearing horse at his chest.

"Why, Yes." he smiled lightly at her, chuckling softly,

It was then that you finally checked the time on your watch, you were at least five minutes late, pushing up off the ground quickly you reached for what bottles had been recollected,

"Hold on-"

"Wait a minute"

There was a couple more voices of protest from the drivers as you rose up, ignoring their stares you began to balance the bottles back in your arms,

"Lex, come on" You said quickly to your daughter,

"We go track now?"

"No baby, we can watch them later, say bye now"

Your daughter, whose bottom lip was now jutted out slightly turned to wave to the drivers, She got closer to your side, placing her little hand in yours,

There was a shuffle behind you as Charles quickly got up,

"We could watch her" he offered, You turned to meet his stare, "Take her down into the paddock, Let you make sure your okay, and I will bring her back around to the hospitality after."

Without even looking at Lexi, you could already feel her excited vibrating off her in waves. Charles wasn't the only one that looked on in hope,

You were still feeling a light fuzz in your head, and with how hot it was, perhaps having someone to watch your daughter for a while wasn't such a bad idea.

"We promise to return her in one piece" Daniel smiled softly at you, despite the amusement in his tone, perhaps in an attempt to persuade you.

Lexi tugged at your hand, you looked down, she was twirling and tapping her feet lightly, causing them to light up.

"Alright ..."

Lexi has already taken off before you could finish talking. Pierre, swiftly took off his hat and plopped it onto your daughter's head. The two of them speaking in whispered voices.

You turn your stare to Charles. " Please if anything happens come find me"

He nodded quickly before turning to take Lexi's hand.

Even as they walked away you could hear the excited giggles from the grown men as your daughter told them all she knew about formula 1 and how one day she was going to be just like them.

You didn't doubt it, and as you turn to move across towards the Ferrari Hospitality, now two hands clutching the bottles, you couldn't help but be thankful for the time free to settle your nerves.

Even if your daughter's babysitter was a bunch of men who enjoyed driving really fast.

[pynkgothicka]

Ｇａｎｇｓｔａ ＪＪＫ

Ask/Req-Should do one where OC basically gets taught all her life skills from Jungkook(maybe) and he can mold her anyway he wants- wether it’s cute and innocent, or just oblivious. Maybe OCs parents were never hands on in the slightest and that left her to group up with only Jungkook there for her

Synopsis- Jungkook’s soft spot is you. The love of his life, someone who was given to him and will love him forever and through all his days.

Pairing - Yandere! Dark! Mobster! Jungkook x AFAB! Reader

Featuring - No one!

Tags and Warnings - Murdered Parents, hints towards a dark relationship, some smut

Authors Note - This took me so long! I’m sorry guys!!

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! These depictions don't pertain to reality. This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

Jungkook was the kindest guy you had ever met. He was easily the love of your life. Even if you were in college with no one else, there was nobody in comparison to him. How he shielded you from the world he preached about being so evil, the man who saved you from your family. Jungkook would go leaps and bounds for you.

You stood in deep thought, awaiting his arrival to get you from the university grounds, the icy winter air swirling around you. At last, you perked up to only hear the rumble of Jungkook's loud motorcycle engine.

You smile as you see him whip his motorcycle into the parking lot. His leather jacket and ripped denim only make the man you adore even more attractive. His bike slows down in front of you; he takes off his helmet, revealing his black hair.

His shirt was covered in sweat as he gave you a signature smile. “Hey baby, I'm sorry I was late."Hey baby, sorry I'm late," he said, shifting to let you on. You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his back.

You mumble softly, "It's okay, I know you won't forget about me." You take a deep breath of his jacket, the scent a mixture of weed and spearmint. The odor would make others nauseous, but you find it comforting and familiar. “I just can’t wait to make it back to your place.”

🏍️

Jungkook fed you cotton candy grapes as you lounged in his apartment, making sure to cater to his one and only. With one hand scrolling mindlessly through his phone, his other hand brought the grapes to your lips, the tips of his tattooed fingers brushing over them each time, eliciting giggles from you with the sweet gesture.

Jungkook's loving gaze met yours, and he smiled. "Are you staying the night again?" he asked, putting his phone down to give you his full attention - something he had done for most of his life.

"I'm not sure if my parents are home right now," you say quietly to your boyfriend. “Besides I don't want to go home, my dad's being well himself again.” His gaze turns soft with understanding, and he feeds you another grape to sweeten the sorrowful moment. As the sweetness spreads across your tongue, you feel the sadness fading away. Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap. His hands trace the curve of your body tenderly.

He understood how your parents mistreated you, ignoring you to indulge themselves as if you didn't belong to them. Yelling at you and shoving you aside to satisfy their desires - that was typical of mafia parents, and he would know. But now he led his gang, and he vowed he'd never treat you as cruelly as others had. He always made sure to distract you when your mind wandered to such thoughts.

While kissing your neck, he slid his hands over your backside, eliciting a blissful yet pleading whine from you. "Koo, remember no hickeys," you said softly. With a sigh, he detached himself from you.

“Fine no hickies, but I want to ruin you, baby.” He says snickering and pulling off your shirt. his mouth attaches to your breast as he moans around it. His lips suck on your areola, tongue lapping at the exposed breast. You let out languid moans as your hands go to his shirt, pulling it over his head as he pulls away. His eyes stared at you as you looked back panting.

You go to unhook your bra, revealing yourself to Jungkook. “I'm so needy for you.” You mutter into his neck littering the skin with kisses and hickies. He lets out a groan, his hands moving to dig into your ass. Small crescents form and you let out a lewd groan. “Don’t ever leave me Koo…”

"You know I could never replace you, for no one could ever be good enough to take your place," he said poetically, connecting your lips once again.

🏍️

After fulfilling his promise to ruin you, Jungkook put you to bed as he had urgent business to attend to. Not wanting you anywhere near his work, he made sure to leave you be. With a kiss on your forehead and lending you his jacket for comfort, he left.

Jungkook sat in a chair, glaring at your parents, whom he had kidnapped and brought to the base of his operations. As your mother stirred awake, his eyes narrowed. "Welcome back to reality," Jungkook sneered as he approached her chair.

"Jungkook? What the fuck is this?" Your mother hissed angrily. She tettered in her chair. He smiles as he places his finger on her lips. He then pulled out a gun and shot her dead in the head. He never had a problem with her, nothing too serious to be upset about. The quicker she was gone, the easier things could be.

But him.

He was the one who neglected the person to whom he had devoted all of his life. So, with his wife gone, everything would be much more satisfactory when he made him pay.

Speaking of, he watched as your dad stirred awake. His eyes went to the side of him seeing his wife was dead, a bullet going straight through her head. “God no. Please no… not her.” He mumbled before struggling in his seat.

“It hurts doesn’t it?” Jungkook mumbled going behind him. His hand went to the back of your father's neck, the grip hurting before he started to squeeze. “Seems kind of unfair doesn’t it?”

Your dad started to rage internally. “Y-You killed her? Why we gave you everything you could've ever wanted, shit you practically own my daughter what more could you want?” He said as soon as Jungkook's grip let up. He watched in horror as the man just laughed, all Jungkook could do was laugh in his face.

“You still hurt her though. How could you just leave your daughter like that… just having to settle with being around me? You are actually kind of lucky that she loves me. But I mean it's not like she spent any time with anyone else.” Jungkook started to walk around your father, taunting him with nothing but his thoughts. “She loves me, practically worships the ground I walk on. I mean thats a benefit for me, but pretty shitty for you. I get to finally kill you for all the pain you caused her.”

Your father started to scream and Jungkook allowed him. But finally, he had enough before stuffing the man's mouth with a towel filled with gasoline. “Scream and you’ll choke. I mean no one heard you but it got annoying pretty quickly. Now Shh, and let me do what I have to do.”

🏍️

“Koo? Where did you go?” You mumbled feeling strong arms wrap around you. You leaned into his touch groaning at the comforting feeling of his skin on yours.

“Had to take care of something, sorry for leaving.”

“It's fine, just tell me beforehand.”

“Of course, I love you.”

Let me know through a dm or ask to be included in my official Taglist- @darkuni63 @captainengineer-trixie @chimmisbae @iloverubberduckiez-blog @mageprincess7 @looneybleus @whipwhoops

[one-idea]

I love a Roger/Rouge lives to raise Ace or a Shanks takes Luffy with him one-shot as much as anyone.

But the main problem I always have is that the ASL brothers would never meet in these circumstances. So my brain (being the mess that it is) has tired to find a solution.

What if Rodger never got sick or at least it was not as deadly as it was. Still chronic but not a death sentence. He lives and Rouge has Ace (she gets pregnant a little later then in cannon so that she doesn’t have the crazy long pregnancy but Ace is still the same age).

To keep his family safe they travel with him on the Oro Jackson. They stay to relatively calm waters that the marines can’t easily get to. Some of the crew also leave to make their own crews. This gives the marines something else to chase.

Shanks is one of the ones to set out on his own. He leaves when he’s around 17 right around the time Ace is born. It’s the push he needs to set out. He wants to distract the marines as much as possible from Roger’s family. (Buggy did the same thing. They decided to split up to cause more mayhem)

Ten years go by. Shanks visits Roger when he can but for the most part he’s making a name for himself. And he’s doing a good job at it. So good he has to lay low for a while. So he decides to go to the East Blue for a bit. Get away from the Grandline while also hiding somewhere different than Roger. (That way if the marines find him they won’t also find Roger)

It’s here that he meets a 7 year old Luffy. And it plays out much the same as cannon. He adores this little ball of sunshine. This is his boy. He doesn’t care who the boy’s blood father is this, is his boy. So he gives him his hat, has Luffy promise to return it when he’s a great pirate someday. But he leaves out the part about that being the next time they see each other because he wants to see his boy again.

When Shanks returns to the Grandline he seeks out Roger to tell him about their new family member. And Roger hears about this boy who is sunshine incarnate, who dreams to be the freest person alive, who wants to dethrone him as pirate king and goes, “I can’t not meet him.” And there’s no way he’s waiting till the kids on the sea. (Plus Ace needs some friends. Shanks and Buggy had each other, Ace has no one his own age and Rouge is starting to worry for their son.)

So they set out for the sleep island in the East Blue.

Meanwhile Grap has moved Luffy to Dadan’s care. While Luffy is out wondering around he bumps into a blond haired boy named Sabo. It takes a while but Sabo starts to warm up to the 7 year old that’s following him like a shadow.

Just in time for a new kid to wander his way into their jungle. Oro Jackson has Docked and Roger has been (discreetly) looking around for this Luffy while the crew restocks. Ace has already made his way into the jungle because even though he was raised by his parents, he’s still feral. (He was raised on a pirate ship go figure) the three boys bump into each other and through some shenanigans Ace and Sabo start to get along.

It doesn’t take long for Sabo and Luffy to figure out who Ace’s dad is. You know since they actually get to meet them.

The Bluejam pirates still happen.

Maybe Ace doesn’t like Luffy at first. He’s a little kid and is annoying in the way all older kids find younger kids that just want to follow them around annoying. But it’s more than that, because Shanks has claimed Luffy. Shanks, who Ace grew up around and looks up to, came back to the ship and didn’t want to talk about anything except for this ‘amazing’ kid. This kid who his uncle/older brother gave up his arm to save. This kid who is so ‘special’ his dad just had to come and meet him. This kid who has his dad wrapped around his finger in under a day. This kid, who is wearing his Dad’s old hat like a crown and talking about dethroning his dad like it’s his right. This little crybaby who’s not even that special. He can’t even swim!

Even Sabo has a soft spot for the kid, Sabo who is now Ace’s first friend, but he obviously likes Ace better because Luffy is such a crybaby.

But then the Bluejam pirates show up and they heard that the king of the pirates is here with his son. His son he would do anything for. Wouldn’t it be nice to get the bounty for the king of the pirates? If they have his son they can probably force the man into handing himself over. They wouldn’t even have to fight him!

They set out to capture Ace. They see him hanging around Sabo and Luffy. When they attack Ace and Sabo get away but Luffy gets caught. He gets tortured as they ask him to give up the location of the Roger Pirates so that they can capture Ace and by extension Roger. But Luffy won’t tell them anything.

Roger comes to save him. The whole crew comes along with Ace and Sabo. After this the three boys are inseparable. Ace steals some of the crew’s sake and the three swear to become brothers.

While the three boys are doing this. Roger sent some men to find the rest of the Bluejam’s crew and find out about their plan to burn Grey Terminal and how they were hired by Sabo’s father. And that settles it for him. If there was any doubt in Roger’s mind that he was taking Sabo with them when they left this island it was gone now. He thought the boy was oddly dressed for a homeless boy, finding out he was a noble explained a lot. He’s not leaving the boy in this situation. Mainly because Ace finally has a friend/brother. Finding out that adopting the boy would make a noble lose their mind was a bonus!

But what about Luffy? He knows Shanks thinks of the boy as a son. He’s know he is Ace and Sabo’s brother, and they haven’t left his side since the kidnapping. Rodger has no clue who the boy’s family is. At this point Luffy has only introduced himself as Luffy. He lives with the bandits but they are not his family. So it’s seems like he’s got no one truly taking care of him. Honestly Roger is shocked Shanks didn’t just take Luffy with him when he left.

So Roger leaves the island. Stealing one noble son. And taking what he believes to be one free child with him. (There are no parents around to claim him? It’s free real estate) they sail away right as a navy ship is approaching. And Roger would recognize that ship anywhere. It’s Garp! What is Garp doing here? Was Roger that careless with his location. The Oro Jackson hasn’t had a true Marine encounter in years (Rouge is just that good at navigating them under the radar)

Garp sees them, of course he does. Roger sees Garp grab a den den mushi, one that projects his voice across the open sea between them. Roger is expecting his regular speech about how Garp is going to catch them, about how they should surrender, really any of their normal banter.

What he is not expecting is the very loud, very panicked, very angry “give me back my grandson!”

Roger and the crew slowly turn to face the three boys. It’s not Ace. Roger would know if he or Rouge were related to Garp but he still checks Ace off the list.

It can’t be Sabo. Roger can’t imagine a reality where Garp lets his child marry a noble. Plus the kid looks nothing like him.

That leaves Luffy.

“Luffy, what was your name again?” Rouge asked ever patient

“Monkey D. Luffy!” The boy says with confidence. It’s the first time the crew has heard the surname. Well, at least that confirms somethings.

After confirming that yep this is Garp’s grandson. Who he is apparently trying to train to be a marine? Who he’s apparently hit with haki infused punches. (Roger’s been hit with those. They hurt.) Roger grabs their own den den mushi and just calls out “finder keepers.” And they sail away to cannon fire and cursing.

Anyhow the three brothers grow up together on the Grandline. Shanks visits when he can and calls once a week at least if not daily to check in on Luffy and the boys.

Whitebeard definitely crosses paths with Rogers at some point and tries to adopt the boys from him. Rogers would fight him if Rouge wasn’t already fighting Whitebeard over her babies. In the end he becomes the fun uncle. Ace adores him. This is Roger’s worst nightmare! (It’s not. There are way worse things that could happen than his son liking his rival. But Roger loves to be dramatic)

When it’s time to make their own crews Ace and Luffy both decide to start from the East Blue. Getting dropped off by the Roger pirates.

At some point Sabo found out about the revolutionary army and decided that he wanted to join rather than be a pirate. He has his family’s full support (as long as he calls once a week. If he doesn’t they will find him) When he meets his boss for the first time he almost loses his mind and immediately calls Roger’s with a “I think I just met Luffy’s dad!” To which he gets the hilariously confused response of, “You’ve known Shanks since you were ten. What do you mean you just met Luffy’s dad?”

[s0apmactav1sh]

Part 2 of Widowed!King!Price x Devoted!Knight Reader.

Knight!You who suddenly finds yourself wandering the castle during the night after your conversation with Price unable to stop the words that were constantly repeating within your mind. Why had the king seemed so interested on why you hadnt any body? Did he not appreciate your willingness to deprive yourself of the love and touch of another so you wouldnt worry more about them than him?

Of course you were constantly distracted now, letting guards you sparred with take you down so easily all over being stuck inside your own head. And this wasnt sitting right with King!Price who was wondering why his prized knight now suddenly couldnt beat the other royal guards like you used to.

King!Price who ends up calling you to a meeting in his chambers. Forget the throne room or his royal office. His chambers were where he'd like to speak to you. And like the loyal soldier you were, you were there on the dot entering in after he gave you permission. Other guards and servants around the castle certainly found this strange but it was by the request of your king.

King!Price who doesnt even allow you to speak your reasons. He's just so disappointed that youve lowered your standards. Thats not what a knights meant to do and he makes sure you know that in the most humilating way possible. By having you on your knees looking up at him while he smiles down at you, your head tilted up by the grasp he has on your hair. And its not to be mean, no Price could never. Your his prized knight after all.

"Wheres that devotion gone? Have you suddenly lost it. Is that why your letting those pathetic guards beat you down?"

At that he can see the shame that washes over your face. He wasnt meant to see or hear about your faults. You were meant to be perfect in his eyes no matter the cost. Didnt he understand that the only reason you were acting the way you were was because of him. Your loyalty and devotion for your king ran as deep as the oceans and nothing could change that. So how could you make it up to him? How could you get rid of that disappointed look in his eyes that was practically like the devils glare to you. By offering yourself to him.

"No. My king. Please my devotion and loyalty still lays in your palms. Take what you need of me. Leave me as nothing more than filth if you please, just dont be disappointed in me."

And as those words came tumbling from your lips King!Price knew he had you. He would always have you. Even if any others came along and tried having you for themselves he knew your eyes would always stray back to him because he was your god. You worshipped the ground he walked on, took in his words like water and kept the sight of him embeeded in your brain just for a reminder that he was your king.

Plus who was to blame him when he accepted your offer of yourself? He had already been without a warm body in his bed for a few months because of his late husbands death. What did it matter that he filled that empty spot beside him with your body instead. What did it matter that he filled himself with your cock at the end of every day to make up for the months without any relief.

And like the devoted knight you were, you complied with his ever ask. If he needed you youd remove yourself from your duties, replacing yourself with a capable knight to continue them to rush to him and give him exactly what he wanted. Which more than likely was your cock in his hole while he worked, relaxed or even when he was "napping". You would always come running and he knew it.

-

Am have this Ig? Does it tie in with the last part not at all. I literally need to sleep 😭 its been nearly 3 days without and im barely able to register whag I wrote. Ill make a part 3 in a few days thats just smut for this.

