#that muscle is beyond broken however

[jennifersminds]

me when i’m left unsupervised

[cosycafune]

THE KING WANTS AN HEIR! SO, GIVE HIM ONE.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

the king is an insatiable man, whose sexual urges know no bounds when it comes to you. however, seeing you naively interact with another family, who’s sheltering a baby, stirs primal urges within him. naturally, he wants to stuff you until you’re broken, pregnant and heavily swollen with his precious baby. after all, the king needs an heir. 5.7k words.

jjk men. acts: unprotected sex, double penetration, rough sex, gentle sex, breeding kink, corruption kink, missionary, excessive creampies, mating press, riding, angry sex, fingering, back shots, spanking, an arranged marriage, sukuna being hungry, sex in front of a mirror, and potentially other acts. masterlist.

jjk men: satoru gojo, toji fushiguro, kento nanami, suguru geto, choso kamo and sukuna. a/n: to that one miserable anon, enjoy. happy three months to this blog. art by sakimenz on patreon.

satoru gojo

«──── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Cornered, pinned beneath Satoru, you gasp. No escape lingered as his knee grinds against your sensitive clit, increasing the embarrassing slickness within your underwear. The look within Satoru’s eyes screamed urgency, longing, need and to obliterate you to satisfy his salacious appetite completely.

“S-Sato’, what is it?” Meekly, flaunting naivety, you question Satoru while battering your lashes – caged by his intent.

Questioned your king, knowing his lustful eyes hold unshakable authority, you obediently succumbed to Satoru’s intimidating gaze.

“I want a royal heir. Now,” Urgently speaking, Satoru furrows his brows – picking at the ends of your regal dress.

“Use me, my king,” At Satoru’s disposal, you pour your deepest desire out – your doe eyes glimmering with the art of corruption.

“As you wish, my Queen,” Toned with smugness, Satoru responds to your submissiveness – increasingly aroused by your naivety.

To think you’d have him take you so quickly, giving him unlimited access to you.

“Show me how much you want that heir, my love,” Intrigued, sculpted by his whims of degradation, Satoru greedily commands you – unsatisfied by the lack of contact.

“A-Ah! Y-Yes, my king,” Steered by Satoru’s knee obliterating your arousal-webbed clit, you subconsciously blurt out your desires – shelving your queen-like traits.

Right now, you’re a beautiful worshipper for him.

“When we’re done, I will get you pregnant,” Devoted, Satoru’s eyes and statement warn you – gifting you a chance to back out before he grows crazed.

“P-Please! N-need to be swollen with your baby, so everyone can… see I’m yours,” Ego-less, you spout out your heart – compelled by Satoru’s knee driving into your sensitive cunt.

“Hm, to see if you can handle it, let me stuff you with my fingers,” Sadistically grinning, Satoru deviously mutters in your ear – biting the curve of your sensitive ear.

“Ngh! I’ll handle it,” Pleading with Satoru, you instantly shudder at his plump lips brushing against your ear – his troubled breaths staining your hearing.

“Be as loud as you want, no one will bother the Queen and King,” Chalant, Satoru gruffly informs you – quelling his deepest urge to tear you apart and stuff you so indecently.

Unfit against the thought of teasing you, Satoru gathers you in his arms – quickness tinting his skilled muscles. Nothing in him could resist your pouty, adrenaline-stricken state. It wasn’t every moment where his satiable queen would remain before him, her regal dress being stained with an intimate scandal – propped up for his greedy sexual urges. All Satoru dreams of is stuffing you beyond comprehension, drowning you out with his cum and riddling you dumb, helpless and dependent.

“D-Don’t hold back, Sato’,” Naively mumbling something provoking, your heart seizes at Satoru’s beast-like gaze falling on you – predatory.

“I’m fine with that, but don’t act as if I’ll show you mercy,” Licking his lips, Satoru grows prideful at his deep tone vibrating against your cuddled self – promoting your power difference.

“Show me that,” Controlled by your taunting, Satoru quickly rushes you towards your tempting bed – shoving you beneath his large, burly frame.

“Ah, be careful what you wish for,” Humming through his lustful speech, Satoru instinctively grabs your exposed underwear – tearing it apart in a hurry quicker than the human eye.

“You beast,” Taunting Satoru with trembling anticipation, you puff out your cheeks – delirious at your bare, slick cunt exposed to the world.

“I’ll show you one, my love,” Buzzing, Satoru pours his lips against your soppy cunt – stuffing his tongue between your writhing folds.

Throwing your head back instinctively, Satoru loudly begins to ravish you – his ample fingers prodding against your screaming cunt. If Satoru buries his celestial fingers inside your cunt, he knew he’d have finally conquered you – as your sanity flitted each time his fingers invaded your cunt. To him, that’s checkmate – prompting his beautiful breeding kink. Seeing you so submissive would alter him, triggering his attempts to leave you pregnant and reliant on him.

Captured by Satoru’s fingers hungrily flooding your cunt, you arch your back – tainted and clouded by Satoru’s invasive presence. Bandaged with every element of him, you pant recklessly. Your cognitive functions are puppets for Satoru’s show, leaving him ruling over your pleasure-stricken body – tearing apart your dress and leaving you nude before you could notice.

A starved fiend, that’s what he is.

“I just want to fuck you,” Hungrily slurping up your obedient cunt, Satoru mumbles – pussy struck whilst he thrusts his thick fingers into your begging cunt.

“Ah! Yes!” Embarrassingly near to cumming, decorated with warmth, you scream without a care in the world – unable to handle Satoru’s fingers and warm tongue ramming against you.

“Taste…so good,” Rutting his erection against your wealthy blankets, Satoru hungrily samples every aspect of you – voicing his love for your cunt.

“‘M gonna,” Warm, extremely dizzy, you glance down at Satoru – arching at his fingers pulverising your gushing walls.

“Quicker you do…quicker I get to put a baby in you,” Satisfied, purring through his sloppy speech, Satoru casts himself into picking up his pace – thrusting his fingers the deepest he could.

“Ngh! Y-Yes!” Conducted by your release, you pant vigorously – unable to control your beast-like breathing at finishing so roughly.

All you could sense was Satoru’s smug expression.

“Now, it’s my turn,” Bombarded with thrill, Satoru casts himself into uttering — using an ounce of his cursed technique to shed his clothes with urgency.

“Desperation has… never looked this good on you,” Grinning, you murmur to Satoru with fatigue — unable to counter the anticipation that lingers.

Unwilling to throw away a second, Satoru cast himself into grasping his cock — running his thick tip against your soppy cunt. Angelicness tints his deceitful features, leaving him a mess — his ears warming at being so close to you. So close to ruining you, moments away from stuffing you with a child — through his fruitful seed.

“‘Need ya,” Hazy, Satoru breathily whimpers — casting himself into rutting his thick cock into your awaiting cunt.

“Hgh!” Crying out, your eyes frantically roll back — consumed by Satoru’s monstrous cock breaking into you.

Gasping, unable to control your array of moans, you grip Satoru’s hand — attempting to control your movements. Being pinned beneath Satoru’s body of an enclosure, you grunt, whimper and howl towards his large cock splitting apart your cunt. 

“F-Fuck! ‘Missed this,” Vanquished by sexual relief, Satoru moans out his sentence — needily shoving more of his cock into you.

“S-Sato’!” Reigned by the king, you’re suffocated by Satoru’s warmth, his essence, his fat cock and his overbearing lust.

“You’re…begging, at this point,” Fruitfully stuffing you, Satoru makes room to taunt you — gleeful at your physique crumbling before his cock.

“Y-Yeah,” Mentally out of it, you cloudily respond to Satoru — being pounded by his relentless cock.

Naturally, Satoru’s a relentless conqueror.

“My…precious, wife,” Fittingly, Satoru picks up his relentless pace — fulfillingly finishing inside of you without an ounce of shame.

“S-So…soon?” Slightly confused, you question Satoru — only to be knocked out of it by his thick cock pulverising you entirely again.

“H-Hard holding back,” Panting vigorously, Satoru lovingly glances down at you — kissing your pillowy lips.

“We have all night, don’t stop,” Encouraging Satoru, you hazily encourage him — trembling at the intensity of his cumshot.

“Of course, I’m not done,” Vouching that he’d ruin you, Satoru beautifully informs you.

toji fushiguro

«───── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───»

Accompany Toji by his throne, on your knees before him, you glance up at him. Naively, you flaunt your doe eyes — mystique and intrigue tinting you. Usually, Toji would never command you to situate yourself before him — nude, degraded and a royal shell of yourself. 

“Is there a reason why we’re both naked, angrily staring at each other?” Questioning your husband,  staring up at his large cock, you settle it between your pliant fingers.

“Because you haven’t given me a damn baby yet,” Furrowing his brows, Toji roughly proclaims his thoughts — gritting his teeth at your hold movement.

“That’s why you were so angry when you saw that family?” Playfully taunting Toji, you plant yourself into circling his pre-cum coated tip — intrigued by his fruitful emotions.

“Yeah, since I’m tryna have everyone see you pregnant and just mine,” Grunting pensively, Toji trembles at your thumb harshly pressing against his thick tip.

“That’s why you told me to strip and meet you in the throne room?” Innocently asking Toji, you flaunt your doe eyes — admiring his twitching cock.

“Why else? So we could dance or whatever?” Angered by your false naivety, Toji snaps back at you — only for his eyes to flutter at each sway of your thumb.

“I’ll dance on your cock, if that’s what makes the kingdom’s moody king happy,” Scoffing, you teasingly respond to Toji — hovering your warm lips before his cockhead.

“First, you’ll show me that you deserve that baby,” Raising your brow at Toji’s demand, you prettily grin, “Then, I’ll stuff you until the kingdom has a damn heir.” Enchanted by Toji’s skilled determination, you admire his vexed expression — along with his rising mouth scar.

“I’ll ruin you, King Fushiguro,” Regally threatening Toji, you allow your lips to linger above Toji’s tip — your warm breaths frustrating him.

“Hurry, then,” Increasing his attention towards you, Toji applies his cursed speech within your ear — eagerly clinging to the throne.

“My, my, my king’s so impatient,” Confidently speaking, you teasingly kiss Toji’s massive cock-head — observing him puddle before you.

“Fuck, woman,” Defeated by your celestial lips, Toji mutters subconsciously — intensely watching you softly lick his tip.

“Hmm, look how desperate you are,” Grinning through your words, you finally cave into Toji — smushing your lips around Toji’s reddened tip.

“C’mon,” Impatiently pushing you, Toji grits his teeth at your insufferable teasing — annoyed at you depriving him of pleasure.

“Patience, my dear,” Resisting the urge to rub your dripping cunt, you shakily mutter to Toji — focusing on him.

Gently, you begin to pour Toji’s veiny cock into your mouth — pushing your head down to accommodate him. Filling your thin cheeks with Toji’s cock, you begin to constantly suck — using your soft hands to stroke his left-over length.

“S-So…good,” Submitting to your intoxicating warmth, Toji blurts out his heart — his fingers itching to throat-fuck a skilled you.

“D-Don’t cum,” Warning Toji, you cast yourself into bobbing your head recklessly — entertained by Toji writhing beneath you.

You always sucked him so good.

“C-Can’t…promise,” Quivering beneath you, Toji gasps at you vulgarly engulfing him — completely stealing his you-tainted soul.

“‘Need it…inside,” Messily speaking, you watch Toji’s flustering eyes — controlled by his fingers gripping onto your prepped curls.

“Give…you… all of it,” Unable to think straight, Toji lazily responds to you — bucking his hips into your mouth without any regard.

“Y-You’re…twitching,” Ruined by Toji inhumanely slamming his hips into your mouth, you plead for air — teary and destroyed by his subconscious pace.

“G-Gonna—”

“N-No,” Pulling your mouth back, you bluntly answer Toji — getting up from your knees and facing him.

Observing an enraged Toji, you cast yourself into wickedly grinning. Grinning before you straddle him on his throne, carrying not an ounce of shame. Shame towards his tension-build self, unwilling to shed the cocky facade you exhibit.

“Don’t act so mad, you want a baby,” Teasing Toji, you accustom yourself into openly taunting him — rutting your hips against his sensitive cock-head.

“I’m taking… control,” Panting recklessly, Toji narrows his eyes while he asserts dominance — grabbing his intimidating cock.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Instantly regretting your words, you cry out as Toji aligns himself — mercilessly sinking you onto his hefty cock.

“O-Oh!” Meeting Toji’s eyes, you naively moan — your eyes painfully rolling back at him filling out your stomach.

“‘M not getting…blue balls,” Satisfied, Toji thrusts so deeply within you — unwilling to give you time to recover from plunging on him.

As petty reparations, Toji manhandles you — grasping your ass cheeks and forcing you to take more. Take more before he pounds into you cruelly, throwing his head back at your strained moans and surrendered state.

Expanding his sadistic tendencies, Toji grins at his cock throbbing effortlessly — taunting your sensitive cunt further. It doesn’t help that you’re foolishly close to reaching your breaking point, never being one who’s capable of handling riding him. However, Toji grows uncaring — kissing against your cervix before he swarms your gummy walls with his bucket-loads of cum.

“Ah!” Yelping at Toji’s hurricane-like cumming, you almost collapse against him — only for him to cloudily chuckle at this revolutionary moment.

“Think…I’d go easy on you?” Barely able to question you, Toji’s enveloped by you tightening around him — embarrassingly cumming from him finishing too hard inside of you.

“N-No…don’t stop,” Engulfed by Toji’s essence, you plead for him to not stop, “We have all day, fill me up as long as you like.” Mentally finished, you continue to mewl and release lewd sounds — contained by Toji filling up your abdomen.

“Hmm, we’re gonna have a baby,” Hazily glancing at you, Toji lowly speaks — granting you a strained kiss.