@rodolfoparras

[merbear25]

Separating fantasy from reality

Kid, Doflamingo, Caesar

After so much time pining for someone who could hold their interest, they were just about to lose hope before you drew them in. There were ways you drew them in that no one else could hold a candle to. When the ideal partner they longed for started being reflected in your actions, there was nothing holding them back.

CW: SFW but slightly suggestive, gn!reader

Kid: He’d always been attracted to fierce partners. There was something about a sassy personality being backed up by fiery actions which set everything in their path ablaze that made something in him snap—like putty in their hands. He never admitted what exactly twisted him in knots, but he needed someone who could give him some push back, not someone he would walk all over.

You always knew how to stand your ground, never being the one to back down from a fight or argument. Talking back was one of the most favorable parts of your personality. At least in his eyes it was magnificent—such a passion that burned everything in their path did wonders for his libido. Before he knew it, you were on his mind more often than he’d like to own up to.

You were never the type to allow yourself to be bested, and despite knowing this, he laid into you, further escalating the situation. Tensions were rising, the heat between the two of you growing hotter and hotter, until your brash behavior finally sunk in; you were gorgeous. All the fits of rage pouring out of you only enhanced his desire for you. Finally exchanging his lingering gaze, you two embraced the flames of passion with a searing kiss.

Doflamingo: Having so much power over others was something he thoroughly enjoyed, yet there were times he craved a bit of a chase. He could have anyone he wanted, yet it got tiring after some time. Where was the challenge in that? What kind of pleasure could he get from those who so easily threw themselves at him? He craved someone who had a bite to their words, someone who he’d enjoy breaking.

Usually the work you did was fabulous, going off without a hitch even. Today, however, the cards weren’t in your favor: you slipped up not just once, but a few times, and there was a lesson for you to be taught. He didn’t want to waste time in showing you what would happen if you so carelessly messed up again, so calling you back to his office was the obvious decision.

While he was reprimanding you for the minor mistakes, you risked giving him some lip. A wide grin stretched across his face when he realized he’d finally found the one to break this dry spell. You were just the right amount of scared and willing for him: the way your eyes held onto your spite, but your body squirmed under his touch made you that much more delectable, pushing him with this overwhelming need to punish you properly.

Caesar: Being surrounded by the goons who mindlessly obeyed each of his whims was growing dull. Such pawns served no real purpose other than to fulfill whatever experiment he could throw them into. He wanted someone to add some spark to his life, someone with spunk and wit to distract him from the lifeless bodies walking his halls. That’s why he found you so captivating. Observing you was such a thrill for him. Each bit of you calling out for him to explore.

Testing the boundaries here and there, you willingly gave him the titillating exchanges he’d been craving. With a mind such as yours in his presence, his interest in you heightened. The attention you gave him was never enough—always leaving him yearning for more. You quickly engulfed each of his wandering thoughts. Did you have any idea how charming you were?

You were sharing another one of your theories, leaving him absolutely spellbound. With the flattery you threw his way making his heart pound, you were truly seen as something special to him. The sinking feeling of finding that special person to hold on to brought on an attachment he’d never felt before. “Someone like you can never leave me.” He accidentally let his thoughts slip out, but it made no difference. You adored him just as much as he did you, right?

[eveninggstar]

sole mates ⊹ ࣪ ˖

max verstappen x fem!reader

22.08.24

୨ৎ back one page ୨ৎ back two pages

୨ৎ Max realizes that the only true competition he faces for your affection is your love of heels, but in the end, it's all the same—like how he loves cats.

Max was mid-sentence, his voice filled with enthusiasm as he animatedly talked about the cats he'd grown up with, the ones he wanted in the future, and every little thing about them that made his heart melt. You were sitting beside him on the couch in your apartment, legs tucked under you as you listened—or, at least, tried to listen.

You loved how Max's eyes lit up whenever he talked about something he was passionate about. It was one of the things you adored most about him. But as he continued to gush about cats, your mind started to wander, your gaze drifting from his expressive face to the way his lips curved with every word, the soft lisp that would peek through, to the soft glow of the setting sun that filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue on his skin.

In your head, his words started to blur. "Blah blah blah," your inner voice chimed in, and you couldn't help but let out a small, amused sigh, even as you smiled at him. You weren't really listening anymore; you were too busy thinking about how much you liked this guy. How much you wanted to kiss his face till his lips were smudged with your lip gloss and plump with the increased blood flow. How much you liked sitting here on this couch with him, in your apartment, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And it was, wasn't it? Things had been moving fast between you two, but not in a way that felt rushed or uncomfortable. It was just... right. The way he fit into your life, and you into his, felt almost effortless. You could easily imagine this being your life from now on, just the two of you, doing mundane things like talking about cats or—

“Hey.” Max’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you blinked, suddenly realizing he had stopped talking and was looking at you with a curious smile. “Where’d you go just now?”

You blinked again, a little sheepishly, caught red-handed in your daydreaming. “Sorry,” you murmured, biting your lip. “I kind of zoned out there for a second.”

He laughed, a warm, comforting sound that made your heart skip a beat. “I could tell. I was talking about how adorable they are when they knead, and you just looked like you were a million miles away.”

“Sorry,” you repeated, though you weren’t really sorry at all. You were too busy admiring how relaxed he seemed here in your space, his arm draped across the back of the couch, his hand resting casually on your shoulder.

Max gave you a teasing look. “So, what is it that’s got you so distracted? What’s your thing? The one you can talk about for hours?”

You grinned, a sudden surge of excitement bubbling up inside you. “I’m so glad you asked!” You jumped up from the couch, practically bouncing on your feet. “Stay here!”

Before he could say anything, you darted off, leaving him sitting there with a bewildered expression. He could hear the satisfying sound of the repetitive clicks your heels made fade out to the front door. You made your way to the small set of hooks near your front door where you kept your keys, quickly grabbing a singular, shiny key from the ring.

Max was still watching you, curious and amused, when you returned. You took his hand, the key clutched tightly in your other one, and pulled him to his feet. “Come with me,” you said, your voice laced with excitement.

He followed you willingly, a grin playing on his lips as you led him down the hallway to a door he hadn’t noticed before. You stopped in front of it, turning to face him with a dramatic flourish.

“Okay,” you said, holding up the key. “This is something I’ve never shown anyone before.”

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You’re making this sound very mysterious.”

You giggled, your fingers itching to unlock the door. “It kind of is. It’s... well, you’ll see.”

With that, you inserted the key into the lock, the door clicking open. You pushed it inward and stepped aside, allowing Max to see inside first. His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him.

The room was massive, far larger than any of the other bedrooms in your apartment. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, each one filled with row upon row of high heels, ranging from the simple and practical to the absolutely extravagant.

“Wow,” Max breathed, stepping into the room as if he were entering a museum. “This is... incredible.”

You beamed, stepping in after him and closing the door behind you. “Welcome to my world,” you said, spreading your arms wide.

Max turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “I had no idea you had so many...”

“Heels,” you finished for him, walking over to one of the shelves. You carefully picked up a pair of bright red stilettos, the very pair you had been wearing the first time you met Max. “These are my babies,” you said with a fond smile. “Every single pair here has a story. Some of them I’ve worn to important events, some of them were just for fun, and others... well, others are just because they're really pretty.”

You gestured to the red stilettos. “These are the ones I was wearing the night we met.”

Max’s expression softened as he looked at the heels, then back at you. “I remember those. You looked amazing in them.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, "It wasn't long after you told me you drove for Red Bull, and I thought you were the red team. So I bought red shoes." and you carefully placed the stilettos back on the shelf before moving to another pair, these ones a slingback pump in a deep black. “These are what I wore to my first day at university,” you said, running a finger along the strap. “I felt so confident in them. Like I could take on the world.”

You continued moving around the room, pointing out different pairs and sharing the stories behind them. There were the heels you wore on your first date with Max, the ones you had worn to the one and only F1 race you had ever attended, and even the pair you wore when you first visited his apartment.

“This room,” you said, turning to face him once more, “is my sanctuary. I have enough pairs in here to last me a year and a half, one for each day. And I have even more at my mum’s place.”

Max stared at you, a look of awe and admiration in his eyes. “This is... I don’t even know what to say. It’s amazing.”

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at his reaction. It meant a lot to you that he appreciated this part of your life, this passion of yours that was so deeply personal.

As you were about to lead him out of the room, a sudden thought struck you, and you frowned. “Wait a minute...”

Max tilted his head, watching as you pulled out your phone and quickly scrolled through your gallery. “What’s wrong?”

“One of my pairs is missing,” you said, your brow furrowing in concentration as you searched for a picture. “I took a photo of all of them a few months ago, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t moved this pair since.”

Max leaned over to look at the screen, his eyes scanning the picture of the shelf in question. “Which ones?”

“These,” you said, pointing to a pair of elegant silver heels with delicate ankle straps. “I can’t find them anywhere.”

Max thought for a moment, then his eyes widened slightly. “Wait, I think I’ve seen those...”

You looked up at him, hope sparking in your chest. “Really? Where?”

“At my place,” he said slowly, as if piecing it together himself. “I remember seeing a pair like that in my closet the other day. I thought they were just an old pair of yours you’d left behind.”

Your eyes lit up, and you grabbed his hand. “We have to go get them!”

Max chuckled at your urgency but nodded, more than happy to indulge you. “Alright, let’s go.”

As you started to head for the door, you paused, glancing down at your feet. Without a second thought, you kicked off the heels you were currently wearing and made a beeline for another pair, these ones a dainty pink with straps above the toes and on the ankle.

Max raised an eyebrow as you slipped them on. “why did you change shoes?”

You grinned at him, holding up your old heels you were wearing. “These are my house heels,” you said matter-of-factly. “Can’t go out in these, obviously.”

He shook his head with a laugh, watching as you placed the slippers by the front door. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You just smiled, grabbing your purse and rushing out to Max’s car, your excitement palpable. As you slid into the passenger seat, Max couldn’t help but glance over at you, a soft smile on his face.

This was you, in all your quirks and passions, and he realized in that moment just how much he loved you. Even more than he had before, if that was possible.

As he started the car and pulled out of your driveway, he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world, knowing that he got to be a part of your life. He couldn’t wait to see where this journey would take the two of you, one step—or in your case, one heel—at a time.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

taglist: (comment if you wanna be added)

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening: Reimagined pt. 1🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/ Vampire Austin! Elvis x reader)

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Elvis is fighting his need for blood, making him weaker by the day. Then you walk into his life, making you the perfect target for his next meal. But an unknown force is making this more difficult than he expected... [Elvis' Perspective]

TW: Cussing, heavy mentions of blood

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Hello everyone! Happy October 1st! As much as I dislike fall, I LOVE spooky season. 🤭We're kicking off the month with Vampire Elvis in a new reimagined story. I'm very excited to be writing this and has been on my mind for quite some time! I love how the story turned out but this was another path I played with for a while. It's a different view and there will be interesting twists coming soon! Please enjoy!

If you'd like to start from the beginning, start here or Ao3! Hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think.

February, 1973 🩸

His eyes burned with pain and his throat felt on fire from thirst. He hadn’t fed in a few days of being back in Las Vegas and he was really feeling the ramifications of it. He knew he needed to take better care of himself. It was doing him no good starving himself for long periods of time. It just made him thirstier and more of a risk to be around any humans. 

His lack of control posed many threats to the people around him and his career. Singing in front of thousands of people every night, all of them smelling more tempting than the last, made him easily distracted. He loved performing, that’s what he was made to do, but if all he can think of was blood, he couldn’t perform the way he should. 

This place was a never ending distraction for Elvis and he secretly liked it. He liked he could feed as much as he wanted and not get obscure attention for it. People loved him, he was thankful for that, but here people came for miles to see him and wanted to get as close as possible to him. He hadn’t been performing in the 60s and his fans missed him. He welcomed it and it just gave him an easier way to feed. 

Everyone wanted to be invited to an Elvis party. That was the best thing anyone could hope for. For Elvis, it was his favorite time to feed. He’d sit in his normal chair that would be in the corner of the suite and like clockwork, people would come by one by one hoping to meet Elvis. The suite would normally be so packed that no one would see him take a bite from anyone. His men would normally block off most of the crowd so no one would see what he was doing in the corner. They controlled the people who wanted to see him and not let any wandering eyes see him feed.

Compelling them was the easiest way to get someone close to him but the girls, oh the girls wanted to be as close to him as possible without needing to be compelled. It was less work for him which he liked. They wanted his attention desperately and he could sense how they were wanting him sexually. He was too hungry to focus on something like that usually. Every once in a while he would please them but not before feeding from them first. 

He got word that a new housekeeper would start tomorrow and he grew anxious. He had the same housekeeper the last four years and she was never an issue. She kept to herself, didn’t ask too many questions, and sometimes, he’d feed off of her. Right at three, she’d normally come up, clean for a bit before he compelled her to come to him and let him feed. It was the perfect routine. She was never scared of him forgot all about it by the end of her shift. 

Now he’d have to start all over again with you. He’d have to earn your trust a bit so he can get close to you with out scaring you off. But he was quite apprehensive about that. His control was limited and having to meet a new person that would be around for hours on end was going to be tough. 

*

It was a minute before three and Elvis paced his bedroom nervously. He couldn’t do this. He was so starved and wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from feeding on a human. He tried to drink some blood from a blood bag but it was no use. It tasted like water compared to something fresh. He tried to calm himself down, he couldn’t freak you out the second you walked into the room. 

The sound of your nervous heartbeat made his eyes flash open. Just the sound of your heart has him drooling. You were apprehensive too and he liked that you were feeling the same way. It meant he could savor the sound of your heart as you stood before him and he wouldn’t have to do any extra work. He puts on his jacket and takes a look at himself in the mirror. He ran his hand through his hair and straightened out his tucked in shirt. His eyes were always the most telling thing when he was hungry. They haven’t been that illustrious blue he was born with. Lately they’re dark pools of a tumultuous sea. They were almost leaning black in dark lighting which made it more obvious he was not human. He picks up his gold sunglasses off the side table and puts them on. He had been making this a habit the last few years and thankfully no one questioned his fashion choice.

He hears the front door open and the sound of your heart beating loudly and uncontrollably. It enticed him and he needs to take a few deep breaths before walking out there to see you. He finally finds the strength to calmly leave the bedroom and greet you. The door opens and your scent hits him like a train, he has to hold his breath so his fangs won’t descend. Oh God this wasn’t good. He didn’t expect to be so taken back by your scent. He snaps himself out of his thirst driven thoughts and straightens his posture before speaking. You had your back turn to him, taking in the whole suite and what a disaster it is after last night’s party.

“About time you showed up,” he says gruffly.

You turn around quickly and he feels his heart shudder in his chest. You were beautiful. You were probably the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. You weren’t plain like most humans, no, you were exceptionally beautiful. You had that immortal perfection that only came with being turned. He listens to your heart beat again, checking if you are indeed human. It dances away as you look at him and witness him for the first time.

“I’m very sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Presley. My name is y/n, I’m your new housekeeper.” You say timidly, placing out your hand in front of you to shake his.

He can’t touch you, he doesn’t trust himself to feel your warm skin on his before pulling you in and sinking his teeth into you. He just stares at your hand reached out and doesn’t move an inch. You get nervous and quickly put it down.

“Umm, where would you like me to start cleaning?” You ask, your voice upbeat and trying to hide the fact of feeling like this is rejection in some form. 

“Where do you think,” he snaps coldly. He winces at himself for being so abrasive toward you but it was the only way for him to keep a hold on his raging thirst. It was extremely difficult to be this close to you. He had never had such an issue with a human before. Sure, the smell of their blood made him hungry but this was much worse. You smelled sweet like honey and he was dying to know what you tasted like, slowly running through his veins when he fed.

“Okay, no problem. Do you mind if I open the drapes so I can see what I’m cleaning?” You ask with a smile. 

“I don’t care, just get it done,” he says coldly. He walks away from you and he tries to slow his breathing. Each breath in was excruciating for him. The entirety of your presence was making him feel intoxicated and ravenous.  He sits down in his usual chair and watches you open the heavy curtains. The sunshine fills the room and makes him wince a bit. He was used to the way the sun felt on his skin but it still wasn’t the most comfortable feeling in the world. It shone on his entire body and singed his chest and face. At least it made him a bit distracted for now and didn’t have him obsessing about your scent.

He watches you look at him with a desperation. You couldn’t help but love the sight before you. He grimly smirks to himself, he knew his looks drew people in and there was nothing he wanted more than to pull you in closer. He wanted you here on his lap with his teeth sunk into your warm neck. He bites his lip, trying to not think about that scenario too long or his fangs would show. 

But it was no use, you were so tempting to him. He must be so starved that he can’t even think straight. He’s hardly breathing as each breath he takes makes it more excruciating than the last. His mouth watered at just the sight of you. Elvis followed you to every room you cleaned partly because he didn’t want to be away from your thunderous heart but also he was trying to map out where he should bite you.

There were too many options for him to choose from. He can just turn you around and bite you as you were sure to scream. No, that wouldn’t be as enjoyable. He knew he had to compel you to get closer to him. He needed to gain that trust and quickly. You were nervous as you noticed him following your every step. He would stay abnormally close behind you which only made you feel more on edge. 

Going back out to the living room, he can feel his mouth water and his heart hammer away at the thought of feasting on you. He needed to hurry up and decide how and where he was going to bite you. Something about holding you in his arms seemed pleasing and the ideal way to feed on you. He wanted to feel your heart beat close to his. Maybe he can take you into the bedroom, tease you for a bit to get your heart racing even more. No he didn’t have the patience for that tonight. He needed you now. No charades or stalling. He needed to compel you now, get you on his lap and feed until his heart was content.

You were still too antsy and wouldn’t stay still. He has to this quickly and efficiently.

“There’s a bottle underneath the piano,” he grumbles.

You quickly make it to the piano and set the bench aside, kneeling down on your knees to crawl underneath.

Now, its time to feed off of her or you might just die, he thinks to himself.

He watches you scan for the bottle but there isn’t one. He sits on the piano bench and waits for you to crawl back out. His chest heaves in anticipation and feels his mind haze over in a feeding frenzy. He feels his eyes start to shift and the black veins start to crack across his face. He winces as he tries to hold back this monster inside of him who craves blood so much but its no use. He opens his eyes and can feel the burning red heat of them. His canine teeth sharpen into long fangs, both top and bottom and he starts to tremble.

You stand back up and he grabs your hand. You gasp when you see his face.

“Sit down honey, don’t panic,” he compels you. Your eyes blow open, scared out of your mind.

“Oh my God!…W-what the hell,” you quiver, your heart galloping uncontrollably.

Elvis is a bit baffled you didn’t listen to his command. Maybe he was so starved he couldn’t compel anyone that easily. It couldn’t be though, he had found himself in a lot of situations where he was starved but always was able to compel and feed off of someone with ease. He won’t give up this easily, he needed to feed.

“I said sit down honey, I need you close,” he says smoothly, trying to compel you again. You shake and nod your head at him, carefully taking a seat next to him. 

“Don’t hurt me please,” you beg.

How is she fighting me? How is this possible?

His patience was running dry. The drunken haze of your blood being so close to him has him not thinking clearly any more. He needed to bite you.

“You won’t remember this I promise,” he says gruffly.

He pulls you close, wrapping his hand gently around your neck and bares it to him. You cry out for help, scared out of your mind. He growls contently as he lets his hunger take over. He sinks his teeth into your neck and his eyes roll back when he tastes you. God he had never tasted something to delectable and savory. Each drink he took was better than the last. He gulps your blood greedily and pulls you onto his lap. He needed you closer. He wanted to feel your heart beat against his. You whimper because of this and pull at the lapel of his jacket. You liked being this close to him even though his bite was excruciating and he keeps drinking. You gasp for breath as pain rocketed through your entire body.

Elvis didn’t want to stop feeding, you were too delicious and he had never felt so fulfilled. He makes soft, pleased groans as his hands slither down your back and tries to comfort you through the pain. He liked how you felt in his arms, it was a new experience for Elvis. He could sense how much you liked his touch through this all even though his bite made you uncomfortable. His mind starts to wander and think if he should make love to you. He didn’t like causing you pain and wanted you to feel something good after all of this.

He squeezes his eyes shut, dismissing such an idea. He needed to focus on getting his strength up. It was working though, he felt his strength rise and felt so much more alive. He needed to stop feeding soon or else his venom would enter your body, changing you into a vampire. Your body began to feel weak in his arms, whimpering for him to stop biting you. You gasp for breath as he takes the last few mouthfuls of your blood. Everything inside of him told him to keep biting you but he fought those instincts as hard as he could. 

He carefully takes his fangs out of you and gasps for breath. He felt like he was in a euphoric haze, so completely drunk on you. You lift your head back to look at his terrifying eyes. You were frightened beyond belief and shoved at his chest to get away from him. You fall back and hit the ground, scooting away from him as quickly as you can.

“What are you?! Oh my god what did you do to me?!” You scream at him, bringing your hand to the open wound on your neck. Tears started to fall down your cheeks as you panic over what he did to you. Your blood still flowed out of your neck and made Elvis still feel ravenous by the sight.

Elvis stares astonished at you. How were you still not compelled? It couldn’t be possible! He grew frustrated and needed to get you out of here and forget all about this afternoon. He gets up and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. He felt as strong as he has ever been. It was a huge change and he liked how he felt.

“I didn’t bite you, you’re not going to remember the pain or any of this, go home now,” he compels. He felt incredibly strong and was sure you’d obey this time.

You stare at him stunned and don’t move.

“What! No! What did you do to me?” You scream.

Panic begins to set in and he goes to you and picks you up off the floor. He looks into your eyes, anger starting to take over him. Why weren’t you listening? He could make anyone obey him without even trying normally.

“What is wrong with you? Why won’t you listen? Why won’t you forget,” he growls. You shriek in fear looking into his soulless red eyes and his sharp fangs close to your face again.

“What’s wrong with me?! What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re a-, you’re a vampire!” You scream at the top of your lungs and twist out of his grasp.

You quickly run to the door, needing to get out of here as quickly as possible and get help.

“Help! Help me!’ You scream.

In a blink of an eye, Elvis runs to the front door blocking your way. You scream again completely shocked, not expecting him to be so quick. His brain scrambles what to do about you. It’s the biggest rule of being a vampire; don’t let your existence be known to humans. It should be pretty simple. He never fed out in public and always did it secluded to ensure his privacy. But for whatever reason, you could not be compelled. He was at his peak strength at nothing was working on you.

“Let me go!” You yell at him.

He shakes his head at you, “I-I can’t. I can’t let you leave,” he says nervously.

“What are you going to do to me?” You ask anxiously.

“That’s something I need to figure out,” he says darkly.

*

*

Tagging:

@neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything. @ohjustpeachy_

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rimartin11@that-hotdog.

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadesfashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs @sloppiest-of-jos

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 25: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Content warning: Angst, smut, fingering, Sukuna's cocks, private exhibitionism (?).

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Clown - Switchblade Symphony Slut - Velvet Acid Christ The Space Between - How To Destroy Angels

* * * * *

Chapter 24 | Chapter 26

* * * * *

This is a mistake.

Staring down the first half of the corridor, a heavy weightlessness hums through your body, feeling foolish for choosing this path. You’re certain you’ll lose all sense and topple over at any moment.

But you don’t.

It takes two of Sukuna’s fingers prodding firmly between your shoulder blades to set your feet in motion.

Moving one foot, weight forward, then the other.

One… two… three… four…

You count each step like a chant you’re afraid to forget while your heart slams audibly against your ribcage.

Tonight, the banquet takes place in the main hall of the compound—a vast room that honeycombs into numerous corridors and side passages. More importantly, the main corridor you are about to enter leads directly to it. With everyone already gathered, your entry will not go unnoticed.

Keeping your strides long to maintain some distance from the beast at your back—not that it does much good, as one of his steps easily swallows two of yours. Reaching the bend, you round the corner and stop.

Chaos consumes the thoroughfare. The sight hits you all at once. There are so many people.

Lower-ranking guests and clan members cluster along the edges of the corridor, engaged in drunken conversations or indulging in other pleasures. Some slide open doors, drifting in and out of rooms where muffled sounds of fucking seep into the air, while others wander along the passageway or toward the expansive garden stretching along the perimeter to your right.

All the noise cuts against dusk as a soft murkiness settles over the space. An attendant begins lighting the stone lanterns along the walls, their flames throwing masses of light and shadow and, with it, the earthy scent of smoke.

But it’s the eyes that unnerve you most. There are too many of them, all at once.

Standing at the mouth of the passageway with the King of Curses’ impressive form at your back, garments perfectly matched, and your chin lifted high, your pulse suddenly dips. Gazes swing your way, faces barely hiding the disgust directed at you both. Some hands drop toward the weapons at their sides, fingers twitching. A silent itch they all long to scratch.

You can only imagine what they must want to do to him, your husband…

Suddenly, all the isolation, etiquette, and propriety drilled into you growing up flood your mind, yet here you are, about to—what did he say?

March in there like you own the place.

“I can’t do this...”

Your foot creeps backward, retreating, until your back bumps against the solid wall of Sukuna’s abdomen. His lower hands slide to your hips, holding you firmly in place.

Your heart dips again—but for all the wrong reasons.

“Let’s play a game,” his low, dark voice blows softly into your left ear, prompting you to turn your head slightly. His body curves over your back, bending so close that the ridges of his ruined mask hover beside your cheek, the two red eyes within fixed on you.

“A game?” You clasp your hands together, fidgeting with the soft, new leather gloves he gave you. 

They’re not broken in yet; leather is rare, and you own only one pair. Your fingers trace the spot where the seams feel stiff, picking at the tightly stitched threads.

“A game,” he repeats, grinning—a flash of teeth and canines, the tattoos on his face pulling up with a mischievous smile.

Despite the earlier warning in your mind that screamed wrong, something playful in his tone makes the corners of your mouth attempt to lift slightly. If he’s trying to distract you in this strange and cavalier way, it’s working.

“Let’s see who can collect the most death glares by the time we reach the end of the corridor—you.” The hands engulfing your hips give a tight squeeze. “Or me.”

You huff out a small laugh.

“Easy for you to say. You’re guaranteed to win.”

Looming over every man here, his extra limbs, there’s no way you’re winning. 

“So?” he scoffs.

“Lord Sukuna, the fucking heinous crimes you’ve committed to these people… to my clan. I’m honestly surprised they haven’t rushed you all at once by now.”

The crass tone slips out, and you chew the inside of your cheek, surprised when his smirk only runs further up his mouth. He straightens, and you tip your head back to follow, watching his four eyes widen with a feral look as if he’s savouring that idea.

“Ah, but don’t forget, wife,” he drawls, fingertips tracing slow circles over your hips. “Every man here, despite his hatred, has a measure of respect for me. You, however, are merely a woman—a creature with no purpose beyond the expected. To be bred, bear unsightly humans, grow fat, wither away, and simply die.”

Your face collapses at his words.

Is he provoking me?

Sukuna’s grin widens.

The bastard’s provoking me.

You lift your chin again, eyes fixed straight down the corridor.

“Fine,” you declare, squaring your shoulders, though your feet remain stubbornly rooted in place.

“Well, then.” His lower hands begin to release you, palms turning outward, hands unfurling in a wide gesture that frames you. “Lead the way.”

Pulse hammering uncomfortably, your fingers hook and lift into the hem of your kimono. Then, pulling away from the warmth of Sukuna’s body, you step forward, moving toward the belly of the beast.

Doors pass, people pass, parting for the two of you—or rather, for him. To your right, the garden stretches open, offering a perfect view of the sun sinking below the yew trees, stirring their branches into colours of red. You lose yourself in the sight for a moment, until the first hateful mutterings reach your ears, pulling your gaze forward once more.

“Demon clothed in human skin.”

One point for him.

“Cunting whore.”

There it is—one for you.

Daggered eyes come next, eyebrows raising, corners of mouths twitching. The occasional scoff, a curse uttered under breath.

Almost imperceptibly, Sukuna starts chuckling gleefully from behind, and you can only imagine the sick look on his face.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you murmur quickly over your shoulder.

“I am, actually,” he hums, his heavy footsteps cutting through the jarring noise of the crowd flowing around you. “But we’re still even.”

As you approach the corridor’s midpoint, the gravity of the stares shifts. At first, they flick between you and him, balancing the game. But gradually, more and more eyes focus not on you, but above you.

You’re definitely losing. Thinking otherwise would have been stupid.

But that’s fine.

“Did you know—” Sukuna suddenly begins, voice pitched, drawing more attention, “—that I originally preferred eating your clan’s livers?”

You falter to a stumble. More heads angle and swivel.

“Soft and creamy under my teeth. But over the last seven years, I noticed something peculiar.” There’s a wicked lilt tangling into his tone. “Many I butchered had damaged livers—likely from drinking. Perhaps they drank because they knew I’d be returning, that their time was running out.”

He pauses. Your ears strain, bracing for what you know is coming.

“So, I switched to their hearts instead… did you know, wife, that the heart has an entirely different texture? Firmer, richer. Each beat against my tongue—alive one moment, still the next. It’s a muscle that clings on as if it understands its own end is near. Quite the... intense experience.”

There’s no food in your stomach, but if there was, it would be dripping down the front of your kimono right now.

“You’re fucking vile,” you hiss loudly.

He grabs your shoulder, forcing you to stop and look at him.

“I know, brat,” he growls into your face, leaning close while he digs his thumb into your collarbone. “And I couldn’t care less what these mindless animals think of me. But you do.” He smacks his lips, giving your hair a light tug—taunting you, goading you, something he seems to enjoy. “And it looks like you’re losing right now.”

How can you be losing a game this absurd, in your own home, drawing sharper ire? Well, you know the answer, but still.

“Then I’ll lose gracefully,” you state.

He rolls his eyes at your response.

You push his hand away, inhale deeply, and turn to continue walking.

Step after step, the main hall’s door draws nearer. Inside your gloves, dampness grows as more stares fall on Sukuna. Low and mocking, he starts chuckling viciously to himself.

The last of the sun slips away, plunging the corridor into a deep indigo night as the flames of the stone lanterns sputter and flare, guiding your steps.

Sudden inspiration strikes.

No.

Sukuna keeps laughing.

Fine.

If he wants to force you to endure the scrutiny of this public eye, to shame you and make you embrace the disgust of these people—your people...

Then fuck it.

Trial by fire.

Without hesitation, channelling something your sister might do in moments when she reached for you, you turn sideways, reach back, and slide your gloved left hand into his lower one.

Sukuna’s laughter falls away.

The King of Curses’ hand twitches, his large fingers flexing under yours, and for a heartbeat, there’s only dead weight behind you. 

How is it that he has lavished your cunt twice, yet this feels far scarier than both times combined?

Without daring to look back, you give him a slight tug, your arm stretched between you, and continue forward. He follows, and this time, you can sense he’s walking closer. A quick glance at the wall to your left, where your shadows stretch, confirms it—his head held high as he strides just behind you.

One… three… seven… ten…  

More.

You’re winning now, no longer counting steps but tallying the sharp stares that seem to slice you in half. The corridor seems to narrow, leading you toward a single purpose. You raise your head higher and regal, allowing your face to fall to nothing.

You’ve never felt strong before, never compelling before.

But now...

They can all look at their stupid, useless girl all they want. 

Hooking your arm behind you, you bend it fully, feeling the pull of his as the space between you shrinks.

At last, his fingers relent further, sliding forward in a slow crawl until they wrap around yours, his hand completely engulfing your smaller one. Heat unexpectedly rises to your cheeks as the intimate grasp settles, leaving you feeling consumed.

But fuck, it feels addictive to know you have the power of Sukuna at your back.

Even after the terrible things he said, there’s something unsettling in the simplicity of this moment—a dangerous comfort.

Still, the barrier of your glove keeps the tide of emotions at bay. If you could touch his skin, you think you might be lost entirely.  

Funny how that had been the point of all this. Now, it feels strangely wrong, as though practicality and self-preservation have become distant, forgotten things.

Shaking away the last strands of hair that have fallen across your face, you square your shoulders, ignoring whatever Sukuna might be thinking behind you. You’re shocked he’s even allowing you to do something like this publicly. Maybe he’s deciding how to punish you—but he stays silent.

Then, as his thumb rolls lazily across your knuckles, you begin to doubt it.

More heat crushes into your body.

Don’t look back.

Keep going.

By the time you and Sukuna reach the end of the corridor, the stares no longer divide—they burn into you alone. You allow yourself to grin when you finally reach the main doors, where a waiting attendant bows deeply before carefully sliding them open, revealing the grand hall.

Polished wood and lush cushions. Chatter and the musk of poured sake.

The central space is large and open air with a seamless view of the gardens. Low, dark tables sit in neat rows, where guests and clan members lean forward, eating, drinking, laughing, and talking as though the world beyond this place doesn’t exist.

For now, it hasn’t fully descended into debauchery, but it feels close.

No one acknowledges your entrance, but at the very far end of the room, your father kneels before a screen partition and a table, with Onishi at his left and Yuna positioned off to the side. One by one, their gazes lift. One by one, they find you.

Your sister gives you a secret smile while your father’s eyes sweep over you, lingering too long on where your arm hooks back. The weight of his eyes makes you subconsciously wiggle your fingers loose. Slowly, you slip your hand free from Sukuna’s, even though it feels like neither of you truly wants to let go.

Dangerous. And stupid.

“Lord Sukuna, my Lady, you will be seated here.”

Your eyes retreat, and the attendant gestures to a table tucked into a shadowed alcove at the far end corner of the hall, away from the central bustle, hidden like some inconvenient secret.

Out of sight and out of mind.

Slipping off your footwear, your tabi socks whisper against the floor as you make your way to your seat. Sukuna lowers himself onto a cushion, sitting like a man who caters to no one. His gaze picks apart the room, four eyes ghosting from each individual. One of his fingers taps as if he’s counting something. You step forward and settle beside him, folding your legs neatly beneath you.

The room continues to buzz with a frenzy of noise, though not a single eye turns toward you two. Not that they could—the way you’re positioned leaves you staring at the backs of everyone’s heads.

“So,” you whisper to Sukuna, smoothing out your dark kimono as seasonal food and drink are placed at your lonesome table. “I think I won our game.”

“Mhm.” The sound he makes is more a grunt than a word, followed by a low grumble about cheating.

You fight a smile, then pick up the bottle of sake and pour him a cup. Tonight, you’ve decided not to drink, though it would probably help ease your nerves.

Sliding the cup to Sukuna, you both settle into a quiet rhythm as the night crawls forward, marked by every grating burst of laughter. He continues scanning the room, while you sit, picking at your food, trying to stomach as much of it as possible.

About an hour into the evening, across the room, dark grey eyes, raven hair, and a strikingly handsome face snag your attention.

Zen’in.  

His eyes lock onto yours, narrowing in acknowledgment, and he rises to his feet, making his way over.

“Shit,” you huff under your breath, dropping your chin as if that will somehow deter him. It doesn’t. He’s one of the last people you wish to speak with.

He stops in front of your table, positioning himself squarely between you and Sukuna, the eccentric-looking katana strapped at his side.

“My Lady,” Zen’in bows, his tone perfectly cordial where last time he was threatening you. “It’s lovely to see you again, and so soon.”

Against the side of your face, you feel the weight of one of Sukuna’s eyes boring into you.

“It’s nice to see you as well,” you lie, sitting up straighter and mustering your most charming, although fake, smile.

The dark-haired man smirks faintly.

“I hear your father will be making a decision regarding Lady Yuna’s betrothal this evening.”  

Your posture stiffens. Already? This is the first you’ve heard of it.

He notices your reaction and perks up at that.  

“I have a feeling it will be me,” he adds, the barest hint of a grin tucks into his cheek.  

“What the fuck do you want, Zen’in?” Sukuna drones, his tone flat, as though the entire interaction bores him.

Zen’in’s eyes cut to the King of Curses. 

“Ah, and this must be your husband. My soon-to-be brother-in-law.”

Oh, sweet fuck no.

He offers a deep bow. Sukuna doesn’t respond. Zen’in’s jaw pulses.

A moment of silence passes.  

“You know,” Zen’in begins, his voice light but sharp-edged. “I heard an interesting rumour recently. They say the King of Curses has a taste for women’s kimonos. Surely that can’t be true?”

More silence.

Horrible silence. 

You shift uncomfortably, trying to decide whether you heard him correctly.

Against your better judgment, your eyes flick downward. For the first time, you notice what you hadn’t fully considered until Zen’in’s pointed comment: Sukuna’s robes do bear certain details—wider sleeves, softer cuts.

You feel the briefest of the King of Curses’ energy shift, but only for a moment.

The silence stretches.