—

kento nanami

«── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───»

Situated in the kitchen with Kento, you tremble at him pressing against you — pretending to grab an ingredient for you. Lately, Kento had grown increasingly needy — yearning for you around ovulation. This increasing urge haunted you, leaving you his manhandled rag doll. You were always moments away from being folded into a mating press and drilled by him, no matter where.

“Kento, you’re awfully needy,” Calming down your nerves, you chuckle with your speech — accidentally dropping your knife for apple pie.

“I can just…smell that you’re ovulating,” At Kento’s flustered truth, you gasp at his erection prodding against your bubble butt.

“And what?” Bending down to grab your knife, you counter Kento — smearing your cunt against his erection.

“F-Fuck, that…means I’m ready to fulfil our chances of having an heir,” Grunting, Kento trembles while he speaks.

A mess, Kento caresses your bubble butt — gently humping your bent-over state. Absolutely nothing, but your consent, could pull Kento away from your arched self. Fuck, Kento knew you were tempting him — smashing against his erection to provoke him. To push the king into ruining you in the royal kitchen, close to ruining your regal reputation.

“If you can eat me out from behind, I’ll let you fold me in a mating press,” Before you could finish your sentence, Kento already tore your day's attire and underwear.

He’d have to buy you a new pair.

“You damn beast,” Taunting Kento, you attempt to quell your prominent submission — steadying yourself against the marble counter.

“J-Just can’t resist… your sweet smell,” Unable to contain his inner savagery, Kento lightly mutters — hypnotised by your soppy cunt.

“C-Careful, anyone can walk by and in, Kento,” Rather panicky, you tremble towards Kento’s greedy tongue slotting between your folds.

“I’m the king and you’re the queen, I don’t care,” Kento proclaims, arching you further. Comfortably on his knees, Kento drinks up your squelchy cunt — lapping up your strings of arousal.

Whining, erect, Kento’s expression strains at being unable to relish you properly. Therefore, he provokes you — shoving his gluttonous face between your thighs. Even as your legs grow unsteady, Kento uses a large hand of his to keep you upward — facing the royal window and pretending to be calm as people walk by.

Kento could sense they knew something was up.

“Hgh! r-ruin…me,” Fixating on your words, Kento roughens his tongue's pace — burying his fingers into your gentle ass. As if he would go easy on you, especially with your ovulation.

“You don’t have… to ask me twice,” Smitten, Kento eagerly responds to you — content at you growing seconds away from finishing.

“D-Don’t know…if I can! Ahhh!” Crying out, you vigorously cum against Kento’s tongue — overwhelmed and drawn out by the entirety of him.

“Hmm, so sensitive,” Content, Kento comments on your current condition — happily lowering your vulnerable physique to the ground.

“T-Take me, Ken’,” Surrendering to Kento, you lovingly speak — fatigued at his intense eating.

“Of course,” Licking his lips, Kento answers — swiftly disregarding the bottom half of his clothing.

“Can’t believe…we’re gonna fuck on the kitchen floor,” Content, you voice your spirit to Kento. Intrigued, you peek at Kento — quickly releasing his thick cock.

Shifting before you, Kento casts himself into grounding his knees upon the kitchen floor — positioning himself above you. Enthralled by your cunt, Kento casts himself into preparing his mating press — smearing his tip against your fluttering cunt.

“Need all of you now,” Commanding, Kento rubs his cock against your folds — only to plunge into your cunt with ease.

“Ohhh!” A moaning mess, you’re silenced by Kento’s hand covering your mouth — gifting you not an ounce of time to adjust.

“Mhmm, I’ve missed that,” Feral, Kento’s cock frantically twitches — causing him to slap his hips against yours. He fills you with his cock, so deeply within you.

Controlled by your ovulation, Kento presses his cock deeply inside of you — swearing that your sweet cunt is a bottomless well. Heated, frantic and a stupid mess, Kento beautifully folds you — suffocating you with his large cock kissing against your pressured walls. Walls that accommodate him, but choke at the scary pace Kento inflicts.

Kento’s hungry and insatiable.

Thrusting at a might that captures you both, Kento groans roughly — hitting a point within you that makes both of you cum. Cum in a way that doesn’t stop him, leaving him pounding until he gets his royal heir. There’s no way he would stop, even with the two of you against the kitchen floor — so close to being stopped and caught.

The king and queen, huh?

__

suguru geto

«──── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Surrendering to a possessive Suguru, you allow him to toy with your rosy lingerie. Monitoring him, you raise a brow — noticing the angry cloud that contains him. Usually, Suguru’s a content king. Yet, something about seeing you holding another man’s child stirred jealousy in him.

“Suguru, what’s wrong?” Confused, you question your husband — puddling at his fingers gripping your ass.

“I want a baby, but you’re too busy holding random royal’s babies,” Furrowing his brows, Suguru answers you — spanking your ass gently.

It’s obvious that he wanted to go harder. He’s angry.

“Fuck! S-So tell me what you want, Sugu’?,” Caving into Suguru’s spanking, you utter — arching at his harsh slap.

All you can hear is your ass recoiling.

“I want to fill you up with my cum, until you’re pregnant.” Comforted by your listening, Suguru voices his desires — playing with your doe eyes.

“S-Sugu’,” As you try to find the right words, Suguru holds you extremely close — his head resting against your plump breasts.

“I’d do anything to see you so full, pregnant and mine,” Trembling at the thought of filling you efficiently, Suguru harshly blabbers — gripping onto you with no intentions of freeing you.

“I’ll let you, Sugu’,” Softly speaking, you gently push your underwear to the side — noticing the mirror at your side.

“Hm, but I’ve got to prep you first,” Riddled with tension, Suguru informs you — bringing his fingers to circle your tender clit.

“Be rough because… I know you’re angry,” Mocking Suguru’s enraged state, you gasp at him pulling you into his lap — toying with your pierced clit.

“Don’t provoke me,” Suguru alerts you, prodding his fingers against your cunt — passionately kissing your parted lips.

“If I let you, King Geto, we could… have had a newborn by now—” Hazed by Suguru’s clit swirling, you lazily talk — only for your eyes to widen at him suddenly stuffing your cunt with his fingers.

“—You’re always wet, so I knew that’d shut you up,” Relentlessly muttering, Suguru jams his fingers impossibly deep — watching you attempt to pry away from him.

“‘M so…full!” Reprogrammed, you let out an outcry — burying your fingers into Suguru’s carved shoulder.

“Mhm, soon it’ll be a baby,” Hyperfixated on impregnating you, Suguru continues, “I won’t stop until you’re pregnant, flaunting your bump and nurturing an heir.” Suguru’s seriousness causes your heart to swell.

“Yes! I’ll…Yes!” Attempting to get out your point, Suguru thrusting takes away your abilities to speak.

Reprimanding you, Suguru shoots his fingers endlessly inside of you — watching your brows knit together. Seeing you battling his fingers, riddled with pleasure, left the king extremely content. 

“You dare disobey your king?” Teasing you, commending you for trying to govern your pleasure, Suguru pounds angrily into your weakened state.

Suguru knows that you’re one to cum so fast, so seeing you trying to stretch this one motivated him. 

“I-I…No…Fuck!” Trying to control your consciousness, you’re rendered useless.

 Mortified, you finish extremely fast. Your physique grows warm and your legs tremble, deemed useless at Suguru continuing to stuff his fingers into you. Your losing streak had stretched on, particularly from always cumming so quickly when he fingered you.

“Bad girl, guess I have to stuff you in front of the mirror,” Relishing your panting state, Suguru patronisingly speaks to you. 

Naturally, Suguru’s mellow at your ego being knocked down a hinge. With not a word fleeing from your lips, Suguru plants himself into slowly pulling his fingers out of your cunt — sucking them whilst maintaining excruciating eye contact.

Manhandling you, Suguru throws you onto the bed — pushing you into a rough arch. Rough arch before he harshly slaps your doughy ass, delighting in the way you recoil with pleasurable pain. His anger still hadn’t subsided, so taking it out on you — consensually — further aroused him.

“Scream as loud as you can, I want everyone to hear how our heir’ll be made,” Taunting you, Suguru hurriedly pulls off his shorts — only to come back and tear at your lingerie.

“Y-Yes!” Obedient, you agree with him — admiring your reflection in the mirror.

Smitten at your compliance, Suguru runs his cock against your yearning folds. Wickedly greeting your eyes in the mirror, Suguru stuffs your cunt without warning — basking in you almost collapsing at his movements. Nothing in him yearns to keep you stable, wrecking you until you’re a pregnant mess. 

After all, Suguru needs an heir; he’s not willing to let this fruitful moment slip from his burly fingers.

“Make sure to hold yourself up,” Mocking your cock-filled state, Suguru rams harder into you — making sure his large balls slap against your clit.

Without further notice, Suguru grips onto your hips — roughening his pace. Content at your screaming, mewls and outcries, Suguru obliterates you with his ample cock — his balls aching your sensitive clit.

“Mhhmmm!” Muffling into the sheets, you admire your tear-stained eyes in the mirror.

“G-Good…” Grunting, Suguru pounds into you without any care — in love with the way your cunt swallows all of him.

Beautifully consumed, Suguru subconsciously finishes inside of you — crushing you with his body weight to solidify the moment. Solidify the moment as you wail with pleasure, accidentally joining Suguru in the moment. After all, Suguru always got what he wanted — angry or not.

If the nocturne turns to daybreak, Suguru wouldn’t care. Even if you’re battered, ravaged and turned inwards, Suguru doesn’t care. He’s ravenous and in need of an heir.

He’d never hurt you, though.

—

choso kamo

«──── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───»

Walking towards the parted bathroom, confusion floods you. Floods you as you listen to tainted grunts and love-stuffed moans. Instinctively pinpointing them as Choso’s moans, you raise a brow with confusion — unsure of what’s occurring.

“Cho’?” Sceptical, you gush out your question — pouring your scarcely robbed self against the bathroom door.

“Mhm, Y/n,” Nonchalantly speaking, you pucker your lips at the lewd sight of Choso stroking his cock — beads of sweet dousing his forehead.

“C-Cho?” Unable to stifle the thudding between your thighs, you meekly call his name — standing before an absorbed Kento.

“Y-Y/n!” Gasping, Choso’s outcries are replaced with slight terror as you’re grounded in front of him — watching him jerk himself off in your bathtub.

“N-Need some help?” Innocently asking a drowsy Choso, you watch him embarrassingly monitor you — noticing your skimpy attire.

“Yeah, but not with me, you,” Gasping at Choso’s aloofness, you gulp — meeting his semi-serious gaze.

“What is it?” Submersed in Choso’s scare statement, you respond — squishing your chubby thighs together.

“I want us to have an heir,” Blurting out his confession, Choso glances at you with hope, continuing, “I know I’m half-cursed, still struggling with human emotions, but I still want a baby with you.” Glancing at his erection, Choso observes you strip — climbing into the large bathtub.

“Fill me with one, Cho’,” Exhibiting your wealthy gaze, you let out a heartfelt answer — listening to Choso’s breathing hitch.

“Baby, I need to feel you tease me,” Almost desperate, Choso blurts out his deepest needs — flooding your heart and head with explicit lust.

“Hm, you’re so cute, King Kamo,” Teasing the king, you gently pinch your nipples — gently straddling his hopeless self.

“Should have known you’d tease…me,” Smitten, engraving your presence upon him, Choso replies — star stricken by your nude figure.

“‘M holding back,” Striving to not pounce on Choso, you lazily purr — grinding against his sensitive cock-head.

“Since when… have you held back?” Digging his fingers into your hips, Choso throatily questions you — smearing his you-deprived lips against your own.

“Never, but…I want it to last,” Confessing, you harshly whine with pleasure. Controlled by Choso’s wavering fingers sowing into your doughy ass, you arch into him — relishing the harsh marks Choso’s bound to plant.

“This is your foreplay… since we just finished having sex?” Mocking you, Choso coolly asks you — his eyes contrasting his tame demeanour.

“Yes, and I’m soaking,” Frantic for Choso’s cock, you mindlessly grind against cum-spewing tip — scarcely having time to respond.

“Mhm, you’re still covered in hickeys,” Attentive, Choso points out the obvious — helping you apply his heavenly cock to your adoring cunt.

“Need to be filled, Cho’,” Clinging to him, unafraid of the sloshing water, you whisper your deepest desire.

Nodding, monitoring your state, Choso plasters himself into descending you down on his cock. However, slightly troubled gasps flee your lips — especially from being so tender. Yet, Choso notices — faintly brushing his toned fingers against your supple cheek.

“I’ll give you everything again, my love,” Pussy-stricken, Choso's breaths become clustered with his promise — his rawest urges rubbing against you.

“I expect…nothing less from my king!” Drowning Choso with your outcries, you begin to entwine with Choso’s pace — bouncing on his cock while he bucks so viciously within you.

Whenever Choso sexually had you, he wouldn’t spare you an ounce of grace or mercy — pulverising you until the angel sang your prayers. Gentleness, whenever Choso’s lulled by your wealthy pussy, was practically nonexistent. Seeing you sit against him, your pretty, perky breasts bouncing, it made Choso lose any grasp of his morals. Morals at seeing you desperate for him, unable to pull away.

“L-Look…at my girl,” Clutching your hips intensely, Choso pushes you further down his cock — lovingly complimenting you.

“Ah! S-Shit! P-Please…get me…pregnant,” Unable to handle riding Choso, you gift him a tender plea — struggling as he heightened his stamina with his blood techniques.

“Mhm, we need…an heir,” Proud of you cumming swiftly, Choso mutters while he increases his pace — gritting his teeth at you strangling his vast cock.

“D-Do…it,” Exhausted, Choso animalistically becomes more consistent with your consent.

Driven by your squelching cunt, Choso fucks into you his hardest. His sacred breaths flee from his lungs, leaving him a pitiful mess — fucking into you until he’s so close to giving out. Choso’s legs are almost close to collapsing, but he pounds into you at a celestial pace until he finally finishes — filling your womb with his precious babies.