Zen’in, finally unnerved by the lack of response, clears his throat and dances his attention back to you.  

“Forgive my curiosity, my Lady. It’s not every day one encounters such a… unique figure.” He gives a slight, condescending bow before turning on his heel and making his way back to join what you assume is the rest of the Zen’in clan.

Once he’s gone, you glance at Sukuna, who watches the man’s retreat. For some reason, before you can stop yourself, your mouth moves.

“Is it true? About… your kimonos?”  

Sukuna rests his right elbow on his knee, shoving his fist against his face.  

“Of course it’s true,” he replies dryly, squinting at you as if you’ve asked something stupid. “These so-called ‘men’s’ robes are sewn for people with fewer limbs and smaller bones. They’re made for bodies the size of children compared to mine.”

“I see,” you mumble, looking away. The sudden urge to move closer to him claws into you, so instead, you focus on studying the room. A safer choice.

Many unfamiliar faces filled the room, mostly men, though a few women stood among them—rare, but present nonetheless. As expected, a retinue of concubines lingered nearby, occasionally joining a group of men for entertainment or sauntering off with one trailing behind.

But movement at the far end of the room, where your family sits, catches your eye, and you lift your chin for a better look.

Your father rises to his feet, followed by Onishi, a few elders, and then your sister. Together, they file through the door at the back left side of the hall. Your gaze follows Yuna’s retreating back.

A thick, uneasy warmth rolls down your spine.

A decision is being made tonight. That must be what they’re doing now—deciding her fate. Her path. Who she will marry. The man who will be adopted into this family and become the next clan lead.

Because of what I did.

A curse from the past that keeps on fucking taking.

Your body tightens, anxiety winding through. You tuck your hands below the table, folding them tightly in your lap to resist the urge to pick at them. But your fingers find a stiff seam on the leather, and you start to scratch at it anyway.

Please let it be someone good.

Please let it be someone good.

Please—

“You’ve gone tense again,” Sukuna states dryly, lifting his cup of sake and taking a slow pull of the liquid.  

From the corner of your left eye, you watch the way his throat works, the ridges of muscle moving as he swallows. As his head tips back, the rose gold of his hair glints, framing his profile in a soft glow. His bottom right eye rolls toward you, catching you mid-study and freezing you in place.

“I’m not,” you lie, hesitating for half a heartbeat before quickly dragging your focus back to the room.

Another pick at the seam.

Your careful gaze flits from the backs of people’s heads to a man drunkenly sloshing sake on the floor, then to a woman whose garment barely conceals her body. Her unfettered black hair falls over her shoulders, partially obscuring the swell of her breasts.

“You are,” Sukuna counters, leaning on his upper left elbow as he angles closer, cutting into your space. Your attention snaps back to him, leaving the room behind.  

“You’re also a shit liar.” 

Arrogant. 

Your mouth presses into a thin line.  

“I am not.”  

He grins as he sets down his cup.  

“You’re right. My apologies,” he says smoothly, pausing just long enough to make your brow furrow. “You’re a fucking terrible liar.”  

You roll your eyes and shift your focus back to the room, attempting to discern which faces belong to what clans. But from the corner of your eye, you catch the movement of Sukuna’s lower right hand.

Boredom seems to have made him bold—or perhaps he simply enjoys pestering you—because his fingertips find the hem of your kimono. He tugs the silk gently into a fold, lets it fall loose, and then repeats the motion as though testing the texture.

A second tug.

Your attention shoots to him, to his hand. You watch as he presses lightly, smoothing out the garment before pinching the fabric between forefinger and thumb, pulling until the hem lifts just enough to reveal a sliver of your ankle.

A prickle of warmth spreads through you.

Turning your head, your eyes find his. He doesn’t meet them right away. Instead, his gaze stays fixed on the fabric, his lips curving into a faint, amused smile as his fingers continue their torment.

A third tug. More this time.

“My Lord,” you murmur, your voice taut with a mix of irritation and something deeper. “You’re giving me a look.”

His head tilts slightly as though feigning confusion.

“What look?”

Just like all those other times. The heated ones, where his eyes reached onto you with a ravenous, hungry intent.

The corner of your kimono shifts, and at last, his fingers slip beneath the silk, brushing against the lining with a heavy slowness, testing how far he might go—whether you’ll stop him or surrender. And he seems to know which because when his red eyes finally lift to meet yours, they’re heavy-lidded.

“This one,” you whisper, the tension in your voice mirroring the tightness pinching your chest. He toys with the fabric again, the barest graze of his knuckles against your skin sending a shiver through you.

“If you notice the look,” he says, his voice dropping into a deep, rough timbre that makes your core clench desperately. “Perhaps you should wonder why you’re drawing it.”

Warm fingertips find the soft curve of your calf, tracing careful patterns that draw a flush to the surface. His crimson orbs burn, pupils darkening with every second.

“My Lord,” you warn in a small voice, trembling as your breath stutters. You feel his hand move to your knee, and slowly, his fingers begin to spiral higher, etching paths along your inner thigh.

Your lungs expand. Your pussy starts to soak itself.

“No one will see,” he murmurs. His touch trails upward—light, soft—the opposite of your racing heartbeat. “They’re all consumed by their own little worlds, while we…” He leans in closer, shielding your view of the room. “…can lose ourselves in ours. One far darker and more pleasurable.”

The knot in your stomach constricts.

Damn him. Why did he have to be so disarmingly charming? It hurt, to be drawn to something so inherently evil and vile.

But you were.

You raise your eyes, and all you see is him. In the confined space of the alcove, he’s completely engulfed and hidden you away using his body.

Unbidden, under all the layers of fabric, you part your knees—a silent invitation meant only for him. For once, it’s not part of some scheme to end his life. This time, it’s because, gods, you want this. You’re burning for it.

The corners of his mouth curve into a devious grin. That look stirs something in you, pulling a smile of your own, feeding your desire, making you want him even more, making more heat pool between your folds.

Without warning, his fingers flex, and he moves. His lower right arm slides around your waist as his hand withdraws from your garment, while his upper hands rise to your shoulders. In one fluid motion, he lifts you, pulling your knees off the floor and guiding you toward him.

The sudden movement collects all your breath, your eyes widening as your weight shifts effortlessly in his grasp. He maneuvers you across him with ease, the layers of your kimono cascading down as he settles you onto his left thigh. Angled slightly, you feel the firm balance of his hold—his upper right hand steady at the small of your back while his lower hands rest possessively on your hips.

Intimate.

Leaning over, his upper left hand reaches for the single lantern resting nearby. You watch as he extinguishes the flame with his fingertips. A soft, spitting hiss echoes, and the alcove is plunged into shadow. His hand returns, replacing the one on your back before it slips into the layers of fabric again.

“There.” He presses the tip of his nose into your hair and inhales deeply, as though you’ve landed exactly where he intended. “Now, focus those eyes on me.”

Looking up into his face, you nudge open your knees, and his hand slips up to your thighs and between. Embarrassment demands you close your legs, but one cruel fingertip lightly traces your soaking folds, and you melt into him.

“So soft,” he mumbles while fixing his stare on your lips and collecting the wetness that pools before dipping into your heat, opening you up fully.

The next breath you pull in is tight, and your teeth find their way to your tongue to stop a moan from slipping out. He smirks, watching your features distort into pleasure.

“Keep all those pretty noises in,” he tuts before pumping in deeper. Your body trembles at the pressure and pleasure. “Or everyone will know how much you actually enjoy having my hands on you.”

If only he knew.

He suddenly pauses as though deep in thought, brow creasing heavily in the dark.

“Or maybe I should. Then everyone will know that you rightfully belong to me and should keep their fucking hands off.” His eyes thin as he twists his finger smoothly, making sure it slides deeper into your pussy. Your mouth falls open on a silent moan that you wish you could let him hear, your head falling toward his chest, making him grunt.

With that, another finger nudges up into your folds, finding and flicking at the nub of your clit once, and you almost lose it. Sliding one gloved hand to his back to fist his kimono, you push the other into your lap. Sukuna’s mouth twitches smugly, eyes following your attempts to keep your face neutral.

“And you’re soaked.” Sliding his finger in and out, the pace is a slow, torturous drag. “All from a look. Pathetic.”

You clench your teeth to hold back, body softly arching helplessly against his, trying to close the space.

“Touch my clit again,” you demand softly, words feeling sticky like honey in your throat. Shifting your position closer to his body, you push your face into the fabric of his kimono, heart beating wildly.

And there.

You can smell him faintly—not the cypress, but blood and ash. You inhale. The scent snakes its way down your throat, making you dizzy.

“Please…” Your soft voice muffles into his clothing.

Somewhere deep in his chest, he growls, the sound vibrating into your body.

“It’s interesting that you think you can tell me what to do, wife,” he hisses against your hair, ignoring your plea and shoving a second finger up inside your wet cunt before sliding them both in and out.

Hypnotic and enthralling, you feel everything, the pressure he applies, how deep he sinks all the way to the knuckles. Tight.

“F-ffuck,” you exhale, lifting your hazy gaze to his face. He tips his head, peering down at you with a lustful look in his eyes.

The two of you stare into each other, your lips parting—his following in response. You breathe in unison, so close, watching each other. Just as he said, you’re lost in your own world because the room fades entirely from your mind. The intimacy is intoxicating, and whatever this thing is between you feels like the only thing that matters—the only thing you want.

“More,” you mouth quietly, wanting to toss your head back, fold into him and cry out. But you can’t, so you start to move your hips, a soft back and forth, seeking out the pleasure, your pussy clenching around his plunging fingers.

“That’s it.” His lower hands, gripping your waist, both tightens and begins to guide you, pulling you along his thigh. “You missed this, didn’t you?”

“Yes, my Lord,” you say breathlessly, nodding and rolling your head.

You could get used to being touched like this. No longer shying away but swallowing it down greedily while you can. Gluttonous. Yet somehow, it’s not enough.

“Touch me more.”

There’s another vibration in his chest, more animalistic.

“Sick little slut, fucking look at you!” he hisses quietly as he continues to slide his fingers inside your tight hole, moving faster and harder so it soaks the inside of your shaking thighs. Mouth at your ear, his tongue flirts with it, then licks its curve only to graze a canine against it after. You moan a little louder. The soles of your feet tingle with heat rising into your face, and nervously, you peel your eyes away, dipping your chin back over your left shoulder.

No one is looking at the alcove, the debauchery finally settling in the room. A drunken hum, a clouded feeling that settles on your aroused mind. So you keep moving, keep grinding, feeling the way he finger fucks you, the layers of your kimono, the table, the dark, all hiding your hips and everything the two of you are exploring.

Sukuna gives you a nudge of your jaw, guiding your attention back to him, and on a backwards roll along his thigh, your ass pokes and presses into hardness.

You still.

Sukuna’s mouth curls into a wicked smile, and on a thrust in then out of your pussy, his fingers stop, only to lightly trace against your dripping seam, dragging and coating your juices messy and all over.

Gaze falling into his lap, you realize he’s aroused. You feel your softness pressing against the jutting bulge sitting under the fabric of his kimono and hakama. Knowing how hard he is, the knot in your stomach winds tighter.

Not daring a look at his face, you glide a hand up the muscled expanse of his leg towards his cocks. Gods, you need him. You want him, want to see what lies between his thighs and finally, you allow yourself the pleasure of touching your husband for the first time.

Softly, your fingers tease lightly over the curved cloth, hugging the bulge of what you assume to be his upper shaft. It’s rigid and thick.

So thick.

When you make contact, you feel it twitch, and even through the fabric and your gloves, you find the swell of the tip. Making an exploratory pass against it, Sukuna hisses through his teeth, his hips coming up slightly from the cushion.

A thrill rolls through you.

Another slow glide, but this time, you tuck your fingers into the fabric of his garments, only to feel the lower one. Pressing harder, you hear a sound resembling a deep groan get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t allow it to escape. You're about to make another pass when suddenly, he grabs your wrist. Your eyes sweep up to his face, where his gaze narrows over his broad nose.

Your heart thunders inside your chest.

“You don’t seem surprised,” he growls, his chest heaving and swelling.  

Realizing he’s referring to his extra appendage, you shake your head faintly, recalling that day when you first asked about his pleasures. 

“You knew?” Cocking his slitted eyebrow, he releases your wrist.  

You nod this time.

“Women talk,” you reply, trying to suppress a grin. His mouth twists into a rigid pout, looking almost disappointed, and your lopsided smile escapes anyway.  

“Tch. Course they do.” He smacks his lips. The sharp sound makes you instinctively withdraw your hand.

Before you can pull away completely, his upper right hand snatches it again while his lower hands slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer until his abdomen presses firmly against your chest.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he says, his voice low and pointed a bit of irritation pulling at it.

You watch him, feeling vulnerable in your lack of experience.

His jaw flexes, and slowly, he draws your wrist toward him. His lower left hand moves to pinch the tip of your leather glove. Holding your gaze, he tugs gently, the material sliding over your knuckles before slipping off completely. Your throat tightens as you swallow softly, watching him handle it with care before tossing it on the table.

“Go on, then.” He nudges his chin toward his thighs.

The hand inside your kimono pulls free as he leans back, his upper palms sinking into the cushion. His hips shift upward, presenting a deliberate invitation of where his cocks are, while his lower hands settle firmly on your hips.

“Continue,” he purrs deeply.

So cocky it’s almost charming.

A breath pushes past your lips.

Collecting yourself, your bare fingers trail along the surface of his dark kimono, tracing the fabric until they reach his obi. As your hand brushes against his abdomen, you feel the dips of his muscles, your touch lingering before moving lower—passing where you assume his stomach maw lies—and continuing along the path to his clothed members.

Sukuna shifts his hips again, kimono loosening and allowing you to part the front panels and thread your hand down to his hakama. You wrap your fingers around his upper cock as best you can. It’s big. The heat of it seeps through the fabric and into your palm. You give it a slow, experimental stroke from the base to tip, and he groans gutturally but quietly, dipping his head back in pleasure. And just that noise alone, fuck, you want more. You need to hear him.

You pump again, the same response. His cock twitches.

“Good?” Your cheeks bloom red.

"Yes…” he exhales, control slipping ever so slightly. An upper hand covers yours, guiding your movements, and atop the cushions, his legs widen. “Slower… but tighter.”

Your hand slows, grip tightening around his shaft while you rub against the fabric. 

What you wouldn’t give to have your bare hand wrapped tightly around his dick, pumping it. Feeling the warmth of his skin, his girth, wanting to trail your tongue up and down just to taste it.

Fuck…

“That’s it, more,” he rasps in throaty breath, rocking up toward you. In response, you’re growing more and more aroused. Your hips move, tilting into his hardness, grinding your pussy into his thigh as you tighten and stroke him.

“Careful,” he breathes through his teeth, nostrils flaring as he squeezes your waist and hand. “Keep doing that, that little swivel of your hips and I’ll drag you out of here and find somewhere dark to sink my cocks deep into you.”

Your breath deepens at the thought—the fullness that would come with it, with having him and him having you in that way.

He leans back and watches your face as your mind turns over the idea, picturing it, examining it, longing for it.

“You want that… don’t you?” His smirk widens. “Is that what my wife wants?”

“Maybe…”

He arches his eyebrow, and the air between you sharpens.

“Maybe?” he spits harshly. “Maybe you’ll finally give me the truth. Unless you’d rather, I take care of that lying mouth of yours.”

“Yes,” you admit hastily.

“Hm,” he grunts, “so you do want to feel the weight of me as I fuck your tight ass and cunt at the same time?”

At the same time.

You wet your lips, his eyes following the movement.

“Is that how it works?” you ask quietly, your hand resuming slow strokes, hips rounding in tight circles.

His answer is a feral grin.

“Among other things.”

You start to feel a hot warmth seeping through the fabric where the tips of his cocks are pushing. You run your thumb along it, circling it until his hand on yours urges you to stop. 

You look up.

His face grows serious.

“Last time I had you, I asked you to admit something to me.” His voice grows serious. “Now, I want to hear you say it.”

I want you.

So simple.

That felt like a lifetime ago when his head was between your shaking thighs, mouth on your pussy, your hands on his head preparing to end him.

But now.

"I want you.” Your heart climbs into your throat and grows a second pulse.

So simple.

“Again.” His lower hands slide up your back, fingertips digging to hold you in place as he leans closer. “Tell me again.”

Your chest heaves, almost painfully, as you lean in, mouths so close that you can offer him your breath.

“I want you. I’ve been wanting you,” you urge softly, your body teetering on the edge of madness to please him. “Sukuna, I need you.”

Beneath you, his entire body goes taut and straining. His eyes roam your face, searching, taking in every detail, while his fingers trace the neckline of your kimono.

“There’s my winter flower,” he whispers, his touch moving to tuck a fallen strand of hair gently behind your ear before his face dips close to yours.

The world flickers. You flinch—confused, aware of him, of his words. Cool grass. Night and darkness. The scent of resin and earth. Blood, smoke, and death pressing close.

Then… nothing.

The King of Curses leans in, resting his forehead against yours, inhaling sharply, deeply. All four of his eyes close, then reopen, locking onto yours.

All of a sudden, he grips the back of your neck roughly, forcing you to look at him.

“You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy ruining you…” he says, his voice calm and threatening, his eyes burrowing painfully into yours.

His grip begins to tighten, becoming uncomfortable. You squirm, and his face darkens.

Wrong.

Your mind screams again.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you while I take everything away, all at once."

Sssfft!

Somehow, you manage to tear yourself away from him.

An attendant slides one of the garden doors shut at the back of the room, then moves to close another.

At the far corner, your family reappears. Yuna trails behind, her head tipped toward the floor, her face stamped in an expression of stone.

Your eyes shift again.

In the opposite corner, Zen’in exits the room, disappearing into one of the dim corridors, his shoulders squared.

Another door rustles.

Something feels wrong.

A third garden door slides shut, and the sound makes you jump.

Your eyes snap back to your sister. She suddenly peels away from your father, dashing out of the room.

The final garden door slides closed, sealing off the world.

“Excuse me, my Lord.” You bunch your hands against Sukuna’s chest and push yourself away, abruptly rising from his lap. Gathering the glove he took off and your hem, you slip away without a glance back, even as you hear his sharp hiss, a command to return.

Stepping into the corridor, you grab your sandals, shove them on and move hurriedly, ignoring everything—even the woman with the long black hair you noticed earlier. She bumps into you almost on purpose, and an afflicting girlish giggle follows.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, not stopping.

You can’t think about her or anything else. Your focus is fixed on the blur of white—your sister’s garment disappearing ahead of you.