There’s no way he would stop until you’re pregnant. After all, you’re ovulating.

--

sukuna.

«──── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you comfortably walk towards your bedroom — sighing to yourself at the lack of your husband. However, as you begin to peel off your towel, you hear your bedroom door burst open. Burst opens in a way that leaves you scrambling, cruelly met with Ryomen’s true form. A form that cowers over you, dismantling the faint light within your bedroom.

“R-Ryo’?” Gulping, terrified, you meekly squeal out your question — entwined with a thudding thrill that greets your cunt.

“I need to get you pregnant,” Straightforward, Ryomen authoritatively speaks — seriousness lingering in his carmine eyes.

“Y-You c-could have knocked,” Bare before a nearing Ryomen, you cover your breasts with your arms — shakily responding.

“What fun would it have been, knocking on our room door for my naive wife?” Boredom slightly tints Ryomen’s inquiry, leaving him plentiful at your flustered physique.

“N-None, R-Ryo?” Suppressed by Ryomen’s lustful corruption, you almost stumble at him overpowering you — his stomach’s mouth chuckling.

“My little dove’s nervous,” Mocking you, Ryomen grins at your nude physique — nuzzling at your submissiveness.

“T-Take me,” Uneasy at being exposed, you blurt out your soul’s desires — fiddling with your fingers at Ryomen’s toned abs.

“I’ll plant a sweet royal heir in you,” Mischievously muttering his plan, Ryomen gently pinches your nipple — walking forward to trap you against your ample bed.

“W-What’s come over you, Ryo?” Curious, you question Ryomen — realising your mistake as he lifts you with a singular arm.

“Not having an heir with you,” Predatory, Ryomen cast himself into voicing his concern — pushing you into straddling him.

“You really are a big baby,” Teasing Ryomen, you accidentally moan at his stomach’s tongue prodding against your ass.

“Can I?” Concealing his primal urges, Ryomen gruffly asks you — longing to gather a beautiful taste of you. Taste before he allows his seed to spread, toning your physique for nine months.

“Y-Yeah, but be careful, I’m still sensitive from last night,” Warning Ryomen, you almost topple at his insensitive tongue darting against your cunt — tearing apart your sanity in an instant.

“I’ll try, but you know it’s not in my nature to hold back,” Countering your need for ease, Ryomen hungrily responds to you — revealing his covetous urges for you.

Simply nodding, secretly yearning for Ryomen to decimate you, you toss yourself into giving into his thick, warm tongue. A tongue that relishes you so inhumanely, conquering you to the point you're craving, ailing and fixated on Ryomen’s tongue. A tongue that has mastered all of the arts on you, swiftly flicking your clit with no regard.

“Mhm, Ryo,” Struck with an unfathomable amount of pleasure, you moan out his name — sticking your fingers against his timeless abs.

“Cum quickly so I can stuff you beyond repair,” Humming out his impatience, a pair of Ryomen’s arms push you impossibly further against his insatiable tongue.

Content with your obedience, Ryomen buries you inhumanely against his tongue — shedding his ropes of care towards your thriving self. Sadistically monitoring, he applies an ounce of his brute strength — destroying your clit with pitiful licks that consume you. Within this form, he had to be careful — ensuring you come out in one piece.

“S-So…close! Ah! Yes! Yes!” Ecstatic, you surge Ryomen’s ears with your mewls — riding his tongue without any regard.

All you were doing was stirring Ryomen’s primal instincts, completely leaving him wanting to devour you — filling you with his two cocks.

“I’ll have to be quicker,” Grinning maliciously, Ryomen taunts you — speeding his tongue at a pace that leaves you weeping. Weeping without any mental strength, tinting with the overstimulating warmth of his licking tongue. 

A tongue that roamed effortlessly through your folds, sucking down on your clit before roaming to overwork other spots of you. Spots that ride Ryomen’s forbidden tongue, clouded and coerced by the sweet physical rhythm that his tongue introduces. A tongue you would always beg to ride, being able to meet Ryomen’s eyes without having to currently sit on his manly face.

Swarmed with an unmissable pleasure, your physique cramps against Ryomen — finishing swiftly against his tongue. Before you could shift yourself, you find your fatigued self shifted lower to rub against Ryomen’s ample cocks — almost ready to soothe his thudding cocks. Cocks that were forced to endure your whines, moans, and outcries without being truly satisfied.

“Don’t act like I wasn’t going to stuff you after you cum,” Expectant, Ryomen fills the ambience with his voice — intrigued by you instantly rutting your folds against his cockhead.

“I-I’ll take both,” Somewhat terrified, you pledge to take both — groaning at Ryomen using both of his hands to align his cocks.

Attempting to composure yourself, you grow soothed at Ryomen’s main arms running against your hips. Running against your hips before he hurriedly sits up a little, giving you room to face his features and steal a kiss of assurance.

“I’d have expected no less,” Sparing you praise, Ryomen slowly plunges his main cock within you — watching your eyes flutter with distress and pleasure.

“N-Never took two before,” Panting, rather teary, you voice your concerns — only for Ryomen to lovingly kiss your lips.

“Hm, you will today,” Ryomen gruffly informs you, aligning his second cock to sink inside your bubble butt.

“S-So…intense,” Furrowing your brows, you’re barely able to speak — hazy and faint as Ryomen descends you down on both of his cocks.

Clinging to Ryomen, you bury your fingers into his tender skin — scratching at his honed muscles. An overwhelming array of fear tints you, but that subsides the moment Ryomen sinks so deeply. The immense pleasure tears your lidded eyes open.

“Hm, that’s… the queen I love,” Cooing, Ryomen stuffs you further —  endowing you with a few experimental thrusts that contort you.

“C-Can’t…” Unable to speak, you just allow your eyelids to flutter. Your pleasure’s unable to be voiced from the intensity of it all, painting you into a state of weakness — attempting to ride.

“We’ve got all night,” Attempting to hold out, Ryomen accidentally cums with both of his cocks — the tempting warmth overwhelming even him.

“Mhm, you’re gonna break me,” Fixed with primal urges, Ryomen animalistically thrusts his thick cocks within you — terrorising and breaking you subconsciously.

“That’s the point, to prepare you for our baby,” Love-strickenly conversing, Ryomen pounds into you carelessly — humming as he has all night to shatter you.

—

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024.

[postmoe]

Moe im absolutely DROOLING at capitano 😵 May I request yandere! capitano preeety plees with a cherry on too 😫😫 U CANT TELL ME HES NOT JUST AHHXJSNSNSN HES SO FINEEEE

im sorry it's been so long life is just UGH i think we all need a bit of capitano rn-

i think i made the yandere a little too subtle but I hope it's still okay-

When you first fell to this world, no one believed you to be an outsider. You were just crazy, a patient who escaped the asylum.

It happened when you were out on a job, your last year of med school and you were doing your practical part, following along in ambulances and assisting paramedics. There had been a building collapse, chaos everywhere, dust surrounding the scene. You weren't supposed to stray too far, it's only when you heard a young voice calling from help did you separate, calling out your intentions to your colleague before rushing through the door with your bag of equipment held tightly to your chest. As you began through the doorway, it was as if an earthquake struck, everything trembling and crumbling. You couldn't believe your eyes, the way the ground turned blocky, a red and black colour eating the sides of your world like an 8-bit transition. Gravity hit hard as you fell through, the broken, wooden floors turning into a faraway city, canopies of trees, rivers, mountains - before you fainted.

When you awoke you couldn't find any injuries that would result from a free fall from the atmosphere, namely death. If anything, you were a little tender in the muscles. You found your med bag not far from you before awkwardly making your way, searching for help.

One lonely night you had approached a group of soldier-like people. They were part of the 'Fatui', which people seemed to fear but what other option did you have? You told them your story, begged for food, and out of pity some had helped you. A lot of laughs came your way, but even so, you sat at a table with drunken fatui and got a nice bowl of stew and bread.

Just as everyone was leaving, you felt a large hand on your shoulder. It was their Captain, who the party under his command conveniently referred to him as 'Capitano'. He holds out a small, woven bag once he gets your attention, dropping it in her hands when you hold them out. It feels like coins - Mora, if you remember correctly, the currency of this world - and regards you with only a few words, "I believe you. However, I cannot help you."

It was the little glimmer of hope you needed. You stored some leftover bread in your paramedic jacket, running after him and calling him to wait, to have a conversation but, he was a busy man. He retreated into a nice looking motel on the outskirts of the city, leaving you to sit outside.

So you did. You waited all night on the side of the road, resting until he eventually came back out.

.

Granted, following an 'evil' organisation wasn't the smartest thing, that's only if the words of the people you've met are to be believed. As of now, they're the only people who have reached out a helping hand, and Capitano, the only one to make you finally breathe and remember that you aren't insane; that this is real.

Still, you keep your distance, following diligently like a lost puppy. "Leave her be," Capitano had said when one of his men asked about you, "She is no threat." Later he would say he was hoping you would get the message to journey on your own, to find your own way.

On a cold night he had saved you, though to anyone it appeared as nothing more than an easy kill. Two hilichurls, you were half asleep, focused more on keeping warm than any dangers. It wasn't until you heard the slash of his blade did you even notice he was there, the monsters leaving behind blood and dust in their wake.

Capitano drapes a blanket over you, "Come." You follow him into the camp, beyond the guards and closer to a fire. He points to a sleeping mat, "If you're going to follow me then stay within the group." With that, he retreats to his tent. You can't help the tears of gratitude as you bathe in the warmth, your sleep the best it's been in weeks.

You make friends with the fatui, it's unanimously agreed that everyone in Capitano's ranks are morally... adequate, compared to other Harbingers. "Don't even get me started on Il Dottore's..." one mentions, and you think as a 'doctor' yourself, you couldn't handle hearing his horror stories.

Eventually, you become part of their medic team, showing them all the fun tools and medications from your world. Even if they don't believe you, they pretend to, and they show interest. You've only cried twice when reminiscing.

A few times you've seen Capitano enter the medic tent, he grabs some bandages and some ointment before retreating to his tent. "Would you like some help?" You ask, not for the first time, and it won't be the last.

His usual response is what comes, "No, thank you."

It's a routine, you like to think he appreciates it.

.

You're not a stranger to violence. During your schooling you saw a lot of gore, it never phased you in the ways it would others. Of course, it was sad, seeing children who needed to have a leg amputated, people being victimised by a violent stranger, you could only do your best to give them the rest of their lives.

War, however, was another thing. Footage does nothing compared to witnessing it, the people you eat dinner with being ripped apart by monsters, other factions of the land getting burnt to death by the power of their gods, or frostbitten and forced to watch their comrades suffer until they themselves succumb.

Capitano scared you, in a way. He was always so strong, so willing to give his all to anyone who had the courage to fight back. It was his way in honour. You're lucky he had a sense of justice, apparently anyone else could have killed you and be done with it. Sometimes you imagine what it would be like if he drew his sword against you, or used his large hands and wrap them around your neck, suffocating you until he saw the whites of your eyes...

He was a monster, but maybe compared to the other, real monsters out there, he was the better option.

Tonight he got hurt, enough to show the blood spreading through his clothes. Wounds and scars were normal but this made your stomach churn. You see a glimpse of a monster claw that he's tried to hide with his cloak. There's a tear in his sleeve as well, showing his long glove underneath.

Nope. You can't just sit by as he struggles, you signed a contract saying that you would help anyone, no matter the circumstance. As he walks back to his tent, you follow him closely behind, your bag in hand. He stops, the flap partially open as he turns to you and says in a strained voice, "I'm fine. Go tend to the others."

You shake your head defiantly, staring into the dark abyss of his helmet with conviction.

He huffs, entering the tent and murmuring, "Do as you please."

His tent is much larger than any of the others, perhaps the medical one only being marginally bigger. There's a fireplace, a desk with a multitude of papers, scattered, used bandages and a large pile of bed wrapping and furs. He takes a seat on the chair near the desk, removing his coat and grabbing the claw, about to yank it out when you slap his hand away.

You waggle your finger at him, crouching to get a better look at the wound, "You're only going to make it worse. Honestly, if that's how you treat yourself it's a wonder you're still alive. Help me get your shirt off."

There's a hint of hesitation in him, though you're only a little sure you see it. Your focus is on pulling it over the claw without moving it too much, it had gone through bandages around his stomach as well, wrapping over his chest, the rest of his body... Look over him, taken aback. His flesh isn't normal, what you thought were gloves was actually the decay of his arms. No, decay doesn't seem right either but even so, there's no life. He lets you take it in, waiting until your eyes look to his mask. "My body is rotten, rotting, still," he clarifies, and you realise that perhaps decay is the right word, it's just a different meaning in this world. "I'm fine," he says again, as though expecting this to be too much for you, "You can leave."

You wonder why the smell isn't so bad, the sweet tinge mixing with a sour after scent. It wasn't the most pleasant but if you're being honest, it wasn't horrible. You put this aside and give him a dead stare, "You're so aggravating. Are you just allergic to help? Shut up and let tend to you."

He sits still after that, leaning back in the chair as you get to work. You tell him when it might hurt, he doesn't even flinch when you're prepared to extract the claw. Even the inside of his body isn't normal, his blood seeming to pulse out than continuously flow, the colour off in a blackish way. You had removed the bandages before, so the feeling of his leathery skin was odd, there was an odd sense to it that you couldn't describe. Darkness? How could you feel darkness?

You're priority is the claw wound, which you diligently tend to, cleaning and stitching it until you were satisfied with the result. You have a gauze left that you wrap onto him, sitting back on your heels to admire your work. "I'll have to check on it twice a day. If you need help bathing let me know, or I can instruct one of your men how to assist you without infecting the wound," you tell him, expecting him to blatantly deny any outside help.

Instead, he changes the topic entirely, speaking lowly, "I still can't help you."

"What?" You ask, mind still on the topic of his wellbeing.

He rolls his shoulders and looks to his tattered shirt, reaching to put it back on, though leaving it open, "To get back home, I still can't help you. You're wasting your time here."

Oh, so that's what he meant. You haven't spoken about it with him at all, and you did have questions you wanted to ask but you're not even sure if you have the mindset to discuss your fate immediately after learning the man you've been following is rotting before your eyes. It feels kinda shitty to bring up your trauma over his. You reach forward, fingertips grazing against the damaged skin above his stomach, wishing you could do something more than than bandage a wound, "Does it hurt?"

"I've had worse, at least it didn't come out the other side," he tilts his head to the claw, and you can imagine he might have a disinterested look by the sounds of his monotone voice.

You laugh, and you're not sure if he's saying that so you don't bring up his skin but you honestly can't believe what you're seeing, "No no, your body. Your flesh. Does it hurt?" You distantly wonder if that little vial of morphine you saved would alleviate it. Would it be a blessing of reprieve or a torture since it won't last?

Capitano sighs, probably the first sign of true emotion you've heard from him, "Yes, it's very painful. I'm used to it, however."

"Does the ointment help, the one you get from the medic tent? God I wish I could just," you frustratingly clench your fist before opening your palm to him, exhaling in sombre, "Take your pain away. I'm a medic in my world, but here I feel really useless sometimes."

You sit in comfortable silence, still crouched down before him. He hasn't removed your hand, you're not sure why but perhaps the cool touch it soothing to him? His muscles tense underneath you, and you only open your eyes when you feel him relax again. You're face-to-face with a strange light from your palm, a swirling breeze like a vortex coming inwards. You freaked out, retracting your hand fast but only getting a fraction of a distance before Capitano grasped your wrist, forcing you to press back against him. It's too late, whatever concentration you had fades, as does the light.

The way his shoulders sag gives a sense of disappointment. "What was that?" You practically whisper, a little scared of whatever just came from you.

He finally relents your hand, leaning back in his chair, "I believe... It's an ancient power. I shall do some research."

Capitano is curt, his head turned to the side and away from you. You get the hint, knees cracking loudly as you stand, causing you to laugh anxiously while you dust off the imaginary dirt from your thighs, "Y-Yeah, okay. Thank you. I'll check in on you in the morning."

Your goodnights are brief, the flap of the tent closing gently behind you.

There's a pyroslinger skirmisher standing guard at his tent, you give him a pointed finger and declare, "If you see him take off his bandages without me, you let me know! I won't tolerate my patients disrespecting my orders."

He gives you a salute, playing along, "Yes ma'am!"

.

Capitano's body is corrupted by the abyss, he's been stuck in a torturous torment of decay for over 500 years. Your heart aches at this, a condition your mind struggles to comprehend but there is one saving grace you both had realised:

You have the power to ease his pain.

It's a form of light that counters his darkness, and whilst you can never truly cure him, you can certainly take the edge off and allow him to rest. Physical touch works the best, a few times now as you're focusing on his ailments has he fallen asleep. Now you provide mandatory rest, it had taken a lot of complaining and arguing but you finally managed to get him to take off his helmet.

"I've seen the aftermath of a person's skull from a violent car crash, I don't think it could be worse," you had told him.

To which he responded, "What is a car?"

Seamless to say, you were correct. If you were honest, you were expecting some sort of Freddy Krueger look, though he certainly didn't meet those expectations. What caught you off guard were the piercing blue of his eye. Sometimes, you had thought you'd caught a glimpse of them through the mask, whenever raw emotion truly shined from the Captain. Now, you know you weren't imagining things. One eyes was scarred shut, though he could open the lid, the eye itself was pale and sat naturally closed. The scar across it took up almost half of his face, his skin partially remained its true colour, though he says its faded over time. The blight that covers most of his body travels up his neck, like twisted vines growing along his cheeks and forehead. His long, black hair remained neat, only a few strands falling forward once the mask is removed.

The tent remains securely closed at the time, your back facing it as you both rest in the furs of his bed for extra security. You hum a song that doesn't exist here as you caress your fingers through his hair and down his neck, circling around his shoulders and along his spine. He rests comfortably in your lap while the light from you absorbs his pain. One of his hands reaches out, grasping your left hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, his own hand enveloping yours like a delicate treasure, "I'm not sure I could ever let you leave now. You should have turned around when you still had the chance."

You laugh, because you know Capitano and you know his values. Even as the alarm bells ring from the way he squeezes your hand, like he'll never let you go, you ignore them in favour of your naivety, "If I left then I would have been torn apart by monsters."

He grunts and rolls so he's on his back. Your smile is awkward from the position he's put himself in, your chin tilting up to lessen the double chin from looking down. His hand now reaches up to your face gently stroking your cheek as he thinks aloud, "So as long as I stay in dangerous areas, you won't run away."

His words are making you feel too uncomfortable, so you flick his forehead and scold him, "Stop being so weird. You've kept me safe this far along, right? As long as I'm here, I'm going to help you." You hold his hand against your cheek, hoping to comfort him with a smile, "Besides, who would I follow if not my Captain? Anyone else would just be a downgrade."

Capitano's stare is as piercing as ever. He takes his time sitting up, shirtless and uncaring of the cold temperature. You much prefer this angle, looking slightly up so you can still meet his gaze. True to Capitano fashion, he hits you with a curveball and says something that catches you off guard, "I want you to sleep with me tonight."

Your face goes red, eyes avoidant as you stammer, "F-For the comfort, right? To keep your pain at bay?"

You think this is the first time you've seen him smile and, if this is his joking tone then... What was everything else? "Of course, for the pain. Why, was there something else you had in mind?"

[kisskuni]

nightmares

↳ how they comfort you after a nightmare [demon brothers x gn!reader]

tags: hurt/comfort, nightmares, mentions of anxiety, reader gets called pretty in mammon’s, descriptions of a nightmare in belphie’s (kinda gory idk), mild swearing

notes: requested by ⭐️ anon! i think i changed the prompt slightly but i didn’t realize until i was halfway through im so sorry ;-; also i knowww asmo can’t charm mc but we’re pretending

lucifer ━━━

lucifer sleeps light. he always has — it was probably a survival skill he picked up in his earlier days against his brothers or something along those lines. this time, however, he didn’t wake up to mammon and satan going at each other’s throats in the hallway.

no, this time he woke up to you trembling and mumbling beside him.

he couldn’t entirely make out what you were saying, but he knew your dream wasn’t a happy one. the way your brows were pinned, the way your hand gripped the pillow for purchase, the slight frown on your lips… it was clear to him you were having a nightmare.

his touch was soft as he shook your shoulder lightly, his thumb rubbing little circles against your skin.

“y/n… wake up.” he spoke, voice rough with sleep but still laced with something soft and gentle.

your eyes snapped open with a wild fear, your grip on the pillow case growing tighter. when your gaze finally fell to him, your eyes soften and the muscles of your body relaxed. it didn’t change the way you panted though, lungs burning with the need to get air in, as if you had just ran miles without actually leaving the bed.

lucifer’s brows pinned, his hand coming up to gently hold your arm. “you’re alright, just breathe for me, darling.”

your eyes slip closed as you move toward him, this time your hand gripping the front of your shirt and you press your forehead against his collarbone. his hand comes up to rub up and down you back, trying to soothe you. he plants a kiss to the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, cradling you against his chest.

“you’re alright, it’s just a nightmare.” he says. his voice is less gravelly this time, but still holds a firm yet calm tone.

you nod, though your body is still clinging to his and your face is still buried in his chest as though he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

if you want to talk about it, he’ll listen. either way, it’ll be a while before he can sleep. he’ll keep casting glances at you, long after you’ve fallen back asleep, making sure nothing else is wrong before he can finally settle again.

he’ll never let you know that, no matter how many sleepless nights he gets.

mammon ━━━

shaking mammon awake because you crying of a nightmare wasn’t something you were about to brag about, but you were doing it anyway.

tears streamed down your face and your hands shook beyond concealment, his name falling off your lips in a soft, broken voice. it takes him a moment to wake up. his face scrunches and a groan leaves him as he tries to get a hold on being awake. however, when his eyes find yours, he sits up quickly.

his hands move to cup your face. the pads of his thumb run across your cheeks, trying (and failing) to wipe away your tears.

his voice was soft and quiet and caring when he spoke. “no, no, no… hey, what’s wrong? you’re too pretty to cry, come on, what happened?”

you try to speak but all that comes out is a broken, unintelligible noise.

he moves to pull you against his chest. his hold around you is tight and sure; not enough to restrict you, but enough to ground you. he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, whispering soft assurances under his breath.

when you finally pull back, worry is still written across his face. “what happened?”

“nightmare.” you say simply.

his eyes soften just slightly, though the worry is still evident. he nods and brings his hand back up to cup your face. his fingers spear through your hair and his thumb rubs softly against the skin of your cheek.

“i’m sorry, are you okay?”

you nod, once again not trusting your voice.

“you’re a terrible liar.” he gives you a soft smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. he’s trying to lighten the mood for your sake, and maybe a little of his own.

despite the circumstances, you give him a shaky, breathless laugh.

he presses a quick kiss to your forehead, before moving to lay back down and patting the bed beside himself. “come on, lay down. we can talk about it, would that make you feel better?”

you take a deep breath and move to lay back down. under mammon’s sheets, with his eyes watching you with such concern and worry and genuine adoration, it’s hard to feel so quick panicked.

leviathan ━━━

you screamed. leviathan screamed. he also almost pushed you out of his bathtub, but that part is irrelevant.

you both lay there for a moment watching each other with wild eyes, chests rising and falling heavily. finally, levi speaks.

“are you… okay?”

he’s not entirely sure what happened, why you screamed, but he figures it wasn’t good. you still seemed so tense and your hands white knuckled the blanket. a thin layer of sweat coated your skin and if he didn’t know better, he’d say you were crying.

you swallow thickly and suck in another sharp breath, still panting. “i had- i had a nightmare.”

his eyes soften. so that’s what happened.

he settles back against his pillow. eyes now filled with worry instead of confusion (and maybe a little fear), he speaks again. “are you… are you gonna be okay?”

you nod, and settle back against your own pillow. a part of him wants to pull you into his chest and whisper assurances into your ear, hold you close and never let you go. but he’s not sure if you want that, if you’d be okay with that, not sure if you’d be offended by him even asking. so instead, he does none of that.

“do you wanna… talk about it?” he asks tentatively.

you take a moment to respond, trying to decide if you should or not. “it was- it was stupid.” you finally say.

he pins his brows and shakes his head. “it wasn’t. you were scared, you’re still shaken up.”

he’s right. you know he’s right.

“okay… yeah, but just… give me a second.” you say, still trying to calm your own racing heart before you tell him about the nightmare you had. you wonder for a moment if maybe the nightmare was stupid — looking back, it was a little odd to feel so scared about, but at the time you weren’t fully aware you were dreaming, so-

his hand comes down to yours, the simple touch pulling you out of your thoughts. his fingers trace simple patterns against your skin, or thrum little imaginary beats, but the simple act is enough to keep your head from spinning.

satan ━━━

you’re convinced satan has some sort of intuition when it comes to you.

he had a habit of knowing when you were stressed, or anxious, or something had rubbed you the wrong way. at first you figured he was just perceptive, but it started happening whenever you weren’t near him, and you just came to the conclusion that it was some silly pact thing.

maybe that’s what woke him up. maybe that’s what made him wake you up. otherwise, he couldn’t really tell you why he woke you up. he just knew something was wrong.

his hand gently rubbed up and down your arm, his brows pinned with worry as he softly called your name. it took a moment for you to wake up, but when you did, your eyes flicked to him with a fear and desperation he wasn’t quite expecting.

his hand moved up to your face, running gentle fingers through your hair. “hey, hey… you’re alright.”

you take a breath and fall back against the pillow, blinking hard as you found your bearings. the familiar feeling of satan’s bed surrounded you, and your heart rate began to slow back down.

“thank you,” you say, though still a little breathless.

“yeah, of course.” satan responds. he pauses for a moment to let you collect yourself before speaking again. “was it a nightmare?”

“yeah.” you nod.

satan hums and falls back against the bed beside you. he snakes his arm around you, halfway pulling you against his chest. he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“i used to have them a lot. i don’t have them much anymore.” he says simply.

“yeah?” you ask, a little confused as to how he suddenly stopped having nightmares as much. “what happened?”

“you.”

asmodeus ━━━

you had kicked him, that’s what woke him up. at first he was a little upset; you had kicked him, after all. but when he saw the way you clung to the blanket wrapped around you and the fearful expression on your face, anything but worry and concern left him.

he tuts at you, hand gently combing through your hair.

asmo had the power of persuasion at his finger tips, at his voice. his charm never worked particularly well on you, not in the magical and hypnotic sense anyway, but he was hoping it would work well enough to pull you out of a nightmare or change it to something else.

he would wake you if he had to, but he knew you’d only be more conscious of the nightmare should you have to wake up directly from it. so he didn’t.

his voice was soft when he spoke, soft hand resting gently against your cheek. “shh… it’s okay, my dear. you’re alright.”

he watched your worried expression. it relaxed just slightly, but not enough.

“you’re alright. you’re okay, everything is perfect.” he spoke. several more assurances and praises fell from his mouth, and though you were asleep, they seemed to have an affect on you.

maybe, just maybe, his charm was working enough.

it took another few moments, but your expression of worry and fear and everything else had changed into one of happiness. a small smile crossed your sleepy face, and you nuzzle yourself against his pillow.

beelzebub ━━━

sleeping next to beel felt a lot more like sleeping on top of him. he was a big guy, and it was usually just a lot more comfortable to lay on him that snuggle up beside him.