Pushing through the doors, you follow her into the darkened garden, both of you falling away from the crowd, deeper into the secluded night.

“Yuna! Wait!” you call, your voice desperate as you try to match her retreating strides, both of you plundering deeper into the shadows.

The scene feels familiar but reversed.

The darkness deepens. The stone path beneath your feet becomes harder to see. You stumble, catching yourself just as Yuna turns. Her face is streaked with makeup smudged by bleeding tears that cut dark lines down her skin.

“What’s happened?” you ask, brow furrowing in concern as you close the distance.

“He’s chosen,” she chokes out, her throat working as if the words are stuck.

You take another step, your sandals clattering against the path.

“Father’s chosen a husband for you,” you say. It’s meant as a question, but it comes out flat, a statement.

Her face falls inward, its weight folding her expression.

“Yes.”

Your stomach twists painfully at her admission. It’s rare to see Yuna like this—panicked, upset. Afraid.

“Is it Zen’in?”

As insufferable as that man is, she had shown interest in him the last time you spoke. If anyone deserved a chance at love, it was her.

She shakes her head, her painted lips trembling.

“Then… who?”

There’s a heartbeat.

It’s gone so quiet out here, the two of you alone.

Her shoulders tremble, drawing inward. She’s shaking.

More dread leaks into your stomach. You take another more cautious step.

“Yuna?” you prompt, your voice softening.

“Onishi.” The name is a hiss as it leaves her mouth.

“What? No!” The words burst out of you as if the air has been knocked from your lungs.

Not him.

Not with him.

She dips her head, eyes becoming lifeless, glassy as fresh tears build and spill over, tracing the lines of those before.

“It’s true,” she whispers, and with a blink, more droplets fall, pattering into her kimono.

Your instinct is immediate. Protective. Comforting. You grip the slope of her shoulders gently, searching her face.

“I don’t want this,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “I can’t marry him. That will trap me here. I’ll never be able to leave.”

Never escape.

Your throat thickens.

“I know... I know you don’t want this.”

She looks at you then all at once. Whatever pain she’s been keeping inside, she allows it to rip free.

“This shouldn’t have happened to us!” she cries, her voice cracking under the weight of her anguish. “You shouldn’t have had to marry that thing in there!” She points toward the compound. “And I shouldn’t have to marry fucking Onishi!”

You’ve never seen her unravel like this before. The perfect facade she always wore is crumbling before your eyes.

She sinks to her knees. You follow her down, huddling close on the cold stones. Your dark kimono presses against the pale fabric of hers as she cries.

“I miss her,” she gasps, strangled and raw.

You know who she’s talking about. You feel her grief. It mirrors your own.

Mother.

“I need her here. She should be here.”

Her voice.

So sad.

So gentle.

So angry.

Every time she looks at you, you think she must see a murderer. Someone who took something she loved. Took it and fucked it all up.

Yuna’s sobs intensify. The cage in your chest tightens, and the tears standing in your eyes fall.

I killed her. I did this.

For a heartbeat, you can’t breathe.

I couldn’t control any of this.

But Yuna’s shaking shoulders snap you back.

But I can stop this. Amend this.

Maybe…

“I can change this,” you state. “I’ll fix this.”

Her red, tear-filled eyes meet yours. Hope and exhaustion tangle in her expression.

Drip, as a tear falls from her eye.

“How?” she sniffs.

You swallow, looking at her, truly looking at her sister to sister.

“I—” The words refuse to leave your mouth. “Don’t make me say it...”

Her lips tremble, an understanding dawning in her soft features before it hardens them.

“No,” she murmurs, shaking her head, disbelief wandering into her face. “You’d unleash him on our own clan?”

Mouth gone dry, you swallow.

“If it’s the only way to save you from this, then yes . Onishi is a fiend, and I won’t let him touch you. It’s our best option—”

“He will kill everyone!”

“Only those who deserve it!” you snap.

Father. Onishi.

You’re certain Ryomen Sukuna would gladly tear apart both. Why he hasn’t done so already, you’re unsure. But persuading him shouldn’t be difficult. The rest of the Kasai clan can be spared. Then, this nightmare would end. Yuna would be safe. You’d both be free. That elusive sense of freedom might finally be within reach—a life wholly your own, something you could touch, grasp, and hold onto.

Yuna sniffs and shifts closer. Her white kimono brushes against the velvety night, her presence fragile yet steady. She takes your hands from her shoulders, clasping them gently before slipping her fingers over your leather gloves. Her touch moves past your sleeves to your forearms, her fingertips pressing firmly into your skin for support.

A pressure.

Deeper than flesh. Deeper than bone.

Her dark lashes tremble over her eyes.

“You cut off one head of the serpent, and another grows in its place. You know as well as I do—it has to be everyone.”

A whisper. Quiet, calm.

The thought lodges in your mind, taking root and spreading, hooking in so deeply it’s impossible to dig out.

“Then—” Your jaw clenches, teeth creaking from the pressure. No. “It shall be everyone.” 

“Then we leave,” she adds softly, “tonight. Just the two of us.”

You nod.

This, at least, you can do—this one thing you can make right. A way to mend what you once shattered.

“Go to the stables. Take a horse and ride west. I’ll meet you,” you whisper, your voice steady, though your heart is anything but.

Yuna’s hands slide upward from your sleeves to cup your face. Her gaze clamps onto yours, not simply looking at you but through you, as if she sees all the fractured pieces you try to keep hidden.

“I’ll finally be able to take care of you, as I should have all along.” Her voice no longer cracks with emotion. It flows as smooth and cold as silk. “Just promise me.” Her fingers press into your cheeks, firm, insistent. “Promise me that after it’s over, you’ll come find me. No matter what.”

You nod.

Kill my clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

“I promise I will.”

She presses harder, indenting her fingertips into your skin.

A pressure, harder this time.

Deeper than flesh. Deeper than bone.

“You will find me after the King of Curses destroys our clan.” Voice low and sweet. “Then you will leave him.”

Leave him.

Your heart stumbles at her words.

“I will.”

Harder.

Her soft mouth twitches into the barest smile, but her grip presses further. Until nails bite, and sting. Until a ringing begins in your ears, rising steadily, like a swarm of insects buzzing. Until the world flickers, memories bleeding through.

Your gloves coming free from your hands.

Your mother’s haunted expression, the trembling in her face as you touched her swollen belly. The ravaging of her body as she slipped into rot.

The moment you took everything from her.

The darkness in the grove. The burning.

Stop!

But the images keep coming.

Sukuna, not as he is now, lowering his head to you, both your bodies drenched in blood, like the mouth of a hungry red flower.

More pressure, not just from her grip, but from something deeper, heavier.

Stop it, stop it, stop it—

Pain buds and grows behind your eyes. Swelling and pushing against your skull until it feels like it might burst. You squeeze your eyelids shut, and tears trace down your cheeks, tapering to your chin before dripping into the folds of your kimono.

You feel sick. So sick. The bile rises, clambering its way into your throat as wetness pools across every groove and curve of your face.

“What’s happening to me?” you choke, curling inward as nausea overtakes you.

“Shh, it’s okay. No more tears, sister.”

Her voice.

So soft.

So gentle.

So persuasive.

You look at her, desperately searching her face for answers. Her jaw flexes, and a bead of hot blood slowly trickles from her nose and traces over her top lip. Her tongue peeks out to lick it away.

More pressure.

Her hand moves through your hair, soothing, and the tears in your eyes dry.

“Sister—”

More.

“Don’t let the past hurt you. Forget it for now. Do what needs to be done. When this is over, find me, and everything will be as it should—with me as—”

“My, my, my. What do we have here?” A male voice interrupts. “Is everything alright, ladies?”

Yuna’s hands slip free from you in an instant. Without a word, she turns away, the blood from her nose staining her pale garment as she walks off.

You suck in a harsh, desperate breath, the confusion scattering what little clarity you have left.

Something—again—is torn away from you.

Do what needs to be done. Because you must stay, you have to do this.

Kill my clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

Blinking, you watch her pale kimono flutter like a quiet apparition in the dark. Her hands tense, rolling into fists, then unfurling as she disappears.

Slowly, you turn your head toward where the voice materialized. A man stands at the garden’s edge, his black hair pulled back, his hands tucked casually into his kimono sleeves. 

Wiping at your face, you step off the path, slipping past him without a word.

“I only asked if all was well, my Lady,” the stranger chuckles, enunciating each beat in his chest. He steps closer to you, threading his hands deeper into his sleeves. “No need for rudeness, but I digress.”

Your gaze shifts between him and the place where Yuna just stood. Sweet and lovely, Yuna. 

Subtly, you incline your chin.

“I apologize, my Lord. I’m fine.” You bow shallowly. “Thank you.”

Turning, you head back toward the main hall, his presence lingering behind you.

“I was disappointed,” he continues, stopping you mid-step as you glance back over your shoulder. “To have missed your wedding. I heard it was quite the event. Do tell your husband I intend to make it up to him soon.”

Your eyes lock briefly with his. For an instant, you catch a glint of silken thread spanning discreetly below his hairline—an illusion you quickly dismiss.

“Well, goodnight, my Lady.” Mouth curving into a smile that spreads bumps down your spine, he turns down the corridor you and Sukuna traversed earlier and without further thought, you’re moving again.

Kill my clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

Heart slamming into your ribs, you move quickly back into the main hall. The raucous laughter and raised voices only heighten the tension in your chest. But despite the noise, the room feels smaller—emptier.

Ignoring the task of removing your footwear, you hurry to the alcove, where Sukuna waits with a rigid posture and a dark expression.

“I must speak with you,” you say quietly, hurriedly.

He arches his eyebrow.

“Then speak.”

You shake your head.

“Not here.” You nudge your chin tentatively to the door. “Outside. Somewhere private.”

Without waiting for his response, you turn and walk away. The heavy tread of his footsteps behind you tells you he’s following.

Kill. Take. Find.

You know where to go.

Gathering your hem, you retrace your steps, pushing past the garden until you reach the limestone barrier. With a firm shove, the gate creaks open, revealing the grove beyond.

You rush to it and wait.

Then, you turn, pace, and turn again.

A breeze tosses your hair.

Under your skin, lies your heartbeat. It pounds loudly, racing up your arms, into your chest, and into your head.

Louder.

Kill. Take. Find.

Too loud.

A twig snaps, sharp as a crack of thunder. Your head jerks toward the sound.

From between the yew trees, Sukuna steps into view, his silhouette rigid against the moonlit backdrop. His presence is dark and cutting, like cloth torn from night.

Red eyes meet yours, and both of you freeze. For a moment, the world stills. 

Here. There’s something you’ve forgotten—a sense of repetition.

His upper right hand twitches. Your gaze jumps to it, the two fingers eager to extend in subtle, restless motion.

A single heartbeat passes.

Then, he steps forward.

“You look like you want something from me,” he murmurs, his face a mask of nothingness.

You hold his stare, watching him as he approaches slowly, cautiously, as though you’re a wild animal poised to bolt.

“Yes, my Lord.” Voice barely steady.

He tilts his chin. The movement is almost lazy.

“Spit it out, then.”

You take a breath and take a step toward him. Your heart crashes into your breastbone.

Say it, and your chance of freedom is ever closer. Say it, and this nightmare can end. Say it, and you can leave him…

“I want you to kill everyone in the Kasai clan. Here, tonight.”

The words sting, a thorny stem poking into your tongue until it’s bleeding.

Silence.

The King of Curses only stares at you—eyes empty, emotionless red stones, mouth twitching, pulling up.

He doesn’t respond.

Your heart beats faster, hammering against your skull, drowning out the grove’s stillness.

More silence.

It’s too much.

“Say something!” you snap, your voice a hiss through gritted teeth.

Still, he doesn’t.

He only stares, red eyes bright.

Then, finally, his grin unfurls, and he hangs back his head toward the night sky and laughs.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 26

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Survivor request is "Fall" for @etoiline

It finds Cal in the quiet, in the stillness, in the emptiness, when sleep refuses him.

Darkness.

The fall. His fall. It happened so easily.

(No, it didn’t.)

He gave into the darkness without a fight.

(No, you didn’t.)

That rage. That power. He misses it.

(Do you?)

Sighing, Cal rolls out of bed and heads out into the Koboh night. BD doesn’t let him go alone. No one stops them – everyone’s used to Cal’s nighttime wanderings by now – but BD will never let him wander off alone. The Outpost is quieter by night, only the hardiest (or most destitute) prospectors heading out to work. He decides to head for the forest. The quiet trees and waterfalls usually soothe his whirring mind.

His feet take him across Swindlers Wash and into the forest, head buzzing with self-recriminations as he heads into the forest. He reaches the Basalt Rift, distracted by the guilty part of him that doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in hiding, who loves the variety of Koboh and the wider galaxy…

He doesn’t hear the battle droid until it’s on him, and while he does take it down before it shoots him in the head, his balance is all off, and he tips backward, plummeting off a cliff and falling, down, down, down. The Force howls, and he flips in time to hit a pool of water feet first. Deep, deep under the water, it takes Cal’s scrambled head a few seconds to catch up. He kicks his way back to the surface, fighting the current. When he breaks through, he’s already a long way from the cliff he fell off.

“BD?!”

A slightly waterlogged warble comes from Cal’s back. A sob of relief escapes him, and he nods in agreement when BD tells him to find somewhere to climb out of the river as soon as he can.

By the time Cal’s on dry land again, he’s soaked but warm, the Koboh night far from cold. He’s unhurt, although his ego’s taken a good hit. Distracted. Reckless. When will he learn?

BD beeps for Cal’s attention. “I’m okay. Guess I need to find a better coping skill.”

Talking. He could try talking.

Cal reaches over, gives BD a head pat. “I know. I just don’t know where to start.”

BD does, because he knows Cal is a good person. How could he not be, when he’s still so torn up over everything that happened, including using the dark side. A bad person wouldn’t care like Cal does.

“Cere always told me every Jedi faces the dark side. It was stupid of me to think I wouldn’t, that I’d be too good for that.” Cal sighs, and not because he’s not entirely sure where he is and how long it will take to get back to the Outpost. “I’m going to carry it for the rest of my life.” Everyone has something to carry. He thought he was at his limit after Cere and Master Cordova died.

Turns out there’s more beneath rock bottom.

Hopping onto Cal’s head, flashlight shining, BD suggests that if Cal wants to use up all his energy on worrying about it, maybe next time he could do it in the garden, instead of taking a dive off a cliff?

Cal chuckles. “I’m happy to skip the cliff diving.” He glances up, gauges the distance. “Can’t believe I didn’t break anything. Maybe we don’t tell anyone about this?”

BD is noncommittal. He needs blackmail material.

“I don’t have to give you oil baths.”

Cal’s secret is safe with BD.

By the time they return to the Outpost, dawn is breaking and Greez waits for them outside Pyloon’s with a hot cup of caf and the medkit. He hands over the caf, gives Cal a good looking over, then nods, taking the unopened medkit inside with them.

“You figure out what you needed to figure out?” Greez asks as they walk into the bar.

“Kinda?”

“Try to sound a little less uncertain.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, awe-inspiring, kid. Anyway, there’s some weeds in the garden and Pili wants your help with them. Says you’re the best one to deal with the Spikers.”

“Spikers, you got it.”

“Right, right, and by the time you’re done with the weeding, it’ll probably be time to take a nap.”

Cal smiles. “I’ll give it a go.”

[drewharrisonwriter]

Lifeline - Ch. 5: Out of the Frying Pan

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader, referred to as “Honey” 

Series Summary: After basically being dropped and rejected by every PR agency in Hollywood for being such a huge liability, Dieter Bravo must work on resetting his public image in the most unexpected ways.

Author's Notes: I have been working on this fic on and off for the past year, and this story is a little personal to me. Yes, I am trauma dumping in some scenes lol but I also want to say that there will be so many unrealistic things about Hollywood, actors, and PR/Marketing agencies here, to which I apologize.

Warnings: Angst, a little drama, lots of flashbacks. More warnings to come as the story progresses.

Read this on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dieter spent the rest of the weekend drifting through his spacious Sherman Oaks home, a place that now felt more like a cage than a sanctuary. The house was filled with the echoes of a life he was trying—and failing—to put back together. He wandered from room to room, aimlessly flipping through scripts he couldn’t focus on and scrolling through social media feeds that only deepened his sense of isolation. The events and appearances were starting to feel like a routine, but the moments in between were unbearable. Dieter’s thoughts kept circling back to the gala, replaying every second of Honey’s smile and Phil’s hand on her back.

He tried distracting himself with old habits, but every familiar vice felt hollow. By Saturday afternoon, Dieter was staring at his phone, debating whether to call someone—anyone—to break the monotony. But he knew Mitch would hear about it, and he wasn’t in the mood for another lecture. So he settled on the one thing that still gave him some sense of purpose: art.

Dieter had always been drawn to art, sketching, and painting whenever he needed an outlet. It was something he rarely showed others, the way he kept his love of music so close to himself, it’s a space within his own space where he could express all the things he couldn’t say or sing out loud. 

When he saw a post about the weekend art class at the community center where he spent creating Mother’s Day cards with the kids a few weeks ago, he grabbed his keys without a second thought, convincing himself it was just boredom. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, and teaching kids art sounded like a better use of his time than staring at his empty walls, waiting for the hallucinogens to kick in and change him. 

When he arrived, the room was already set up with easels, watercolor palettes, and brushes laid out neatly on the tables. The instructor, a kind-faced woman named Maria, welcomed him with a smile, thrilled to have an extra set of hands. The kids were buzzing with excitement, chattering about the different techniques they wanted to try. Dieter slipped into the familiar rhythm easily, helping mix colors and showing a few kids how to blend their washes for soft, dreamy skies.

“You’re really good at this,” Maria remarked, watching as Dieter demonstrated a simple wet-on-wet technique to a group of wide-eyed kids.

Dieter shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Thanks. I used to do this a lot… it’s been a while.”

He found himself losing track of time, immersed in the act of creating something beautiful out of nothing. The kids painted flowers, sunsets, and abstract swirls, each one pouring their imagination onto the paper. Dieter worked alongside them, his brush moving instinctively as he let the watercolor flow. Without really thinking, he began to paint a silhouette—a figure standing alone, surrounded by warm, soft colors that bled into each other like a hazy memory.