(there were two occasions he had kicked you off the bed and you finally decided that you couldn’t crush the absolute beast of a demon under you, no matter your weight.)

but with his arms wrapped around you, holding you close, it was also hard not to wake him when you moved a bit too much.

a few too many flinches and small yelps into the night and beel was awake. his hand traced small patterns up and down your arm as he softly called your name.

when you didn’t wake, he rubbed against your side, this time a little rougher in hopes to wake you up.

it worked this time, and you sat up with a jolt. wild eyes found his face smiling softly at you, his hands still gently holding your sides.

“hi,” he said softly.

you hang your head and take a deep breath, calming your jumpy nerves before you speak breathlessly. “hey.”

he smiled. he gave your side a reassuring squeeze before he spoke again, “are you alright? have a nightmare?”

you nod again, staring down at him. you still wore the same worried expression you had in your sleep. one of his hands moved down to where one of yours was planted firmly on his chest, holding yourself up. he placed his hand over yours, his thumb lightly running across your fingers.

“do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

you seem to hesitate for a moment. he gives you another soft, encouraging smile before he places a hand against your upper back. he pulls you down against his chest and places his arms around you again.

“that’s okay,” he says. “calm down. and we can talk about it later if you want to.”

belphegor ━━━

your nightmare didn’t make sense.

it started off normal, fooling you into thinking you were having a regular day. it was the large creature made of bone and rotting flesh that threw you off.

it was bigger than any demon you’d met, with thick horns growing out of its head and its flesh falling off of its body is chunks. its skin was torn and — shit it decided you were it’s next target.

you tried to run, but there was a wall where the door would be. the windows slammed shut and locked. that wasn’t good.

however, before anything bad could happen, the creature stopped. it turned to stone from the bottom up, and then crumbled all at once. belphie stood behind it.

for a moment you wondered why the hell belphie had appeared in your dream.

“hey, you alright?” he asked, his voice soft and familiar but… strange. his voice boomed around you, but still sounded like it was under water.

oh. you hadn’t imagined belphie in your dream; he was dream walking and fell into yours.

“i’m okay.” you said. your voice felt strange.

“do you want me to wake you up?” he asked. you thought for a moment and then shook your head; you were sleeping fine everything else considered.

he nodded, planted a kiss to your forehead, and dissipated before you.

what the hell was that.

you thought it strange for the next couple of weeks when you hadn’t seemed to have even the slightest bad dream. that was, until you caught a glimpse of belphie in one of them. and then a few more.

it felt strange to be protected in a dream, but maybe that was a perk of being close to the very demon of sleep.

[simp4konig]

Hello, someone forcing Nikto to show his face to his lover... Thoughts?

WARNING! HEAVY, HEAVY ANGST! VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Look at them."

His knees buckled under him, Nikto was kneeling, body subdued and completely overcome with fatigue.

Pain no longer registered in his body, and it more closely resembled a dull ache — like the ache after ripping a tooth with no anesthetic, the gums numb.

Gunshot wounds had torn his flesh, and he was slowly losing consciousness, but he was gritting his teeth with enough pressure to unhinge his own jaw to stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake stay away stay awake.

A sharp yank of his collar forced Nikto's eyes to find meet Zakhaev's, but Nikto was committing your face to memory — your face, not the one of a corpse, or the ones from the photo albums which were burned before his very eyes.

His eyes were drooping, however, and any second now, he thought he would collapse, his body lulling of its own accord as if he was drunk.

But he was not. He was in so much pain that it made him delirious.

"This is your partner?"

Although the statement was directed at Nikto, Viktor's eyes bore into your own. As he smirked cruelly, the scar on the side of his face sneered at you with equal cruelty, the result of his notoriety and violence.

"Talk, dog. Tell me. Don't make me ask a second time."

Nikto was captured by Zakhaev, and was tortured. Nikto was willing to endure unimaginable pain, to be mutilated, to be ruined beyond salvation, so long as you were safe.

And you were. He was certain. He had taken several precautions, searched various locations for the ideal safe place. To keep you safe.

Somehow, your hideout was found. After all the precautions Nikto had taken, after all of the effort, the dedication, the certainty... in vain.

As if the physical, injuries which were irreversible, the beatings, the brainwashing, the everything wasn't enough, clearly Nikto wasn't sufficiently scarred for Zakhaev to be satisfied. Zakhaev wanted him broken. Destroyed emotionally, so that fight, that passion, and that strength would dissipate, and ultimately disappear. Since Nikto was too much of a threat to the organisation, and Zakhaev's plans.

Nikto's eyes were empty, sockets hollow, void of any emotion. Just a void.

Stubbornly, Nikto remained silent, refusing to humour Viktor with a response.

Instead, his heart ached, his gut clenched, his fists shook, and his eyes stung.

All he could do was look into your eyes. Hoping, praying to God, anyone, anyone at all, that you would be spared. That, for disobedience, one of the bullets in Zakhaev's pistol would go straight through his skull, not yours.

That at least you wouldn't have to face death first.

As if bored, Viktor turned his pistol this way and that, observing it with feigned interest...

...

...To Nikto's horror, instead of aiming the barrel of his gun at him, Viktor was walking towards you.

Zakhaev denied Nikto the sight of your face for your last seconds, deliberately shielding his line of sight. Not out of mercy, but out of spite, and to further rub salt into his wounds — which he would later do with sick, sadistic pleasure.

Every single cell in his body yelled, screamed, shrieked at Nikto to move, to lunge at Zakhaev, to throw himself, to do anything.

But he couldn't move. Not a muscle. Fatigue, pain, and numbness had invaded his bloodstream and paralysed his nervous system, rendering him incapacitated.

No bother.

You were smiling.

Tears streaming down your cheeks like rivers, sobs echoing as you sobbed and sobbed until your throat became hoarse and voice was broken, you were smiling.

You saw Nikto's new face for the first time.

Nikto's face mutilated, scarred, and ruined face of the man who you cherished, whose stubbled cheeks you'd often nuzzle your nose into, whose lips you'd kiss.

God. What had they done to him? You could recognise those blue-gray eyes any day, but they no longer resembled ice which would melt at the sight of you; instead, they were empty. Soulless.

Yet, as ruined and mutilated as it was, it was still the face of your Nikto.

Nonetheless, you saw Nikto's new face for the first time.

And last.

As, Nikto's face, was the last thing that you ever would see. Half obscured by Zakhaev's body, yes, and your vision blurred by tears, you still saw it. That was enough.

Before Zakhaev unceremoniously pulled the trigger, and your body became limp. Cold. Your mind at rest, but your eyes becoming blind, denied the sight of your lover forever.

Not at peace, though. You could only rest, since you wouldn't, couldn't find peace. Not after being burdened with the knowledge of what's been done to him, and what's going to be done to him.

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A/Ns

second wip finished!!!!!

from a very fluffy fic to something gutwrenching... you're NOT welcome. you ARE however welcome to publicly execute me if u so wish ❤️ (u deserve at least THAT after reading this 💔)

no tag list bc i thought that this was very heavy and i did not want to tag my moots+followers in this lest this trigger them:(

anyways, ty anon for the ask !!! probably (definitely) NOT what you had in mind... but those were my thoughts 🥲

[yandere-romanticaa]

art credit. // I was greatly inspired by this post by the lovely @yanderenightmare so, I'd like to add my own little take on it, but only focusing on Dabi and Hawks because I'm just in that mood.

The good and bad cop routine is something which would take ages getting used to. The sheer amount of whiplash and pressure which is being put on you on a daily basis is too much, it's too fucking much and you have no time to process any of it as you are forced into this new life without any sort warning. On the few rare occasions in which you are graced with the rare bliss of solitude, you sit at your new home and just think. Ponder. Scheme. You allow the luxury of fantasy to take over your mind - you run out of the front door, barefoot, broken and scared. Bruises, cuts, burns and plenty of other injuries litter your body like a stained canvas, old and used. You could already feel the aching of your unused muscles as they would scream at you to stop, lungs heavy with the need to just breathe you but you cannot because if you do they would find you and drag you back however they damned pleased.

In this fantasy, you managed to escape. The soft green grass touched your toes, the warm sun felt hot but incredible against your tired skin. It felt as though it was giving you a Welcome back! greeting as you would make your way towards the train station, with nothing but a few bucks and some pathetic excuse of an outfit on you. You had nothing but you could manage. Anything was better than being forced back into that Hell.

You let out a long sigh as vivid imagery engulfed you, it felt so real. There you were, out of the country and lost to civilization somewhere far, far away. Grunt and manual labor would be beyond difficult to start with but it was the best possible option as it would give you little to no attention. Besides, it would take ages for your abused body to get used to it, which would probably dock your pay a little but you didn't mind. Oh how perfect of a life that would be, with no one around to bother you ever again. Perhaps in a few years if you felt like it, perhaps you could step foot in a crowd without the paranoid fear of someone peeling your skin off with white hot flames of fury and jealousy.

Dabi's touch became like a second nature to you and you hated it. Whenever he could he would grab you and just press you close to him, not caring at all about any personal space. He was tired and bored, behave and he'll be good to you, maybe. Keigo would proceed to reprimand him for his attitude but you knew damn well that he was no better than the villain.

He too would take you if he had the chance. Frankly, you were never sure what you were more keen on - Dabi's devilish honesty or Keigo's sweet suffocation. Neither option was good but Keigo felt like a lesser evil, something you could manage with a kind word or two.

You couldn't help but to grunt as your eyes fluttered open. Looking around, the apartment was still vacant. Damn it all, you couldn't even fantasize without even thinking of the two.

Oh how happy they would be if they knew that fact.

You could already hear Dabi's satisfied grunt as he pulled you close to his chest, his touch rough and unforgiving. That's right you should be thinking about him, you should be worried about what he might do to you because mercy is not in his vocabulary. Despite his constant teasing and bullying, Dabi was in no mood for games. Sure, he was a sadist who took genuine pleasure in watching you squirm and cry, particularly if it was caused by his hand. His awful burns would take forever to heal, he sometimes wouldn't even allow them to heal. That was his own personal way of claiming you, putting his own little stamp of ownership somewhere visible. As stated, mercy is not something he is familiar with.

A kinder touch is more up to Keigo's speed.

Despite the beautiful wings on his back, the man was no angel and he was not guiltless. He was just as bad as Dabi but his own obsession simply manifested in a completely different manner. Instead of hurting you, the pro hero preferred to be doting and kind. Oh how he ached to touch you but whenever you would flinch away hurt him so badly, but he never put the blame on you. Horrible, mean Dabi was the one who messed you up, which meant that it was Keigo's job to fix you. The blonde just loved to bathe you, his fingers gently massaging your scalp as the scent of shampoo would fill his nostrils, a scent he hand picked in hope that you would like it.

They took so much from you. He had to make it up somehow.

It was during these vulnerable moments where he tried to get you to open up to him. There were times when he managed to do just that and have a proper conversation with you. He stored those precious memories deep inside his heart and he would replay them constantly in his head as he was out on patrol.

He couldn't wait to get home. Did you start to see him as desirable? A person of safety? God he hoped so.

There was no way out of this arrangement he made with Dabi, there just wasn't. It was hard to manage but it had to be done. Keigo felt bitter about the fact that Dabi was the one who spent most of the day with you. Keigo was unfortunately tied down by his hero work and public duties, which meant that he had to be extra careful about his activities with you. He couldn't risk the public knowing about you, it was too dangerous.

As for Dabi, he danced on a strange line of being allowed to do whatever he wanted while also somehow being able to do nothing. On paper that makes no sense but Dabi is just that kind of guy. He can have you for himself for the whole entire day but if you were spotted with a nefarious criminal such as him, he would be in deep shit. He was skilled enough to take care of this whole ordeal but still.

The relationship you have with these two is rocky. It's like trying to pick a rose and trying to avoid the thorns, only to end up getting pricked by an even bigger thorn. No matter where you go, run or hide, they are always there. Not even your own mind was safe.

[exorcqism]

﹆₊ 腹‧₊˚ PISSIN' ME OFF, KINJI HAKARI

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ you purposely piss hakari off. wc, 2.65K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. this is my FIRST time writing for this man so don't beat me if this is inaccurate. ty @5kstxrz for giving me this idea (that’s twin mkay)

␥ tags. drinking, smoking, smut (omg wow), play fighting, female anatomy, etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

it was evident to everyone around that your relationship with hakari was filled with passive-aggressive behavior. even though it was apparent that you both cared for each other deeply, the continuous exchange of sarcastic remarks and subtle jabs made your friends and even strangers concerned about your well-being.

the constant bickering between you two was so intense that people often wondered if you were caught in a toxic relationship that you couldn't escape from. despite the love you shared, the tension between you two was palpable and gave rise to many uncomfortable situations.

hakari was a complex individual who had a penchant for indulging in vices. he was known to be a habitual gambler, a smoker, and a drinker. within his many addictions, he had a charismatic personality that drew people towards him. one of his peculiar habits was to take bets on trivial things, such as how many times you'd would insult him before expressing affection towards him. squeezing his waist, telling him how much you love him.

"you're just full of surprises, huh?" hakari chuckles at you as he kisses your head, returning the hug you had given him. "you still got a big head, though. nothin' can change that."

"like your head isn't bigger," you sucked your teeth before flashing a smile at your boyfriend. hakari would release you and stick his middle finger up at you before plopping down onto the couch, the piece of furniture grunting as his weight pressed down onto it.

once you walked into the apartment, the sound of glass shattering caught your attention. the pungent smell of a joint filled the air, and you could see hakari holding it loosely between her fingers. as you took a few more steps, you noticed a puddle of saké on the ground, which emanated an earthy aroma. the scene appeared to be somewhat chaotic, with broken glass, the smell of cannabis and spilled alcohol adding to the disarray.

as you noticed his tan face go pale, you instinctually reached out with your hand and gently brushed your palm against his cheek, hoping to rouse him from his slumber. however, the moment your skin came into contact with his, you couldn't help but notice how icy cold he felt. you paused for a moment, your hand still resting on his cheek, as you realized that something was not quite right.

suddenly, his eyes shot open, and he stared back at you with a look of confusion and surprise, as if you had just startled him out of a deep sleep. his blonde hair was tousled and messy, and his eyes were still cloudy with sleep. nevertheless, his gaze seemed to bore into you, and you couldn't help but feel a little unnerved by his sudden awakening.

"what the hell.." hakari let out a deep groan as he pushed himself up from the couch, lightly kicking the shattered glass beneath his feet. "hey, when'd you get here?" the male asked with a hint of slurring in his speech. as he looked up at you with heavy, droopy eyes, it was clear that he had indulged in some heavy drinking. the pungent odor emanating from him was reminiscent of a dead skunk, indicating that he had gone beyond his limits.

"just now," you suddenly blinked at the male. hakari, who was sitting in front of you, noticed your sudden movement and scratched the nape of his neck before tilting his head to crack his joints. the sound of his joints echoed in the quiet room as he stretched his muscles, trying to relieve the tension from his body after sitting for so long. "are you high?"

"high off my fever," the male chuckled as you saw the vibrance come back into his magenta-colored irises before pushing himself up from the couch, running his fingers through his twisted locks. "help me clean this mess up, will ya?"

as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of Hakari shuffling towards the kitchen. he seemed to be in a hurry, and you couldn't help but wonder what he was up to. a few moments later, he emerged from the kitchen with a rag in his hand.

you could see the dampness on the rag and could smell the cleaning spray that he had used to dampen it. it was clear that he was on a mission to clean up yet another one of his spills. you decided to have a little fun with him this time and stepped back, leaving him to his own devices.

"nah, you can handle it, i'm sure," you couldn't help but smirk at the other person present in the room as hakari began to clean up the mess. as he went about the task, he paused right in the middle, his gaze fixing on you, eyebrows raised in surprise. hakari had come to expect your help whenever he made his frequent messes, and he seemed taken aback that you were not offering to help him this time. his slitted eyebrows lowered in mild irritation and let his head fall back down to the puddle of saké, continuing to clean up the mess on his own.

hakari let out a soft sigh and spoke under their breath, "okay then." his voice was barely audible as they uttered the words, almost as if they were lost in thought. it was clear that hakari was contemplating something, perhaps your sudden shift in attitude when you chose not to help him clean the saké that was spilled on the hardwood floor.

this continued for the rest of the day. you and hakari were cuddled up together in bed watching a horror movie that he suggested for the two of you to watch together before heading to sleep that night. as you both watched the film, you felt pretty and wanted to take some photos.

despite your efforts to pose for the camera, it was no secret that you struggled with it. with your phone held out in front of you at an awkward angle, you squinted at the screen and kept adjusting the position, hoping for a better shot. however, all your attempts were in vain as your little device suddenly slipped from your grasp and landed firmly in hakari's hand. with effortless ease, the male took the phone from you and began capturing a few shots, skillfully adjusting the angle and focus to create the perfect photo.

"i had it, y'know?" you furrowed your eyebrows as you snatched your phone back from him. though you were being all fussy with hakari, saying how much you didn't really need his help with posing, he couldn't help but notice how enchanting you looked with your face being illuminated by the tv while the rest of you were consumed by the darkness of the room.

"yeah, sure you did." hakari rasped before suddenly pinning you to the bed and kissing you to silence your fussing. his legs wrapped around your thighs while his hands moved up and down your sides, his grip getting tighter as the kiss grew more passionate.

his mouth traveled from your lips to your neck, and back down again, his hand roaming up your thigh. both of you had been breathing quite heavily as he held you down with his body as your lips remained locked together. hakari moved back to your neck, lightly sucking on your skin, making sure he'd leave a mark on you.

as hakari sucked on your skin, you felt him pulling down your sweatpants. once your pants had gone past your knees and down to your feet, he tossed the item onto the floor, leaving your panties exposed to him. before he could slide them down, he paused, making sure to break his pace.

"just to let you know...before this goes any further..." he began softly, his grip on your hips becoming lighter. "i don't have a condom...is that good with you?"

you nodded, "it's okay." your reply was simple and to the point. hakari seemed a bit surprised by your directness, but he had a faint grin on his lips as well.

once your panties were completely off and out of the way, he would toss them onto the floor with your pants and continue his previous process, now using his fingers to explore your sensitive area. when hakari heard your breathing picking up and your whimpering became more evident, he smirked, and his hands began moving faster.

hakari was pleasantly surprised by your response and he began to move his fingers through your gummy walls faster and more confidently after hearing your vocality. his smirk grew as he continued, his gaze locked on yours. after a few moments, he finally decided to speak to break the silence that was accompanied by the sounds of your wetness.

"you like that, huh?" he mumbled to you, keeping his digits moving at a moderate pace, but the speed at which they moved started to slow down a little. you were honestly starting to think that he would never stop.

"you know....i- can't-" you stammered as you tried to speak while simultaneously fighting off your moans of pleasure that reverberated against the walls of your bedroom. you suddenly stopped trying to talk, as you realized that it was getting harder for you to do.

hakari groaned as your sounds became louder and heavier, a blush starting to form on his cheeks. his grip tightened again, and his fingers sped up once more, as he kept his eyes locked on yours then slowing down again. "you like this...yeah?" he grunted out. "tell me how much you like it..."

his tone was a lot more flirtatious now. his hand moved in a circular motion, now adding another digit into your core.

"i like it, hakari," you said breathily, your eyebrows knitting together while you attempted to keep your composure, but it obviously hadn't been going very well for you at the moment. "i love it, actually."

hakari continued to listen to your responses, and his lips grew into a wider grin as he heard your words. his hands continued their pace as well, and after a moment of thinking, he spoke again. "mhm..." he mumbled back. "you love it, huh? good."

his grip on your waist was quite tight at this point, but he was enjoying it, judging by the wide smile that he had on his face. once again, he started to speak.

"aw, you're just so cute," he crooned, moving his hands back down between your legs. "and you're a vocal one too."

as hakari started to pick up his pace once again, enjoying the loud noises you were making. he was almost sure the neighbors heard you. he had been teasing you to the fullest, you were starting to get impatient with him.

"please, i don't want your fingers," you finally spoke up, your breath hitching as you spoke. "i want you inside." your words caught hakari off guard and he was never really expecting you to want anything more from him. in fact, it only made him grin even more as his eyes locked with yours.

"really...?" he muttered, squeezing your waist a bit with each passing moment. "you sure you don't want my fingers, you want the entire thing, huh?"

when you nodded in response to his question, he let out a grunt as he began to move his hands down to get himself in position. the male would remove his shirt and then his pants and his hands were on your waist while your legs spread far enough to accommodate him. hakari was already breathing heavily at this point, and once he got himself into the proper position, he moved your legs over your head as he prepared to enter you.

once he was inside, his grip on your hips became tight. his movement was a bit slow as well, just to start off. he grunted once again, starting to speed up with each passing moment. his breath getting heavy. your arms were wrapped around his body and when hakari decided to speed up, your grip tightened and your nails proceeded to dig into his back.

hakari groaned, digging his hand deeper into the mattress underneath him as he got into it more at this point. his grip on her hips were as tight as could be, as he looked into her eyes, a grin on his face. the feeling of your nails digging into his back and your moans from them were almost enough to make him lose it. hakari was clearly enjoying this, and so he pressed even deeper, starting to move faster with each passing moment.

“shit...” his pace continued to speed up, as he began to breathe more heavily. “moan for me...” hakari grunted in a somewhat harsh sounding tone, but still somewhat flirtatious. despite the change in his tone, he was enjoying himself as his pace continued to increase.

doing as told, you let out a soft moan as your hips started to react to his movements. hakari seemed delighted by your reaction. his smile grew even stronger. now that you were moaning for him, his fingers gripped onto the sheets of the bed and sweat beads began to form on his forehead.

the male moved closer to your face in order to see you better, his hand still moving. he grunted loudly as he moved even faster, the pace becoming almost relentless. he wanted you to feel amazing, but he also wanted himself to feel just as good, so he moved at a pace where they both felt pleasure. this went on for a while, until he eventually felt himself starting to get close.

once he felt himself get closer, he slowed down a little bit, his grip on her continuing to stay tight and his voice becoming a little raspier from all the movement. “you close?” he grunted out, his breath heavy from all of the movements, just as his voice was heavy due to the sounds you was making.

“yeah,” you breathed out, tears starting to form in your eyes from the pressure.

the movements continued on, picking up speed again, and he stayed as deeply as he could get inside of you. his hand tightened again as well, as he kept his pace the same as before, if not faster.

“fuck, i'm so close...” he murmured, grunting once again. his pace was getting faster, and the movements were becoming more repetitive as he grunted again. his hand kept its grip on your hips.

the sound of your moaning and his grunting became quite loud in the room now, as they just kept going at it. as hakari’s breath became even heavier, his hand moved from her hip up to her neck, starting to grab her a little bit to hold her in place.

“don’t fuckin’ move..." hakari mumbled out, still having his hand on her neck as he moved faster. the sounds of you and his breathing, his grunting, and your moaning were all really loud and heavy. you could barely feel his grip on her stomach anymore, as his hand had moved to her neck now.

“fuck... i'm...” he grunted, his voice becoming hoarse. this continued for a few moments more, but after enough time had passed, he finally stopped. strings of white ropes landed onto you and the bed sheets. hakari released another groan and the grip on your neck loosened finally, leaving purple marks on your skin.

hakari laid down beside you, still breathing heavily. he was dripping with sweat and so were you. both having a panting expression on your faces. although he was exhausted from the whole ordeal, a wide grin was still on his face.

"you know..." he started between breaths, still gripping your waist. his body was leaning against yours, putting pressure on you. "you still got a fat ass head...but i really enjoyed that."

"man, you don't ever let a good moment go by," you playfully roll your eyes as you finally catch your breath. hakari shrugged, giving you a goofy smile before kissing your cheek and resting his head against your chest.

"wanna watch another movie?" he mumbled against your body, lightly kissing you and rubbing your slightly bruised sides with his thumb. you put your hand on his head, running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"one more and then i'm going to bed." you said as you pulled the blanket over your bodies. hakari sucked his teeth as if he didn't like the idea of watching a final movie then going to sleep.

"i won't be letting you sleep, then," the male smirked as he grabbed the remote from the nightstand and began to search for another movie for the night.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[writingoddess1125]

Too Much or Too Little

Buggy x GN Reader

Mihawk X GN Reader

Fun Fun Spicy Times~ Starting the new year off with some Spice!

Buggy

18+ Content Down Below!

Must be 18+ to Read!

Warnings: Overstimulation, Orgasm denial, Dom/Sub, Drug use, DubCon

Too Much-

“Bu- ngh!— Much!,” you moaned shakily, your legs trembling as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. Your thighs sticky and bruised from the harsh hand prints on them-

A cackle seemed to echo from the cause of your broken state.

Buggy smirked down at you, Having not stopped this entire time as he plowed into you- His hands detached from your legs a few rounds ago and now keep your wrist pinned down by his floating hands when you had tried to pull away from his thrust to stop the onslaught of pleasure.

The asshole hadn't even bothered to strip himself all the way when he started to fuck you like a beast- having said he got a fun new drink he wanted to test out with you a few hours ago when you'd first walked into his quarters.

You should have known by the look in this clown bastards eyes when he tipped back a little blue vile past his teeth and smirked at you with a knowing gleam.

"Eh?~ What was that Doll?"

The Captain all but purred, Rolling his hips into you deeper- Watching your face contort in a mixture of pain and pleasure, Your legs now shaking from the overstimulation.

You let out a loud cry, his throbbing cock brutalized your insides with each harsh thrust making your head spin, your back arching with unsteady mewls as a string of babbling cries falling past your lips paired with chopped remains of Buggy's name that seemed to boost his inflated ego.

"That's It~ I wanna see you cum again"

The Bluettee growled as he hips began to speed up, Grunting as he trusted deeper- Hissing as he shot another load into your truthfully beyond stuffed hole.

A silent scream ripping through your throat then- specks of white filling your vision as you felt another title wave of a orgasm wash over your battered form. Your body twitching and shaking as the painful high settled through you again- it leaving you a mess of sore muscles and you sure your hole a ruined mess.

You felt Buggy hands leave yours- a wash of relief hitting you as you thought he'd had enough- that maybe you could rest- Till you felt those same evil hands holding under your legs and bring your knees painfully to your chest- Wide eyed you see Buggy almost crazed look in his eyes.

"Let's see if we can get you to come a 9th time!~"

Mihawk

Too Little-

Mihawk calmly read his book, One hand lazily turning the pages as the other held a wine glass he held to his lips occasionally- Ignoring you desperately riding his clothed thigh, Whimpering and moaning in desperation to try and chase your orgasm.

You weren't sure what you'd done or didn't do- however for the last hour you'd been subjected to Mihawk cruel actions.

He had you stark naked, seated on his thigh and told you if you wanted to cum-

You were doing it on your own.

Mihawk glancing up from his book occasionally watching your face- flushed with tears and Biting your own lip to the point of bruising them.

You wanted it- You were feeling like your body was on fire, Every muscle sore and tender from how long you'd been riding him.

His hands lightning fast to catch your hands before they could go down to chase your relief. His wine glass now discarded on the table next to him, gripping your hands tightly- His soiled leg jotting up harshly crushing your sex painfully against him making you cry out.

"N-No Please please!"

A desperate broken sobs leaving your throat as you clung to Mihawk shirt, pressing your face against his neck as you cried wanting your release that had once again been ripped from you.

"P-Please Please! I wanna cum Mihawk please~!"