As he painted, the figure began to take shape: a woman, standing at the edge of a field, her back turned as if she were walking away. The scene was familiar, almost painfully so. Dieter’s brush moved more deliberately now, adding delicate touches of light and shadow. He painted her hair catching the sunlight, the faint outline of a red dress that bled into the sky. It was Honey, captured in the soft, dreamlike hues of his memory.

When he finished, Dieter stepped back, staring at the painting in silence. It was both the best thing he’d ever made and the most bittersweet to look at. The image of Honey standing alone, forever just out of reach, hit him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t meant to paint her, but there she was—etched in every stroke, every wash of color, every suppressed feeling he couldn’t let go of.

He took the painting home, propping it up against the wall in his living room. Dieter stared at it for hours, unable to tear his eyes away. It felt like he was staring at all the things he’d lost, every mistake he’d made, and every moment he wished he could take back. He wanted to call Honey, to tell her what he’d made, but what was the point? She had her life, and he was stuck in the wreckage of his own.

As the hours passed, Dieter’s resolve crumbled. He ordered a few lines of coke, the old familiar sting of rebellion luring him in. He told himself it was fine—he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere anyway. He was on house arrest, in a sense, and no one would know. He washed it down with whiskey, drinking until the edges of his memories blurred and the painting became just another part of the wall.

By Sunday night, Dieter was sprawled on his couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind a fog of regret and numbness. He didn’t want to think about Honey, about Phil, or about the mess he’d made of his life. He just wanted to forget, even if it was just for a little while.

–

Dieter woke to the sound of frantic whispers, a dull, persistent buzzing that cut through the fog of his hangover. He blinked against the harsh light streaming through the windows, his head pounding with the familiar aftermath of too much booze and bad decisions. Slowly, the room came into focus—the mess of empty bottles, the painting of Honey still leaning against the wall, and, standing right above him, Mitch and Honey, their faces tight with a mix of anger, fear, and something Dieter couldn’t quite place.

“What the hell, Dieter?” Mitch’s voice was sharp, laced with panic in a way Dieter hadn’t heard before. “What were you thinking?”

Dieter struggled to sit up, his vision swimming. He ran a hand over his face, trying to piece together the night before. “What are you doing here?” he mumbled, his words slurred.

Mitch’s expression darkened, his eyes flashing with a combination of anger and concern. “Your assistant called me. He found you like this, passed out with bottles everywhere. He thought you’d overdosed, Dieter! He thought you were dead!”

The words hit like a slap, jolting Dieter into a clearer awareness of the mess around him. He looked to Honey, hoping for some sign of understanding, but her face was pale, her eyes glassy with restrained emotion. She stood a step back from Mitch, her arms crossed tightly, as if trying to hold herself together. There was no judgment in her gaze, only a deep, haunting sadness.

Dieter’s stomach churned as he tried to stand, the reality of their presence sinking in. “I wasn’t—Jesus, I wasn’t trying to do anything. I just… I just had a couple of drinks.”

Mitch’s voice rose, a mix of frustration and desperation. “A couple of drinks? Look around, Dieter! It looks like you went on a bender. Do you even realize what this looks like? Do you understand how close we were to calling the damn paramedics?”

Dieter’s temper flared, his defenses kicking in. “It’s my house, Mitch. My fucking house! What do you expect me to do? I’m not allowed to go anywhere, can’t see anyone, can’t do anything. I’m stuck here like a damn prisoner, and now you’re pissed because I had a drink in my own home?”

Honey finally stepped forward, her voice soft but trembling with urgency. “Dieter, this isn’t just about the drinking. It’s about what happens when you let yourself spiral. We’ve seen this before—we’ve seen you push yourself to the edge, and every time, it gets harder to pull you back.”

Dieter looked at her, his chest tightening. The last time he’d overdosed, it had been on the set of Cliff Beasts 6, and it was Anika who’d brought him back. The memory of waking up in a haze, surrounded by horrified faces, was a wound that never fully healed. But this—this was different. This was just a weekend alone, a moment of weakness, not a full-on catastrophe. At least, that’s what he told himself.

“And how would you know about pulling me back?” he challenged, his voice dripping with bitterness. “You weren’t there!”

Her voice wavered, the vulnerability breaking through her professional facade. Honey’s eyes were wet, but she blinked back the tears, refusing to let them fall in front of him. She had watched Dieter unravel from afar, powerless to intervene, haunted by every glimpse of the man she once knew losing himself in the public eye. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, knowing you couldn't stop it, feeling every impact from a distance.

Mitch stood there, absorbing the tension between them, and something clicked in the back of his mind. He had known Honey was deeply invested in restarting Dieter’s public image—it was why she was the best at what she did—but the way she spoke, the emotion in her voice, suggested something more. 

There was a history between them, buried beneath years of separation and, what seemingly, to him, sounds like, regrets. Mitch had always assumed Honey’s dedication was purely professional, that she does the same for each client she handles which is why came highly recommended, and maybe she does– but now, watching the two of them, he couldn’t ignore the sense that he was missing a crucial piece of their story.

He cleared his throat, his voice softer but edged with curiosity. “I didn’t know you two... I didn’t realize you’d known each other that long.” Mitch hesitated, his instincts telling him there was more to this than either of them had let on. 

Honey shot him a brief, guarded glance, her professional mask slipping back into place, but it was too late. The crack was there, and Mitch had seen it. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, unwilling to expose the depth of her past with Dieter. It wasn’t something she could explain in a room full of raw nerves and simmering resentments. It was years of connection, of love, of hurt, and everything they never resolved.

Dieter noticed Mitch’s confusion, his own expression hardening as he pushed back. “It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other,” Dieter said, his voice strained. “None of that matters anymore.” But the crack in his voice told another story, one of a man who couldn’t quite let go of what once was.

Dieter stared at her, anger and shame roiling inside him. He wanted to push back, to scream that he was fine, that they were overreacting, but the truth was lodged in his throat like a jagged stone. They weren’t just mad; they were terrified. Honey’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and Dieter could see the pain in every line of her face.

Mitch pressed his palms to his forehead, his voice breaking. “Do you think I want to get a call that you’re dead, Dieter? Do you think I want to be the one to have to tell the world that you’re gone because you couldn’t keep yourself together for one weekend? We’re not just fighting for your career; we’re fighting for you. And you keep throwing it in our faces.”

Dieter clenched his fists, feeling cornered, ganged up on, the walls closing in around him. “I didn’t ask for any of this! You think I’m happy here? Alone in this big-ass house with nothing but ghosts? What do you expect me to do, huh? I’m not allowed to fuck up because everyone’s waiting for me to fail. I’m just a goddamn headline waiting to happen.”

Honey stepped back, her composure finally cracking. She wiped at her eyes, her voice trembling. “Dieter, we’re not your enemies. We’re not here to control you. We just… we just don’t want to lose you. Not like this.”

Dieter’s anger peaked, his voice ragged as he lashed out. “Well, maybe you should stop trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. I didn’t ask for this intervention. I didn’t ask for any of you to play babysitter. I’m not a fucking child, and I don’t need you hovering over me, waiting for me to mess up. I can handle my own damn life.”

The room fell into a strained silence, the air thick with tension and hurt. Mitch shook his head, his frustration palpable but tempered by a deep, unspoken worry. He grabbed his jacket, his voice low but firm. “You’re right, Dieter. You are handling your life. But if you keep this up, there won’t be much left to handle.”

Honey lingered for a moment longer, her eyes locked on Dieter’s, filled with a sorrow that went beyond professional disappointment. She wanted to reach out, to pull him back from the edge he was so determined to stand on, but she knew she couldn’t be the one to save him. Not anymore.

“Just… please, Dieter,” Honey said softly, her voice breaking. “Take care of yourself. If not for you, then for the people who still care.”

Dieter watched them go, his heart heavy with the weight of their words. As the door closed behind Mitch and Honey, the silence returned, cold and suffocating. Dieter stared at the painting of Honey on the wall, its colors vivid and haunting, a reminder of the life he kept pushing away. He sank back onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, the reality of his choices crashing down on him.

He was alone again, trapped in a cycle of his own making, and for the first time, Dieter wasn’t sure how to break free.

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[wovenintosilk]

Here to fulfill a need for requests!

Pavitr X male!spiderman! Reader

The reader is new to the spider society and meet pavitr through gwen. The friendship blooms and so do their feelings for one another. At the end they confess and have their first kiss.

Cute right?

Hopefully you get to think but no worries if not! Have a good day!

Thank you so much for the request! I ended up accidentally making the reader more gender neutral but I hope it suits what you were looking for regardless.

Enjoy!

No Content Warnings

GN!Reader

Word Count: 1300

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

Though you’d met only a few heroes, none really surprised you anymore. They all carried a similar seriousness regardless of their true personalities and most of them hesitated for at least ten minutes before revealing their identities to you.

Except for Gwen’s friend who no sooner landed on the roof and pulled his mask off. “I’m dying,” he complained. “This heatwave is going to end me.”

Gwen laughed. “These suits are awful for the summer. Pav, this is the friend I wanted you to meet.”

Pavitr glanced over at you as though he hadn’t quite realised you were there before but then he smiled, almost stunning you momentarily with how genuine and warm it was. “Hey,” he greeted. “Another spiderman?”

“Something like that,” you agreed though Gwen had kidnapped you on one of your days off.

“Why are you sitting in the sun though?” Pavitr huffed, wincing up at the sky. “At least move to the shade.”

You took him up on the request. Admittedly, you’d been slowly overheating but not wanting to ask Gwen about it yet. The roof didn’t offer much shade beyond a water tower but at least it allowed you to easily find a spot to balance.

Further benefits of having friends who had powers at least meant the laws of physics restricted you less.

“Nobody’s really concerned about their secret identity in this society,” you noted.

Pavitr appeared mildly confused. He looked down at the mask in his hands and shrugged. “Why bother hiding it? Who do you know in my dimension to tell? And even if you do, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Both Gwen and you winced at the familiar words but Pavitr didn’t even notice. He found a spot to rest and tilted his head back, leaning it against one of the legs of the water tower.

A strange fluttering in your chest triggered. You turned your attention away to avoid staring too much; a hidden weakness for people who were ridiculously attractive.

“What’s the plan?” you asked. “We just going to hang out?”

“I’ll give you the tour when the sun stops trying to kill me,” Pavitr said. “Or when something happens?”

Gwen sighed but the familiar smile on her face gave it less weight. “Something will show up. It always does.”

True to her words, the luck of Spiderman never failed to provide a tragedy to break up an otherwise boring day. Your tour of the city came around while chasing after a petty thief who’d somehow built himself a speed enhancer. Honestly, you weren’t paying much attention to him.

Pavitr kept drawing your eyes as he showed off new things in his city. He stopped you so often Gwen grew tired and went on ahead.

For all that effort though, Pavitr remained distracted while securing the thief and ended up taking a solid hit to the jaw for it. You winced when he took his mask off after, not liking how the dark bruise crept up the side of his cheek.

He groaned. “Bro, my aunt is going to kill me when she sees this.”

You laughed and from that day forward, Pavitr’s dimension turned into one of your favourite places to stop over at when you had time. Partially because it was fun but mostly because of the Spiderman guarding the city.

You couldn’t help staring when he excitedly told you about his adventures, couldn’t stop yourself from lingering longer than you should have when the time came to say goodbye. Something about him caught you and refused to let your attention wander anywhere else.

When he asked, you told him you came for the dogs.

It wasn’t until work and responsibilities kept you away for almost two weeks that you realised how much you’d been visiting.

Without being there, you grew uneasy and restless. A strange loneliness hung in your heart without having Pavitr there and you kept wanting to send a message or visit though you didn’t know how welcome it would be.

You were friends.

But it didn’t help you remember when you finished your work and immediately opened a portal to be met with a tight hug.

“Hey! You’re back!” Pavitr wasn’t in his suit, instead dressed in casual clothing that had no right looking so good on him. “It’s been so boring without you here.”

The sudden tackle caused an aching pain through your leg, a reminder of how your work hadn’t run smoothly. You didn’t say anything though, knowing it might end your interaction early.

“It’s great to be back,” you said. “Everything got so busy suddenly but it’s handled now. Did the city survive without me?”

Pavitr grinned. “Yeah, but I nearly didn’t! I was going crazy without somebody to talk to. It’s going to take me ages to catch you up on everything.”

He wasted no time in launching into a recount of the past weeks; walked you through the streets and eventually through an alley so you could swing onto the roofs with ease.

The sun had begun to set as you reached the top. Its golden rays danced through the sky and lit the city in a stunning light. A warm feeling spread in your heart at the familiar sight – more welcome than even your own home now.

“You alright bro?”

You snapped out of your trance to face Pavitr whose stare stuttered your heart.  

“I was just thinking how much I missed this place.”

He hummed proudly. “I know, I have the best city in the world. That’s why I hate travelling to other dimensions. They’re so boring.”

You sat on the edge, your face turned to the sun. “It makes me want to stay forever.”

“Why not? It would be way better than you having to go all the time.”

It had been a joke in your mind but that response made you freeze for a second. “It would be less travel,” you said though it sounded strained to your own ears.

Pavitr sat next to you, closer than he usually did and still wearing that easy grin on his face. “Exactly! It makes sense, right? You can stay and pretend you’re not in love with me even more.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not in love with you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He could be teasing you. It felt like a joke in some ways though when you turned to look at him properly, there was a challenge of sorts in his smile. Waiting for your response.

“Awfully arrogant of you,” you said.

He shrugged but leaned closer in, making your breath stop momentarily. “Nope. I just have good eyesight.”

It would take less than a second for you to close the gap. And you really, really wanted to.

He did it for you.

His lips pressed against yours briefly; so quickly you didn’t even realise what had happened at first. The slight flush on his cheeks was your only proof it hadn’t been your imagination.

The silence stretched and then you kissed him back.

He made a soft surprised sound against your lips, one that went straight to your heart. The slow movement brought a lingering taste of chai. The warm press stirred the fluttering of your heart faster still. One of your hands found its way to his jaw, gently cupping it to allow you to lead.

The kiss remained slow. You didn’t need anything more than the heat of his breath as it mingled with your own.

And when you pulled away, you couldn’t hide the stuttering of your breath even if you wanted to. His golden eyes danced as they fell on your lips and he moved back in for one more short peck.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time,” you admitted. “Since the day I met you.”

He laughed and created a little distance, his shoulder remained against yours. “You should have.”

“Pav, I’d just met you. I think you would find it pretty weird.”

“Nah I’m a chilled guy. I wouldn’t complain if an attractive person kissed me.” He thought about it before conceding. “Though it might be different if it wasn’t you.”

“I’m lucky then,” you said.

The sun sank behind the horizon while you watched, your head falling onto Pavitr’s shoulder.

[parkkiablah]

Fight training (Zevlor x Tav)

NSFW warning!

(Thanks to @ada-melodies & @lolliputian for putting the idea on my mind 👀

I hope you enjoy reading!)

The Absolute was defeated and life was feeling a little more normal again but you still felt the urge to continue training your fighting skills as there would someday be a need for it.

Zevlor had the same thoughts, just because he isn't a soldier anymore, doesn't mean he had no reason to keep up his training, so he did.

He had found himself training almost every morning, most others still sleeping while he dragged himself out of bed, picking up his sword and heading to the spot he trained at.

Honestly he was a little more motivated to get there lately, as for the last few days you had been joining him.

He felt glad to have a training partner that actually put up a good fight. Back when he was a Hellrider and training the soldiers, some of the fights were rather short and boring, his opponents not really keeping up with his skills.

But you matched his talent quite well, the advantage he was holding in strength you easily matched with the quick movements of yours, that often looked like you were dancing around him.

When he arrived at his training spot you were already there, which was very unusual. He was normally the one getting up early and going to train when nightmares had him wake up.

"Good morning.", he said and you turned around. His breath hitched in his chest by the sight before him. Your hair was messily tied up, some strands loosed from the tie and hanging in front of your forehead, your skin shining in the early sunlight and the way your chest was raising quickly as you were out ot breath.

"Good morning, Zevlor.", you said with a smile, arm wiping over your forehead, collecting the small drops of sweat that formed. "I hope you don't mind me on your training spot when you weren't here."

"Not at all, feel free to train here whenever you like.", he responded, smiling back at you then quickly removing his eyes from you as he found them moving over your body.

You gave him a few minutes to warm up his muscles before actually fighting and he was doing his best to keep his eyes off of you as his thoughts were definitely running wild today. Thoughts he knew shouldn't be there for a friend he was training with.

When he was all warmed up, you started training together, swords clashing, steps echoing from the walls and breaths heavy.

Both of you were focused on every step the other did, carefully shifting your weight to not lose balance. An hour easily passed, his shirt completely soaked from the sweat of the training and the sun shining down on them.

He pulled off his shirt when you took a short break, wiping his face with it and throwing it to the side.

You tried not to stare yet failed miserably, his red skin shining in the sunlight, ridges and scars visible on his body and you felt heat crawl into the skin of your cheeks. Quickly avoiding your eyes you went to grab some water from your bag, gulping down some of it while you tried to calm your nerves. 

You had to focus on the fighting, it wouldn't be the first time you lost your training sessions because his body was distracting you and it was starting to get obvious.

He picked up his sword again and you did the same, getting ready for the next fight.

Feet quickly moved towards each other, both of you focused on every small movement the other one made. For a while you managed to keep your eyes off of his muscles, that flexed with every swing of his sword.

Your gaze wandered across his chest for just a second, but long enough for his tail to wrap around your angle and pulling you off balance. A moment later you found yourself with your back on the floor with Zevlor kneeling above your body, one hand on the floor next to your head to steady himself, the other on his sword that was sticking in the ground on the other side of your head.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you stared up at him.

His eyes intensely locked with yours, breathing heavily while sweat was running down his body.

"How is it, that every time I take of my shirt you lose the fight?", he said, his tail slowly moving up your leg, now wrapped around your thigh.

"Let me take mine off and we will see how long it takes until you are on the ground beneath me.", you whispered.

He laughed and stood up, holding his hand out for you to pull you up.

Instead of taking it, you were sitting up, pulling off your shirt and placed it into his hand.

The grin on his face was gone and he looked at you in disbelieve. He wasn't expecting you to actually do that and he was trying his best to keep his eyes off of your glistening skin.

Your shirt was thrown to the ground next to his.

"Lets see if you are right about it then.", he said, going back into position for fighting.

The fight was equal, both of you trying to focus on each others movements rather than their body, both of you equally distracted.

That's until an especially strong hit of him had your sword flying backwards. He was already sure he had won the fight, so his balance was already off. You placed a kick right into his chest, having him tumble backwards. Sprinting forward you kicked the sword out of his hand and used to your advantage, that his balance was off, pushing him down on the ground.