Your hips shaking as Mihawk easily pinning your form with such ease- Making so you couldn't ride for your orgasm, and having you a mess on him. Making the sensation of pleasure die just enough for you to be stuck in limbo.

Mihawk gave a hint of a smirk, Setting his book to the side again as he released your hands- his golden gaze locking onto your own watery eyes, pleading for that release.

"Start again-"

[scribblestatic]

*checks the notes*

Oh, this one's a banger, I see. Well, let's continue it then.

Part 1 here

---

Shen Yuan inherits Shen Jiu's somewhat broken cultivation base. However, he's got different stressors, and the heart demons don't hit the same. So, surprise surprise, he's able to bring out some of Shen Jiu's cultivation in ways the OG couldn't.

For example, it takes a bit, but Shen Yuan learns the very delicate method of using qi to turn pages. Which, honestly, he didn't think was particularly impressive, but Luo Binghe recognizes it for the absolute skill it is.

Since Shen Yuan confessed to growing up in a world without qi or cultivation that he was aware of, he'd never felt qi before. Yet, within a few weeks of being in his world (after Luo Binghe carefully fed him until his hair stopped breaking off and his ribs stopped showing), he was doing the very delicate work of minute movements with qi.

Shen Yuan's also learning how to write with ink and qi, using the qi to move the brush around. His writing is...incredibly sloppy at first, but the more he practices, the better he gets. It's even legible now, and very slowly easing its way into being elegant!

Other movements, like catching water pitchers before they fall and carefully moving a cup to his mouth are a tad more difficult, especially the heavier the object is. Like muscles that haven't been moved in a while, he has to work to improve, and he throws himself wholeheartedly into it. Even if he's sweating from exertion, he keeps it up until he gives himself a migraine and has to be coddled for a while after.

That said, he can't move himself around. As in, Shen Yuan cannot use his qi to float quite yet. So, in theory, he should have an attendant to carry him around.

However, Luo Binghe is also loathe to let anyone else move him. So, of course, that means Shen Yuan spends almost all of his waking hours by the Demon Emperor's side.

At first, Luo Binghe barely let him leave the room, too anxious about losing his 'nice shizun' to someone else's machinations when they just started getting to know each other more (knowing each other in ways he never got to with many of his wives). And, well, he won't lie. He likes being the one A'Yuan relies on the most for his daily care, even if he does feel regret while using his blood mites to fend off his many little pains all over his body as he heals.

When some of the more vindictive wives see Shen Yuan as a threat to their position, they start trying to send little assassins in Luo Binghe's absence, but he's super safe in Binghe's quarters, able to wiggle around on his bed or fall on soft pillows if he manages to roll off the mattress and onto the floor. Every bit of food that enters his room is heavily regulated, and his walls are warded up to the nines.

After the first three wives face execution, the assassination attempts petter off. They reduce further once Luo Binghe starts carrying Shen Yuan around.

Shen Yuan's robes are made with full legs and arms in mind, so a good bit of them remain floppy and unfilled by any limbs. However, they fit his torso, what remains of his limbs, and his quite lovely face nicely. Moreover, Luo Binghe always carries Shen Yuan like he's precious despite the disability he forced on his body. When he has to set him down, it's always on a soft pillow seat...or his lap, as they get to know each other further.

After all, while Shen Yuan did think himself straight, he could admit that Luo Binghe was beyond the limitations of gender attraction. Of course Binghe was more handsome than anyone else in the world, even when he wasn't at his healthiest. As he grows healthier, it's like the man's practically glowing! How could he not be attracted to that, ha? He's only half blind!

As far as Luo Binghe being attracted to him though, well, that takes some time to convince him. After all, he doesn't see himself as very attractive.

For one, he's a man. But, well, Luo Binghe expressed that he didn't really mind men. It just so happened so many of those he encountered and married were women. Men weren't off the table. And, well...Binghe would know himself more than Shen Yuan would know him, right? Because, well, things are so different and events he never witnessed from the book happened, like finding the 'nice shizun' in the first place. So...perhaps a few other things are different than expected? And, well, congrats, men! They're also viable for Binghe! They can rejoice! He absolutely didn't feel a skip in his heartbeat at that realization!

For two, though, he's in the body of one of Binghe's main abusers. Him not being Shen Jiu wouldn't change that (because he's not Shen Jiu, he knows it...right? Those dreams were just memories to update him on the situation. He didn't do those terrible things to Binghe, and if he did, then, shit, he did deserve to awaken in this torn-up wreck of a body--). Surely he couldn't be attracted to him because of that.

However, when Binghe looks at him and says the way he carries himself is so different, he doesn't see his old shizun in him, that does make him feel a bit fluffy.

And, for three...uhm...ugh... There's supposed to be a third point, surely! They just... He's not a good match! Yes, that's it. He's not a good match for Luo Binghe. He's not particularly powerful, beautiful, or smart. In fact, he can be quite lazy and indecisive, just wanting to read books all day! Yes, he helps Luo Binghe with his work, but that's just a given to help Binghe when he asks for it!

Even if it kinda puts him on the spot sometimes!

"How do you think I should punish him, Shizun?"

The 'him' in question is a cultivator from one of the lingering sects, one who attempted to use the terrible, scalding venom of a Carapaced Scorpion Buffalo to kill one of Binghe's advisors or something of the sort. Shen Yuan hummed a little as he thought.

He was in the body of a cultivator, so surely one would expect him to request mercy for the person. But it's not like Shen Yuan knows who the guy is. Moreover, that poison could've ended up in one of the wives' drinks, or even Binghe's! Although he could heal from it, having a scalded throat for any period of time would be quite terrible.

"Well, he brought the Carapaced Scorpion Buffalo venom to poison someone's drink. Then, if we were to tie him with immortal binding cables, he would be able to experience what he almost forced on someone else, right? Ah, though, let's not cut off his cultivation completely. Though he'll heal slowly, he should be fine in the end."

Of course, Shen Yuan doesn't know the sort of image he makes, sitting on a smaller throne next to Luo Binghe's his seat less ornate but just as elegant and powerful as the Demon Emperor's. Although his limbs don't move, he's using his qi to move a fan and fan himself a tad stiltedly, but considering such oscillating movements are difficult for many cultivators, it's still a show of his increasing expertise.

Despite his clearly maimed form, he didn't hesitate to suggest it as a punishment, though Luo Binghe didn't tell him that the very person the cultivator was trying to poison had been him, presumably out of pity for his condition.

Luo Binghe grins from ear to ear.

"What a wonderful suggestion, Shizun. I think that's perfect."

I think, after a few more incidents and relying on A'Yuan's judgement for certain issues, receiving positive results, he decides to officially marry him. Which, yeah, that really shocked Shen Yuan...but...well.

He can't very well deny Binghe what he wants when he can reasonably give it, can he? Besides, if Binghe wants him despite everything...

Stop that, heart. Stop feeling so swollen with love and affection. His face is too thin for such emotions.

---

I think I'll actually talk about the crowning ceremony if I continue this, cause, like, I am thinking about how fuckin enraged Yue Qingyuan would be upon hearing that Shen Jiu was being named Luo Binghe's empress. Because, surely he couldn't have agreed to that of his own free will.

Yes, it was about time for Cang Qiong Mountain Sect to be more adamant about retrieving Shen Qingqiu, isn't it? They had become stable enough now after the merging of the three realms. Although they suffered many casualties, getting him back would, at the very least, ease their anxieties over how he's being treated.

He has suffered enough. To be made into a fool as some ridiculous ploy to humiliate him... Enough is enough.

---

Part 1 Part 2: here Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11+: links on Part 10

AO3

[fandumb-whimsey]

Scarecrow Leg Observations/Headcanons

aka I thought about it too much and now it's everyone else's problem.

(important note: I am not in the medical field and I learned/looked up a lot of this with the help of Dr. Google)

The leg brace seems like a simple detail which can be overlooked in the larger design. On the surface, it's pretty straight forward: leg got damaged and now needs an orthopedic brace to function. This in and of itself is interesting since the artist undoubtedly referenced actual braces, specifically old ones, to fit Scarecrow's aesthetic:

This is a running theme with him; he seems to favor old, antique items and will repair things (like the use of duct tape or zigzag stitching for tears on his costume) before replacing them, which fits an image of someone coming from a background of poverty. Not entirely important to the conversation, just an interesting aside.

There is official material which states his leg is "permanently broken", which is probably the easiest, most succinct way to state this issue, but it's not entirely an accurate way to put it. If a leg is considered broken beyond repair, it's likely to be amputated. Bones which don't heal correctly the first time can be broken again and realigned to heal properly, often through surgery with the use of pins, rods, plates, and/or screws. However, "permanently broken" could also be implying he has suffered irreparable nerve damage which affects the use of the leg (more on that in a moment). One possibility: The bones in Scarecrow's leg do not heal properly due to the severity of his fractures likely needing surgery. Unable to access such resources after his run-in with Croc, this results in a malunion. In his case, the misalignment could be subtle as there is no obvious bend or twist in his leg, but still causes problems which requires use of a brace.

Another possibility: Perhaps he is lucky and his leg does heal well. Maybe there's no malunion at all. Unfortunately, whether the bones mend together well or not, evidence strongly implies that it was broken seriously enough that it damaged his peroneal nerve, leading to muscle weakness and foot drop, which necessitates the use of the brace to function.

If you look closely, you can see there is additional support around Scarecrow's ankle that would otherwise prevent rotation of that joint. You can see this in the game when he circles Batman on the airship:

When he takes a step with his good leg, the foot remains more parallel to the floor. Compare that to the foot in the brace, where the toes point upward with each stride due to being in a fixed position. I feel this is a strong indication of him having lasting damage here (such as foot drop) and part of why the leg brace is vital to his mobility (and undoubtedly one of many reasons why he's so furious at Batman).

Something like this often has trickle down effects. Having to compensate for a weaker limb can throw the body off balance, especially if it's a leg. This can create joint and back pain outside of (or in addition to) the issues related to the initial trauma. Combined with the other things he has had to deal with, there is something to be said of Scarecrow's tenacity. He is very driven and ambitious, even if it's the pure, seething drive for vengeance which causes him to persevere. It's a quality one can admire. :)

The rambling ends here, thanks for reading. And an extra big thanks to a very special someone who, without their help, none of this would be possible...I'm of course talking about my guy KILLER CROC for going absolutely feral in those Asylum sewers, really gave Jonny here a spooky glow-up, am I right?

Pictured: Scarecrow regretting his fear toxin frivolity into the sewers.

[xerotiny]

Four of Hearts ‪‪❤︎‬ [Teaser]

TEASER ‪‪❤︎ Four of Hearts‬ ‪‬

One night, in the haze of a serious hangover and a heartbreak, you commit to a mistake you should have never made. Now, you’re stuck with the consequences of your actions. You pulled a four of hearts out of the deck of your life; one might say, it was the best of your luck ever.

Four of hearts—the four men made of money, who are solemnly wrapped around your finger. You had never thought your mistake would be a luxury for you.

Warning: smut, masturbation, squirting, etc.

Word Count: 3,046

Back arched. Eyes half-lidded. Ragged breaths making your lungs convulse. Fingers strumming down your glistening wet folds, while the familiar tension coils superficially in the pit of your stomach. You were so close to letting that knot come undone in the passing seconds. Body temperature rises to the rhythmic tension of your fingers prodding at your clit; you were so close to your sweet release, your body almost spasms thinking about the aftermath. You plunge a finger along your slit and trace it down to your cunt before pushing it in, mind determined to get you closer to your edge. A broken whimper parts your lips, your eyes shutting close tightly while the budding pleasure forces you to throw your head back against the cushioned headboard.

The tips of your two fingers jab at your cunt, thrusting in with a tender pace, not wanting to irk your overstimulation any beyond than it already was. You were so sure; this was going to be your breaking point. To have your body attuned to your surroundings was one thing, an attempt full of torment; you grunt when you push your fingers further in, plunging them deep within. Tears stream down the side of your face, trickling past your eyes which were screwed shut at the burning sensation creating a torment in the pit of your stomach. You gasp, fingers strutting against your walls and your cunt clenching with a want.

An ephemeral desire blooms into your chest, tightening every muscle of your body to prepare yourself for the inevitable collapse of your sanity. Hours had passed, whiling and long, torturing your mind in the dark of the room you were trapped in. The mattress under you, soft and comfortable, yet seemingly cold and rock-hard. It was the point in your foreboding daze, when you had realised this was going to fold you and break you apart.

And it would certainly satisfy the man sitting in front of you.

You’re too engrossed in working yourself up, wanting to be done with it in the coming mere seconds; however, you knew the haste of your own would lead to more worse casualties than this one. The pace of your fingers, thrusting deep into your cunt, falters and becomes placid to prolong your release. And the sting of your denied release, spread like a wildfire throughout your body. Gleaming with hope, you crack your eyes open and raise your head to meet the stern gaze of your lover. Your legs give in first, then your body, shuddering and going weak. Meeting his prurient eyes, you swallow down the lump in your throat and wince his name in tongues, incoherent to either of you. At the sight of his stoic and blank expressions, you whine and clasp your legs together, hiding your spasming cunt from him.

“Legs,” he warns, clicking his tongue, “spread them.”

You oblige, spreading your legs apart to expose your pussy back to him. Spread out to him like a buffet, but all he could do was sit in his chair and stare at you, his legs crossed over and spine as straight as a line. Your chest heaves with your thrusts now, listening to gravelly voice had stirred something in you. Other hand fists the sheets on your side, while the one hand busy, starts going knuckles deep in your cunt. You could hear it now, the squelching of your fleshy walls, and your wetness elaborating more on the vile sound of it. Had you increased the pace because you were impatient, or had you only done it to tip yourself off the threshold restraining your release? In your mind, the latter notion spoke out against everything else.

“Yunho—Sir,” you’re about to whimper out his name, but the stone-cold realisation makes you correct yourself. Your tongue grows heavy and your lips tremble, “I can’t do it—I can’t do it anymore.”