Pulling a dagger you carried, holding it to his throat while you kneeled above his body, your hand pinning one of his wrists to the ground, the other one under your knee.

Both of you breathing heavily again, your hair falling in front of your face and eyes locked with his.

His eyes wide as he looked up at you.

"So, do you believe me now?", you asked, smile on your face, that you actually had won.

"Fine, you won.", he said, suddenly serious while he was looking into your eyes.

You moved the dagger away from his throat, releasing his hands, ready to stand up. Before you even got the chance to lift yourself off of him, he grabbed your wrist, turning both of you around to he was above you again.

He leaned down and hungrily pressed his lips on yours while his body pinned you to the ground.

Your lips moved against his, hands were on his body a moment later, moving across his warm, glistening skin.

His hips grinding into yours and you could feel his hard length through your clothes. You were gasping by the sudden friction of his hips between your legs, which gave him a chance to push his tongue into your mouth. His tongue moving against yours, growl leaving his throat.

His lips moved to your neck, placing kisses and sucking marks into your skin, careful to not actually bite through your skin with his sharp teeth.

Your hands were tangled in his hair, trying to hold him as close to you as you could, while you pushed your hips up into his, searching the feeling of him through your clothes.

He pulled away from you for a moment, looking down at you with an expression you hadn't seen on his face before, his eyes looking darker than usual.

"Do you want me to stop?", he asked you breathlessly.

"No and if you don't start touching me right now I might lose my mind.", you responded, hips eagerly pushing against his again.

He laughed and pushed his hand into your pants, rubbing over your folds, feeling how wet you are for him.

A moan left your lips and your head felt dizzy by the sudden pleasure you felt.

His fingers rubbing against you, skilled hands finding your clit with ease, while his eyes were locked with yours.

He enjoyed seeing the pleasure his fingers brought you on your face, hearing your moans.

One of his fingers pushed inside of you, careful not to hurt you with his claws. His finger moving in and out of you while his thumb rubbed circles on your clit. Another finger pushed inside of you, stretching you slightly when he pushed both of them inside of you.

"Zevlor, it feels so good.", you whimpered, pushing your hips up so his fingers push deeper inside of you. "Please.."

"Please what?", he said. A smile formed on his lips, he enjoyed seeing you so eager for him. "Tell me what you want."

His voice made your body shudder and he felt you clench around his fingers, pulling them out of you suddenly.

You gasped, missing his touch on you.

"I want you inside of me. Please take me."

"As you wish."

He pulled down your pants, revealing your wet folds to his eyes. Taking in the sight in front of him he leaned back to open his own pants just enough to pull his length free.

"Have you been with a tiefling before?", he asked, rubbing his length along your folds, coating him with your wetness.

"No, you're the first.", you said, breathlessly waiting for him to be inside of you.

"Let me know if it's too much.", he said and you felt his tip push inside of you, stretching you in the best way possible.

He steadied himself on his arms beside your face, slowly pushing inside and giving you time to adjust.

The ridges along his length adding to the pleasure and you bucked your hips impatiently. He pushed your hips back down, holding them still.

"Patience, my dear.", he whispered in your ear, pushing further into you, teasingly slow.

You couldn't help but whimper when he was finally fully inside of you, fitting into you perfectly.

He placed a kiss under your ear, tongue moving over your skin while he pulled his length out of you slowly.

Your fingers were digging into his shoulders, trying to get him to hurry up, aching for the pleasure he could give you.

He started thrusting into you slowly, gently and you felt every ridge on his length sliding back into you. His breaths turned into moans and growls next to your ear.

Both of his hands were still next to your head, yet you still felt something rub on your clit. Looking down you noticed his tail had curled around his body, pressing onto you in slow, teasing circles.

"Gods, you make me feel so good.", you moaned, eyes closing and enjoying the feeling of him inside of you.

"I'll make you feel even better.", he said, thrusting into you faster and placing kisses along your neck.

You let out a surprised yelp by the sudden change, your moans echoing through the air.

His tail continued rubbing on your clit and you started to feel dizzy.

"Zevlor, I'm close.."

His thrusts got harder, his length pushing into you quickly and he felt your body starting to shiver.

You clenched around his length, body shuddering underneath him and short quick moans and gasps reached his ears.

His thrusts slowed when he reached his own climax, growls mixing with your moans as he spilled inside of you.

You pulled his face to you, his lips on yours in a sloppy, wet kiss, both of you still coming down from your pleasure, both of you breathing heavily.

His thrusts stilled and he rested part of his weight on you.

"We should train like this more often.", he said, a quiet laugh heard on his voice.

"I wouldn't dare complain about that.", you replied and a sigh leaving your lips.

[star-struck01]

Hot-Headed Chicken

You make Hawks mad by eating something of his and he realizes he's being stupid

Masterlist

(Not my photo)

Keigo "Hawks" Takami x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1781

Written:12/09/2020

Edited: 05/23/2023

"Y/N!!!!" Your name vibrated through the halls, and pictures actually shook against the walls. You turned your head in the direction where the booming voice came from. Frowning slightly, you yelled back just as loudly. 

"WHAT?!?!" You were currently sitting in the living room watching some crappy TV show that held most of your attention, but with the ever-growing sounds of heavy footsteps getting closer, your attention started to drift. You snapped back to reality when a body blocked your vision of the couples that wouldn't last a week if it wasn't filmed. You glanced up to see bright red feathers slightly ruffled and an angry No. 2 hero glaring down at you. You tilted your head to the side with an eyebrow raised, as if saying, "Go on," with your body.

"Did you eat my chicken nuggets?" He visibly seethed, his wings raising as if to intimidate you, making sure that all of your attention was on him.

"Oh...yeah so?" You shrugged your shoulders and shifted on the couch to try and see the TV again. Hawks stumbled back from the shock as if you had told him that the two of you were done. In his mind, you just did.

"...So? SO?! Y/N, those were MY chicken nuggets, and YOU ate them." He looked at you bewildered, and you looked right back at him, trying to figure out why he was so upset.

"Okay, okay, I’m sorry, they weren't with your stuff in the fridge, so I assumed they were leftovers from last night." You shifted a little on the couch from his  glare, the intensity making you feel a little uncomfortable.

"I was saving them for later!" He turned his head away, groaning and rubbing his hands down his face, his head already pounding because of an earlier villain fight that probably resulted in him gaining a concussion. "Jesus, don’t you ever think about anyone but yourself?" He glared at you with annoyance and irritation through the corner of his eye. The second that sentence left his mouth, he quickly realized his mistake and snapped his head over to you just in time to catch the look of pure shock and hurt on your face. Because his statement was wrong, all you did was think of others; you were the sweetest person he knew and always gave people a second chance if they deserved it. Tears began to roll down your cheeks, and you looked away as you quickly wiped at them. "Wait, kid, I didn’t mean it!" Keigo got down on his knees and shuffled closer, quickly trying to apologize for what he said.

"Keigo…" You stood up, keeping your eyes trained on anywhere but him. He gulped and began to prepare himself for the absolute worst as you started walking to the entryway. "You started this over chicken nuggets. Which, might I add, you could have easily made or bought more of, but instead you threw a fit because I ate six measly chicken nuggets. And I don't think of anyone but myself? Try again." You look over your shoulder at him with tears slowly running down your face. Scoffing as you grabbed your coat and slid your shoes on, you snatched your bag that had your keys, ID, and other necessities off the floor, muttering something about him being immature. He quickly rushed after you, but you turned around completely to glare at him. "I’m going to stay somewhere else until you can learn to man up and not act like a 5-year-old. If I wanted to hang out with children, I would have gone to the nearby preschool. Goodbye Keigo" You opened the door and left without Keigo getting a word in or trying to persuade you to stay. He made his way slowly back to the couch and sat down where you were just occupying it. Looking at the TV where the crappy show was still playing, he watched it for a bit, letting it distract him just a little before his mind wandered back to you. He thought of what he could do to make you come back, but he just kept coming up empty-handed, and after a couple of minutes, he fell asleep, missing you and regretting what he did.

Months had passed since your fight, and Keigo was dying without you. He's just being dramatic, though; it's only been two days since your fight, and he's wallowing in self-pity and missing you greatly. You were missing him just as much, but you were still waiting for an apology that the other couldn’t find the words for. Keigo's days off were over, and he had to go back to work. Instead of flying, he decided to walk since flying seemed pointless without you, as you were his metaphorical wings, holding him up when things got bad. So he walked, and he walked right by Midoriya, who stopped walking and turned around, confused as to why he'd see the No. 2 walking while he was on his way to school. Maybe it was a wing fracture? It didn't matter; he just had to stop the hero, so he moved in front of Hawks, successfully stopping him so he could ask him what was wrong if he was walking. Surprised, Keigo looked down at the green-haired OFA user. "I...It's nothing of your concern." He walked around him and continued walking before the short boy moved in front of him again, looking at him pointedly. Hawks sighed and tilted his head side to side as if weighing the options before telling Midoriya, "Fine, I got into a fight with my partner over something stupid. Are you happy now?" He glared slightly at Midoriya, who, in turn, just shook his head, waiting for him to give him more information. "Jesus, okay, it was over them eating chicken nuggets that were mine. It happened a couple of days ago." He looked down, disappointed in himself.

"You fought over that?!" Midoriya was bewildered; the No. 2 hero fought over something as little as who ate who's chicken nuggets. Hawks gave the boy a disappointed nod. "And it's been two days? How are you going to make it up to them after that?" Midoriya asked with a raised eyebrow, all while tilting his head.

"I don’t know yet." Hawks rubbed his lower face and looked away from Midoriya so he co

uldn’t see how embarrassed he was, but he didn’t have to because Midoriya could practically see the embarrassment and disappointment seeping off of Keigo in waves.

"I mean, just an idea; you could always apologize to them with something they like. Works with most couples, but that doesn't mean you should buy back their forgiveness." The little OFA user glared slightly at the older man, and just as Hawks’ eyes lit up, he rushed home, yelling thank you to the now very late schoolboy.

An hour later, Hawks began to put his plan into action; he would "bump" into you on your way to work and apologize to you with a gift you hopefully liked. He stealthily walked in the direction of your work just as you were headed towards the entrance. Keigo hid the gift behind his back and rushed over to you, using his wings to propel him faster. He moved in front of you and spread his wings out so you couldn't go by him and his stupid big firetruck-red wings. "Y/N, please listen to me!"

It took a second for your brain to catch up, but once it did, you looked him right in the eyes with a slight glare. "What do you want, Hawks? Are you finally here to apologize?" You questioned him with a slight annoyance.

"Yes! Exactly! I wanted to come apologize to you, Y/N." He grabbed your hand with his free hand, the other still behind his back. You remembered how those hands would encircle your waist when you were cuddling on the couch after a long day of work, watching those crappy TV shows that you both loved to make fun of. You shook yourself of the thought and sighed before looking up and waiting for him to continue. The people around you looked at the sight of the No. 2 hero, and you, Hawks, didn't hide your relationship. You could practically see the shared thought above their heads: "What is he apologizing for?" You focused back on Hawks as he smiled awkwardly. What a funny sight to see the pretty boy No. 2 hero looking awkward. "I’m so sorry, sunshine. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you for such a stupid thing as eating my chicken nuggets."

You sigh and tilt your head side to side as if weighing the options, which he picked up from you. You look back up at him, looking hurt. "I don’t know Hawks; you really hurt my feelings the other day over that." He begins to rub his thumb over your knuckles as a nervous tic, thinking of what to say next without making you mad or before you leave.

"N/N, please let me make it up to you." He began kneeling and moving the hand that was behind his back into view. Everyone in the vicinity who was watching the two interact gasped and began to film the pair. You lean back slightly, shocked and thinking the same thing as everyone else: you were going to be proposed to as an apology. That was until you saw what he was holding. You burst out laughing just as Hawks pulled out a box of chicken nuggets and held it out to you. You pulled him to a stand and wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him a long and passionate kiss.

You're still laughing as you finally part for air. You smile widely. "I could never stay mad at you forever, you birdbrain." The crowd is cheering and laughing at how you two show affection. Despite how stupid this fight was, Keigo was yours and you were his, and the two of you weren't parting for a long time.

"Hey kid, why don’t we go back home and watch some crappy TV shows? We'll call in sick." He says this as he pulls you closer, and you nod your head as you hold onto him tightly. He picks you up bridal style and takes off into the air in the direction of your house. The wind is flowing through both of your hairs as he looks down and smiles at you. "I love you, "Y/N."

You smile back at him and lean up slightly to kiss his cheek. "I love you too, Keigo."

[dittanyinbloom]

Fate Aligned

This is a bit strange for me to post here, but it is a second part to this George Weasley x fem!reader fic I made on an old account. Sebastian Sallow heavily influenced me with ideas for a part two. If you want to know why George and reader aren’t going to the Yule Ball with everyone else, read that one first! It’s cute! I promise!

George Weasley x fem! reader. Rated T for a brief make-out session and a few curse words here and there.

summary: You and George manage to lose a total of eighty house points on the night of the Yule Ball which you were not planning on attending because George gave all his money for dress robes to Fred so that at least one of them could go.

(also, the lockets mentioned in this are a little Easter egg for a SebastianxMCxOminis OT3 fic I may or may not be working on called Lover’s Lockets. It’ll probably come out in early summer, but the inspiration to write this first hit me like the Hogwarts Express)

.🍬✨🍬

The younger students that were not able to attend the ball had long since traveled home for the holidays. With everyone else draped in their best and headed for the Great Hall, you and George had the castle to yourselves. The possibilities were endless. Should you sneak into the faculty tower and see what the professors’ rooms looked like? Perhaps you would break into the Headmaster’s office and search for priceless Hogwarts artifacts. Maybe the librarian left the key for the Restricted Section at her desk while she was whisked away to the ball.

Of all the places they could go, George had chosen not only the most boring, most dangerous, but also the most unromantic of them all. Filch’s office was just off the Entrance Hall, which happened to also lead to the Great Hall. Only a couple sets of doors separated the two from being caught.

“Must this be done tonight?” You whispered from behind a giant Christmas tree that decorated the center of the Entrance Hall in front of the doors that lead outside. The Grey Lady was weeping at a statue perched on the upper tier, just a few feet from the door to the Reception Hall where you would find Filch’s office as well as a few stragglers taking a breather outside the Ball.

“They’re candies. We need to get them back and sell them before they go bad. This might be our only opportunity. When else is he going to be this distracted? He bought Ms. Norris a new collar. They’ll both be at the ball.”

“And we’ll both be in detention if your plan goes wrong, which they often do.”

“No, those are always Fred’s plans. Mine work like a charm,” and as he said the last words, he waved his wand and disappeared. The disillusionment charm was something you were becoming to be quite familiar with as of recently. Two boisterous redheads may or may not be the cause of it. You followed in suit, tugging your school robe over your hair and using the charm effortlessly. George smiles at how easily you complied before throwing on his own hood to cover his fiery hair and whispering, his voice low and thick as honey, “Good thinking.”

As soon as the Grey Lady wandered off, the two of you crept up the stairs and peeked through the giant set of wooden doors. The Reception Hall was startlingly empty. The faint sounds of orchestral music looked from beyond the Great Hall’s doors. The display of House Points seemed to have eyes on your back, judging you for your unapproved adventure. You tried not to dwell on the guilt, knowing Gryffindor’s house points would suffer greatly if you get caught.

“Look at that, not a soul in sight. Come on, then. Let’s not waste our luck.”

With the help of Alohomora, the two of you found yourselves in the tiny, dusty space Filch called his office. The walls were lined with cupboards. Knowing the twins had found the Maurader’s map in here their first year, you were sure more extravagant enchantments were stuck inside those drawers, collecting dust and begging to be used. Feeling safe now, you took off your charm and let George see your excitement. He matched your smile and immediately joined you at your side to start sifting through anything and everything.

“Ack!” You let out a squeak and jumped back from the second drawer.

George leaned over you and then laughed at the sight. “Dead rat? Probably lots of those. Ms. Norris does live here too, ya know.”

“Lovely.”

After a few more drawers, you found the familiar, warm brown briefcase the twins had been keeping their experimental treats in. “George, I’ve got them, now we can get the hell out of here.”

“Hold on, look at these!”

“George, really. We should take our winnings and go before someone-“ but the words die on your lips when George pulled the twisted chains of two lockers out of the drawer.

“Lumos,” he whispered to better show off the intricate floral pattern imprinted in the metal. “Think we should have a little reward for our venture, don’t you?”

“I agreed to help you find your treats, but stealing things that aren’t yours, Weasley-“

“Hush. You sound like a Ravenclaw. Always doing things by the book. Pft. Live a little, love.”

Completely derailed and flustered by his nickname for you, you didn’t have the mind to protest him further. Though looking back, you really wish you had. He untangled the lockets and bestowed one upon himself before inching closer to you.

“Be careful!” You whisper yelled. “What if it’s enchanted? Filch must have confiscated them for a reason!”

“Like he stole our taffies for no good reason?”

“He had reason. First years with ten-ton tongues were enough to justify them being taken.”

George flicked open the locket to study it. “Just a compass. Nothing evil about it.”

“Hmph. Well. Fine. I guess. . It would be nice to have a little souvenir.”

“See?“ He gently put the chain around your neck and took a step back, finally letting you breathe only to steal the air right back out of your lungs with his words, “So beautiful.”

The tiny office now felt unbearable. Earlier, you had confessed your feelings for him in not so many words. Whether or not he reciprocated, you weren’t sure. George hadn’t really had much time to respond or even take in your confession before your friends had come back. Since then, you had easily fallen into your usual pattern of playful pranking and chatter. It was easy to forget about your confession until his alluring compliment. The word had fallen off his lips almost breathlessly, a sultry whisper that had your mind alight and playing the moment over in your head.

Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful…

It was all you could think about. Your heart ticked nervously and your skin went warm. Did he really think you were beautiful, or was this just the typical Weasley charm the boys often used on girls, and even professors to get people to do things they wouldn’t normally do. You wouldn’t call the twins manipulative, they just... Okay, they could be quite manipulative, but never with malicious intent. Flirting as a way of buttering people up wasn’t exactly a bad thing. You surely didn’t complain when they used their charm on you.

But that was before you had confessed your feelings to George. If Fred had been the one to say it, the word would have rolled off your back like water without a second thought. George, however, was now in the know of the feelings you had been harboring. You almost felt betrayed in a way that he would whisper a sweet nothing like that so carelessly after knowing where your heart lies. Did he just not care? Had he forgotten in the moment? Or was it somehow possible that he returned your feelings and this flirting was now more meaningful than his usual antics?

“We should go,” you said rather stiffly, immediately hating how rude it came off. In your rush out of the office, you forgot how careful you two had to be going in and found yourself bursting into the Reception Hall without even trying to be quiet. “We should get this to safe keeping and then we can do something that’s actually fun.”

“And what might you have in mind?” Professor McGonagall called out from across the hall. She was standing with her husband who had traveled to the castle for the night to accompany her to the ball. His eyes were soft and kind, but he also had an all-knowing smile that was thrown your way. He patted Minerva on top of her hand that he had been holding and then excused himself back to the festivities, letting his wife deal with her troublesome students.

“I-uh.” The briefcase of candies in your hands suddenly felt hot and heavy.

George’s hand landed on your shoulders as he dipped down to whisper right by your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Piss off-,” you uttered back, elbowing him in the stomach rather ungraciously.

“I will take that.” And with the wave of her wand, McGonagall had the case of candies in her hands. “I would send the two of you back to the common room, but it sounds as though I shouldn’t trust you to stay there until the Yule Ball is over.”

“Professor, we-“

“Ten points from each of you for rummaging around Mr. Filch’s office. And since I think it best I keep an eye on you for the rest of the evening... “ She pointed her wand at you with a curt wave. The fabric of your clothes began to wiggle and tickle your skin, swishing all around and changing color until you ended up in a long ivory gown with golden embroidery. George’s clothes were next to change into an ivory button down with a deep red vest decorated in gold buttons, the same gold as your dress. One final silent wave of her wand, this stroke alarmingly familiar… it was Expelliarmus. Both of your wands floated into her open palm.

That night, George had been wearing his only school robe that was still long enough after his recent growth spurt. He couldn’t afford to lose it, in the most literal sense since the price of new robes had gone up greatly over the holiday season and all of his money had gone toward Fred's dress robes for the ball. The loss of that set was detrimental, even in exchange for these fancy clothes. “But, our robes. .”

“If you should wish to have your school robes and wands back before classes, I suggest you find me after the ball. Now, don’t dawdle. In you go.”

Jokingly matching your professor’s air of elegance, George spoke in as proper of a tone he could muster, “If you insist, Professor, but I must have a word with my partner first.”

“Do not make me come looking for you, Mr. Weasley.”

As soon as McGonagall exited into the Great Hall, George’s serious face turned into a bright and mischievous grin, as if you hadn’t just been caught by your Head of House. He dipped into a regal bow and held out a hand to you

Voice still posh and dropping even lower, George kissed your hand and spoke, “It seems as though fate has aligned-“

“Why are you still talking like that?” You giggled.

“Because it’s fun. You must know what fun is, shall I remind you?” Then he was pulling you in close and twirling you in circles, humming along to the faint music coming from behind the grand doors.

“I think,” you managed out between laughs, “-this is exactly what McGonagall meant when she said not to dawdle.” With all you might, you dragged the boy to the doors where he planted his feet and refused to move another inch. “George, what are you doing now?”

“We can’t go in there, silly. I haven’t even asked you yet.”

Those pesky nerves were bubbling back. You tried to swallow them down. “You’re ridiculous. We’re here. McGonagall’s forced us into these clothes. You don’t have to ask at this point. We aren’t- it’s not like we’re going by choice, I mean-“

Ignoring your endearing mumbling, George gently took your chin to make your eyes meet his as he asked, “Will you do me the honors of being the only bloke you dance with at the Yule Ball?”

“As long as you promise to crash us into all the Slytherin couples with your atrocious leading.”

“That’s a given.” He held out his arm for you to hold onto before walking you into the Great Hall where you were very fashionably late.

Decorated from enchanted ceilings all the way down to sparkling floors, the Great Hall was completely transformed into a winter wonderland. The ceiling was cloudy with snowflakes trickling down, sadly designed to never fall. It was always astonishing how the magic encapsulated the exact look of the weather, but never the temperature. Perhaps the frigid cold of the snow would have been welcome tonight because the hall was surprisingly warm from all the bodies dancing about.

The four center tables had vanished in favor of a large dance floor. The platform professors sat at was being used as a stage for a live band that was currently playing a jovial waltz. The corners of the hall were filled with refreshment tables and smaller, more personal round tables for groups to have a break from the excitement.

You scanned the room for your friends but immediately regretted doing so when your eyes landed on Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet. It seemed you had witnessed a rather intimate moment of Lee kissing Alicia’s knuckles, and then the back of her hand, and then her inner wrist, and then. . You quickly looked away, clearing your throat.

“You’ve got to be joking,” George muttered to himself. He was patting down his vest and dress pants. Turning his pockets inside out, he was presented with piles of sand. “It seems McGonagall transfigured away the dungbombs and fireworks as well.”

“Oh no,” you replied sarcastically, “How ever will we survive?”

“I suppose we will have to dance to pass the time,” George played along as he dragged you to the center of the hall. Once there, he adjusted the hold on your hand to one where your fingers were interlocking. While many other dance partners were doing the same, it still felt strikingly intimate, even more so when his other hand landed on your hip to draw you in close. You lightly placed your free one on his shoulder, mimicking a very cordial and proper stance.

You weren’t able to maintain your posture long, because George whizzed across the dance floor at an alarming speed. Your hand had slipped from the feather of a touch in his shoulder down to his bicep where you clung on for dear life. His hand was meant to stay on your hip had snaked to the small of your back, making it much easier to swing you to and fro. How he had managed to step on other couples’ toes but not your own was a mystery.

Actually, it was probably deliberate considering two of George’s victims had been a Slytherin boy from your year and a boy from Beauxbatons that had both previously asked you to accompany them. The true mystery was how George managed to find out who exactly you had turned down so that he could target them.

Then you were being pulled to him to avoid your backside slamming to the Durmstrang Headmaster. There had been no warning, so you stubbled into George ungracefully with your cheek pressing into his chest as you let out a string of bubbly, nervous laughter. The hand on the small of your back had drifted all the way to your opposite hip now, holding you up, but also holding you so tightly against him that you had nowhere to go. Not that you could step back even if you wanted to with your faulty feet.

“S’cuse us,” George slyly offered to the terrifying man as he brisked you off in another direction.

“Sorry!” You had to call to the man over your shoulder since George had you gone in a flash.

George mumbled only for you to hear, “No need to apologize to him. You never actually ran into him. I know what I’m doing.”

“Maybe so, but we did give him a heart attack. And if you’re so aware of your actions, then why did you nearly just have me expelled?”

“All a ploy to get you closer to me.” His hand squeezed your hip for emphasis. “See? I can be quite romantic.”

“Falling into you is hardly romantic.”

“Oh, so you’re falling for me?”

“Did I not already make that obvious?” You had planned to play the words off as a joke, but George’s stiff reaction made it difficult. The tension only worsened when you found yourself at a standstill in the middle of the dance floor. George let go of your hip. You tried to escape your interlocked hands, but George tightened his grip, not letting you step too far away.

“We should talk about that,” George rarely sounded as serious as he did now, and the times when he had were never for good reason.

You winced at his tone. It was clear to you now that George didn’t feel the same. All the dancing and touching, it was all just in good fun. Nothing he ever did was meant to be analyzed. There was no reading between the lines. You were foolish to even try.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry to bring it up. I was only joking.” But the tightening feeling in your throat set in. It broke your heart to lie.

“You responded too quick to be joking, and besides, I-“

“Please, forget it. And forget what I said earlier,” Your voice diminished to nearly a whisper and you looked down at your feet lamely. “-I didn’t mean it, okay? Let’s just go back to having fun.”

George finally released your hand so that he could cup your face on both sides, forcing you to look back up at him. His brows softly pulled together. There was even a hint of a frown across his lips, a very foreign look on the prankster. “You’re an awful liar.”

“I’m not-“ you choked on your words, trying to hold back the sobs bubbling in your throat. “Just dance with me, George.”

“Ridiculous,” he huffed in disbelief. His hand wrapped around your upper arm to guide you toward the courtyard adjacent to the hall. You were still fighting the tears, refusing to let anyone see how much of a mess you truly were.

“You’re here! Brilliant!” Fred popped up just before the two of you made it out, placing both his hands on George’s shoulders to shake him in excitement. This in turn caused George to let you go, so you were thankful for Fred's intrusion. “Let me guess, you saw him run out to the courtyard too? Thinks he’s sneaky, that one. Well, he can’t escape all of us, eh?”

Fred and George did not disagree often, but this was one of those rare times George was putting his foot down. “This isn’t the time, mate.”

“This is the perfect time! What’s he gonna do to us with all these people as witnesses? Bagman doesn’t have the balls to pull something here.”

The name seemed to change George’s demeanor. He glanced at you to gauge your reaction. You knew of the antics Ludo Bagman pulled on the twins at the World Cup. This would be the perfect time to approach him, Fred wasn’t wrong. He just had absolute shite timing.

“Let’s go get his arse,” you proclaimed, jumping at the opportunity to avoid the awkward ‘I’m just not that into you’ conversation that George was no doubt planning to have with you out in that courtyard.

Fred’s grin spread across his face wildly. “Oh, how lucky Georgie is to have you. Angelina is livid I’m doing this. Knew I should have asked you as my date instead. And you clean up nicely too, I mean, look at you two.” And Fred did take a moment to give your dress a proper once over. His eyes landed on the locket around your neck and then flickered to the matching one his brother was sporting. “Now where in Merlin did you two nick those?”

Normally, George would jump at the opportunity to brag, but he was being oddly quiet. You spoke up in his place, “Filch’s office. McGonagall caught us stealing back your candies. She took those, but I don’t think she knew about these. . .”

Fred whistled lowly, clearly impressed, “You two have been busy. And I’ve just been here trying to dance like a babbling, bumbling, baboon!” His McGonagall impression was getting quite good.

You promptly followed Fred toward the courtyard. George seemed to drag his feet behind you. Eventually, you made it to the array of carriages the guests had arrived in that evening. A few groups of people were scattered about, chatting in the fresh air. Goosebumps instantly littered your arms and shoulders, but you welcomed the sensation. It was like jumping in a cold shower after that heated moment between you and George.

Fred wasted no time approaching his enemy with his arms raised in a faux welcoming stance. “I don’t believe my eyes! If it isn’t Ludo Bagman, old friend. How have you been?”

Bagman had been talking to an older, gruff-looking wizard you did not know. They both examined Fred quizzically, intrigued that a student would approach them in such a way. You moved to stand beside Fred, but George had stepped in first, crossing his arms and smiling at the two older wizards as if that alone was a threat. And it seemed to come across that way with how painfully obvious it was that his smile was forced.

George was quick to join in on Fred’s jovial greetings as well, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. When was our last chat? Remind me, Fred.”

“Oh, George, I do believe the last time we saw Ludo was during the Quidditch World Cup. You remember, don’t you?”

“Ah! Yes! I remember that night quite well. We won a pretty hefty bet, didn’t we, Fred?”

“That we did, George. That we did. Say, George, we still haven’t gotten the money from that, have we?”

“You would have been paid if you didn’t cheat,” Ludo sneered.

“We didn’t cheat,” George said through his teeth, immediately offended that he would even need to defend their honor against such a statement.

“You just want to keep the money for yourself,” Fred threw in offense.

Bagman’s eyes narrowed. “If the Weasley clan was known for their integrity, perhaps I would take you at your word. Now, quit wasting my time with this.” He looked to his companion and then nodded for the doors. They both turned to leave. Fred reached into his pocket for his wand, but you caught his wrist.

“Snape,” you whispered as the professor sauntered out into the courtyard.

“Bastard,” Fred murmured. You dropped his wrist, assuming he would put away his wand so as to not draw suspicion. Instead, Fred lifted his wrist and cast the disillusionment charm on himself. The motion was automatic at the mention of Snape. All you could hear was his hushed whisper. “What are you two doing? Let’s go before he questions us.”

George met your terrified eyes, looking rather pale himself. McGonagall had taken your wands. It seemed as though you were going to have to face Snape head-on.

“Fuck it,” George whispered as he grabbed you yet again, heaving you into the nearest carriage. You scrambled in with George following so close behind that he was nearly on top of you. The skirt of your dress had twisted and risen from all the movement. George planted himself on the bench next to you, mumbling apologies for nearly squashing you.

“How the hell are we-“

“Whisper!” George uttered. No wand, no ability to cast muffalo. The two of you would have to wait this out in silence. He pressed his ear to the side of the carriage and then looked very alarmed as he whispered, “Can hear him talking with Bagman and that other piece of muck.”

You tried smoothing down your skirt, but it was tangled horribly underneath you. Instead of offering to help or apologizing for the inconvenience, George merely followed the frantic movement of your hands. His eyes lingered over your exposed knee.

The sheer stupidity of your night was hitting you hard. Your jaw clenched in annoyance. If you hadn’t followed Fred to the courtyard, if you hadn’t made that stupid comment while dancing, if you hadn’t gone with George to Filch’s office, if you had never admitted you wanted to go to the bloody ball with him in the first place. .

“Lift yourself up,” he whispered, elbowing your arm.

You pouted in confusion, but gently lifted yourself up with both palms pressed into the bench of the carriage. George swiftly smoothed the fabric under you, meaning his hands had to skim over your backside and underneath you. Your breath caught in your throat at how nonchalant he acted. Once the underneath was straightened out, he pulled down the top to finally hid your exposed knee.

“Better?"

“You should warn a girl before grabbing her arse, Weasley.”

“I only did it so you’d stop fidgeting. Snape will know someone is in here if the cart is shaking.”

Any response you might have had died on your lips. Images of what sort of actions would make the carriage shake flashed across your mind. Your face felt uncomfortably hot, embarrassed that you couldn’t control the thoughts you were having about your best friend whilst sitting right next to him.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft and sincere, only making you feel more guilty for your own track mind. “I really should tell you-“

“Save it,” you begged. Merlin, you couldn’t hear the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech while you were shamefully thinking of making the carriage rock. You would die of embarrassment if he turned you down at this very moment.

“I don’t want to save it,” he seethed. “Don’t know where you got the bloody impression that I’m going to turn you down but damn it, I said I would have been the first to ask you if I had the money for robes. I didn’t mean that in a platonic way. Thought that much was obvious.”

He sounded cross with you, but his words were a confession of sorts. You studied his features. His hands were opening and closing. He was biting the inside of his cheeks. His eyes couldn’t meet yours for more than half a second before darting to the floor of the carriage.

“You like me,” you whispered in awe.

George didn’t seem to notice you shift closer, too lost in his own demise. “Look, I know I’m a fucking idiot. You said you wanted a night of fun and dancing, the ball gets dropped into our lap perfectly, and I go and ruin it by getting you stuck in a carriage. I’ve been told my whole life I don’t know when to quit. It didn’t mean shite to me until now that it’s affecting you. I got us into this. I should have told Fred to bugger off, but he and I just feed off each other’s insanity and-“

Your hands guided his face toward you so your lips could feverishly crash into him. From the shock of your hold, George’s hands wrapped around your wrists almost like he might pull you off. His entire body shivered from the feeling of your lips over his. It was heated and messy right from the start because his mouth had been open from talking.

George melted into you, matching your fever and even raising the stakes by taking your bottom lip between his teeth. He was being gentle, playful even, but it still had your arse lifting off the bench and rolling onto your knee so you could lean in further to his pull. His hands moved in quick now that the opportunity arose. They trailed down your back, smoothing the dress over your backside much slower this time, deliberately stroking to get their fill before reaching the underneath of your thighs where his fingers shamelessly pressed into your soft flesh to pull you closer until you were dragged onto his lap.

You broke away to gasp with your hands landing on his shoulders to steady yourself. His mouth went for your exposed collarbone, kissing from one shoulder to the next and swiping the chain of your new locket out of the way to thoroughly get every inch of skin. You thought he would go for your neck next, but instead, his lips traveled down toward the exposing, sweetheart neckline of your dress.

The door to the carriage swung open on your right. Professor Snape glared at the two of you. George had not removed his hands from your waist, so you just smiled sheepishly at your potions professor from George’s lap.

“What on earth do you think you two are doing? Out. Now.”

Rather reluctantly despite the ridicule, George helped you off of him so the two of you could crawl out of the carriage. As soon as your feet were on solid ground, Snape was firing off punishments.

“Thirty points from each of you. A week’s detention with Hagrid tending to the Forbidden Forest should be enough to make you regret this awful choice you’ve made. Back to the Great Hall, now.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the laughter threatening to burst out and double your detentions. Snape keenly watched the two of you drag your feet back to the ball. “Hands to yourself, Weasley,” he drones when George had tried to put his hand on the small of your back to guide you. Once the two of you were heading inside, Snape moved to the next carriage to end a different couple’s impromptu snog session.

“That was horrifying,” you grimaced at the thought of facing Snape in your next class.

“Was my kissing that bad?” George mused.

You playfully slapped his chest, “Sod off. You know what I meant. I’ll never be able to look Snape in the eye again.”

“I’m sure he’s witnessed worse. Hell, he probably is witnessing worse as we speak. The others were in their carriages far longer than we were.”

And yet George still managed to look like a complete mess. His lips were bright red, matching the flush he still wore on his cheeks. His hair was staticky and wild, not at all fitting for the ball you were walking back into. You waved him over, insisting, “Come ‘ere. You can’t go back there looking like this.”

A lazy smile plastered across George’s rosy cheeks. His eyes shamelessly studied your serious look of concentration as you tried to smooth down his wild locks. “Think people are gonna know what we did no matter how long you play with my hair.”

His fingers swiped over your collarbone, pressing harder on the red, sensitive spots that were definitely going to bruise later. A shiver ran down your back. You would have to remember to down a healing potion tonight that way you didn’t wake up and go about your day tomorrow, forgetting how scandalous you looked.

“Quit making them worse.” You smacked his hand away. “I can’t believe you did that while I’m stuck in this stupid dress with no robes to hide it. You’re devious.”

“You’re the one who started it,” George challenged.

“Must all your comebacks be childish?”

“You find them endearing,” he teased. “Merlin, can’t believe we could have been doing that ages ago. Do you think McGonagall would notice if we slipped back to the common room to make up for lost time?”

“I’m not taking any chances while she still has my wand. Besides, we hardly got to dance!” You took his hand and pulled him into the hall. “There are more Slytherins that need to be run into.”