Voicing out your truer sentiments was a little terrifying, but the thrill crawling under your skin was pushing you to do and say some things you possibly didn’t have the guts to say to him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d be talking back to him during one of your punishment sessions. Although, your rationality had been deemed to nothing when you were so enthralled by the pleasure taking over your body. At times like these, your mind was better off with no thoughts.

“You can do it, Birdie,” he calls out, voice gentle and encouraging; however, the following grunt sounds from his chest, “hmmm if not, you should’ve thought of the consequences before playing with your tail.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes again, “I—I am so—I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t make the cut, does it?” he says calmly, “eight more to go, Birdie. You don’t want to keep me waiting, do you?”

Fluttering your eyes open, you catch a glimpse of his face; everything remained shrouded in the darkness as he propped himself in the chair positioned in front of the bed. The moonlight cascading through the full-length windows adjacent to the bed grazed a part of his lips. And you could clearly make out the smirk on them. He was enjoying this, delighting in your pain. You were intrigued by his body language: stoic, forbearing, austere, and domineering. Yunho’s clothes were crease free, and still neat; his black blazer hung over at the backrest of the chair, while the buttons of white his shirt were undone to expose his milky and pale chest. He showed no interest in taking off his vest, which still hugged his abdomen and defined more of his lean muscle. If there was anything you wanted from him, it was for him to be dressed in his three-piece suits all the time.

Yunho leans back in the chair, eyes never leaving your figure; licking his lower lip, he smiles at you, patiently waiting for you to continue. You could read it in his eyes, the spark of calm and anticipation. But even with what had been unfolding in front of him, Yunho kept his cool—constraining his own urges. Just like you, he was caught in a torment of his own, a dilemma. The strain in his pants was starting to grow too excruciating to bear. Every fibre in his being ruptured to the dwindling shackles around him. Boring inside his mind and body, his control was overpowering his subdued ambitions—just a tiny tug, or a caress, or perhaps a stroke of his hand across his aching cock would alleviate him off the pain. But no, if he gave in to his urge, it would render this punishment almost useless.

“I can’t do—I can’t do ten,” you whimper yet again, your chest burning with neglected passion and ardor; oh, how much of a pity it is that you’re bound to the bed, all free in your will and nonetheless having no freedom to touch or feel the man sitting in front of you.

“You can,” he smiles, a complete contrast to his baritone which seeped of venom. “Birdie, I assume, you were well-aware in your mind of the repercussions that would follow your defiant actions.” A sigh parts his lips and his eyes blank out on any emotion; he traces the tip of his forefinger along his lower lip, murmuring, “was it that we made it too overbearing for you to abide with our facile rules? Ah, I suppose we gauged your capabilities quite erroneously to believe you could please us.”

Tears pool in your eyes and with that his silhouette distorts in your vision; stupid girl, did you really think he’d be moved by your tears? Come what may, you had it coming for defying his five simple rules. Striking out against any of them had harrowing fruits—punishments. With your past lovers, you were made to believe that punishments were as equally fun as the usual sessions. And to your surprise they were. However, fun punishments were a forgotten memoir in your head after benignly meeting four of them. Punishments with them were sent straight from hell. If anything, you had to sign a few non-disclosure agreements stating they won’t be responsible for any casualties in these circumstances.

“Sorry, I’ll be obedient from now on,” you plead, your words coming out broken because the pleasure was starting to roll into your body again. “I promise I will be, but—but please—please, I can’t do this.”

There’s a minute waver of laughter on his face; almost as if to belittle you and your said remark. “We’ve been through this before too, Birdie. And as it happened then, your hollow promises do not make any affirmative impression on me. What’s done has been done. You had enough time to reflect on your behaviour—let alone, the window for apologies has already been pulled shut.”

“Please, Yun—Sir,” you whine.

Your limits have been stretched to the utmost point of endurance; it stayed behind with you, the shame, the fear, the pain, and the hope. Although, a wretched part of you luxuriated in all the shame and despair you felt—the same part of you pushed your yearning for pleasure to the point of return. And you were back in your zone, your senses aflame with a certain hankering; the warmth of your fingers grazes past your folds, your cunt shuddering and spasming as you pick up the pace of what you were supposed to do. Motions, swift. Fingers, prodding against your fluttering walls. And your lips, quivering with every moan you breathed out.

Yunho scoffs, “is my Birdie back to her senses? I see…” he drags his words, spreading his legs apart further to palm his aching cock against the confines of his trousers; his eyes were so full of lust and craving, an insatiable appetite for you and every vulgar sentiment in his head. “Do you understand now, Birdie? You don’t need our cocks to keep you satisfied anymore; a slut like you could even get off on your fingers, won’t you?”

You whimper, closing your eyes shut and fisting the sheets under you; your fingers pick up their rhythm, thrusting in and out to the beat of your heart. Every time your knuckles stretch out your cunt, the tension coils and clamps on your lower stomach, suddenly becoming ten times more intense. In addition to that, Yunho’s words were providing a sensory whiplash to your body. If he continues riling you up with his words and phrases, you aren’t going to last long.

“Isn’t it true, Birdie?” he gushes, prompting you to peek at him through your squinted eyes, “would you even need us, now? Our warmth, our hands, our souls—all this time, we’ve been striving to ensure your experience is anything but rewarding and fulfilling but you,” he pauses, his tongue darting out to touch his upper lip, “but you don’t seek any satisfaction, do you? Your fingers are enough. Birdie doesn’t need us anymore. Birdie can fulfil her own desires by herself. She’s such a grown up…”

Yunho is silenced by his own grunt; all while he had been stroking his hardened shaft through his trousers, and just a second ago, the threat holding his climax had snapped off. It had never happened before, ruining his own pants, without any physical stimulus—surprise etched on his face soon dissipates to a haughty snicker.

“Look at what you’ve done now,” he mutters, closing his eyes while continuing to ride out his high, palming his cock. “I suppose, I am no better than you. But this is a first. Can you see what you do to me, Birdie? You make me go a little insane and my insanity proves my self-control to be so useless.”

You moan upon comprehending the said situation. A silly girl like you should really have to curse yourself for being so darn stupid; if the situation had turned out differently, you’d be there in front of him, on your knees, cleaning him up like the obedient little girl you are. Regardless, when you hear the click of a second passing by, you resume to your ministrations. Pumping your fingers in and out, you’re chasing your high. It won’t be long till you’re whimpering chants of his name, and your body palpates to delight in the release.

“Come on, Birdie,” he coaxed, unbuckling his belt but keeping himself from doing anything further, “show me how much of a slut you are. Don’t hold back on it, I want to see you tremble and shudder till you’re gasping for more. I’m aching to hear my name from your lips, those cute little chants you do. I love them so much—fuck…” he grumbles when he feels himself getting hard again.

There it was, the hot and tight lump of pleasure simmering in your stomach; Yunho’s words may be crude, but his voice, not so much. A man with such dulcet voice speaks of such lewd notions; it was driving you wild, closer to your release. You ram your fingers into your cunt at a pace that you never thought you’d achieve. Yunho’s ears fill with the sound of your walls squelching so deliciously around your fingers. But his favourite sound were your moans, and the deliberate attempt at gushing his name in between them. He knew you wouldn’t last much longer if you continued with that speed, and so he lets you be, dwelling in the silence.

You stay distracted by your thoughts, focused only on your climax and nothing else. The short and precise thrusts of your fingers start jolting your body against the mattress. With every curt push of your fingers inside, your thumb brushes with your clit and stimulates your building knot even more. Gradually, you slow your pace and steady your fingers by nudging them in and out while they’re still buried knuckles-deep in your cunt; your thumb plays with your clit, pressing and pushing, rubbing circles and flicking it.

“Yunho,” a whimper breaks out and it blends into a hushed chant of his name, dribbling with despair and ache.

Tears stream down the sides of your face, wetting the pillows under you. You could see a striking white flash behind your eyelids, spreading and never dimming down. Chest heaves up and down, and your free hand starts cupping one of your tits; you roll your nipple between your thumb and forefinger, adding to the pleasure. In the coming seconds, your body is convulsing, and your cunt is overwhelmed with tremors; your climax washes over you like a bucket of cold water, and you’re left breathing hard to catch yourself slipping beyond it.

Sadly, you were long gone. Lost to the darkness of your overstimulation, you were chasing the satisfaction of your body—which seemed to only coil and tighten in your stomach. The intense pain in your gut burns through to your stomach, urging you to let go. And you do; taking a deep breath, you cease the warmth building in your stomach. A feathery graze in the pit of your stomach suddenly relaxes you; the same warmth you felt before, now trickles down your thighs and quivering cunt.

You had just squirted. The first time you ever did, by yourself. Yunho was beyond amused.

Silence dawns over you two, while your body tunes out the tension and composes to normal. You let the minutes pass as you stare at the ceiling, wide eyed and contemplating. You pull your fingers out of your cunt and bring your hand to the side; both of your hands rest on your sides, fidgeting with the sheet under you. Your body goes limp, and your legs give in; lying on your back, much properly than before, you take a deep breath and prop yourself on your elbows to meet his face. Yunho seems much unfazed, still stern and relaxed to what you had done.

“Did I just…” your thoughts drag to a whisper and Yunho nods, “yes Birdie, you just squirted.”

He clicks his tongue and offers you a smile, though there are no good intentions behind it, “look at you, squirting on your own fingers, all by yourself. Such a pathetic little whore.”

You sniffle and press your lips together, “I—I—I am so sorry.”

“Why are you apologising, Birdie?” he mumbles, softly. “This is a good thing. And probably one of the hottest things you’ve ever done.”

You nod to him, absentmindedly. And that is when you hear a familiar sound; the sound of a car’s engine dying down to serenity. A curtain of bright light flashes on the window adjacent to the bed, only for a mere second before darkness consumes everything again. You were so sure; someone else had come back home. Judging by the whirring of his car, you could tell it was someone you really didn’t want to see. Most precisely, someone you didn’t want to see you caught in this situation. You’re mulling over the same consequences, when Yunho catches up on your dreadful silence and clears his throat.

“Oh Birdie,” his tone seethes with feigned sweetness, “how do you explain this to him?” Pausing for a second, he listens to the footsteps ascending into the floor, “he won’t be pleased by this. Not at all.”

Yunho crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in the chair; the door to the room is pushed open, the force almost making it come out of its hinges. Shrieking creaks of it linger in your ears, and you turn your attention to the person who had just barged in. He was the last person you wanted to see here. Baek Saemi, you’ve really done it today. The said person smirks, leaning on the doorframe.

“Oh, bunny. Did you get yourself in trouble again?” the man shrugs, his smirk growing, “I guess it’s time for me to teach my bunny a little lesson.”

And the darkness in his eyes, reels you back into your past. And back you go, to that one fateful night, six months ago, when you had pulled out a card and found it to be four of hearts.

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER ONE

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 31/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 5827

A/N: This is part 31 of “His only exception”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Meanwhile, Ben was consumed by a storm of emotions, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment. As he made his way downstairs, his thoughts were a tumultuous whirlwind of regret and frustration.

When Butcher crossed his path, his snide remark pushing Ben over the edge, something inside him snapped. Without a second thought, Ben lashed out, his fist connecting with Butcher's face with a sickening crunch.

The force of the blow sent Butcher staggering backward, blood gushing from his broken nose, a few bones cracking under the impact. Ben stood there, panting heavily, his knuckles bruised and bloodied.

In that moment, the veneer of control that had kept Ben tethered to reality shattered, leaving nothing but raw, unbridled fury in its wake. The consequences of his actions mattered little as the red haze of anger clouded his vision, consuming him whole.

As Butcher's face began to heal in seconds, the shock of the rapid regeneration only fueled his fury further. With a snarl of rage, he launched himself at Ben, his own fists swinging wildly in retaliation.

The two clashed in a violent whirlwind of punches and kicks, the sound of bone against bone echoing through the hallway as they exchanged blow after blow. Each strike brought with it a symphony of pain, but neither man showed any sign of backing down.

With each passing moment, the fight grew more brutal, the intensity of their rage fueling the relentless assault. Bones cracked and blood spilled, staining the floor beneath their feet as they fought.

Annie and A-Train rounded the corner just in time to witness the brutal brawl unfolding before them. Reacting quickly, they rushed forward, attempting to pull Ben and Butcher away from each other, but their efforts were met with resistance.

"Ben, stop it!", Annie shouted, her voice laced with desperation as she struggled to break through the haze of his rage.

But Ben was beyond reason, his fists still flying as he fought against A-Train's grip. Blood streamed down his face, mingling with the sweat and grime that coated his skin, but he showed no signs of relenting.

A-Train's muscles strained against the force of Ben's resistance, his expression a mixture of frustration and concern. "Come on, man, calm down!", he urged, his voice barely audible over the din of the fight.

But Ben's fury was unyielding, his mind consumed by a single-minded determination to unleash his pent-up rage. It took all of Annie and A-Train's combined strength to finally pry him away from Butcher.

Annie's voice cut through the chaos like a beacon of clarity, her eyes searching Ben's battered face for any sign of recognition. "Ben, where's (Y/N)?", she asked, her tone gentle yet insistent, hoping to break through the haze of his rage by mentioning someone he cared about deeply.

The mention of your name seemed to pierce through the fog of anger clouding Ben's mind.

Ben tugged harshly his arms away, his frustration still evident in his movements. But Annie refused to let him retreat into himself, her grip firm as she gently tucked his wrist again, her gaze unwavering as she searched his eyes for any sign of vulnerability.

Sensing that something was amiss with you, Annie gestured for the others to leave her and Ben alone, a silent plea for privacy as she sought to unravel the mystery of your absence.

"Let go of me", Ben growled, his voice low and dangerous, a warning simmering beneath the surface. "If you want to fucking live, you'll let go of my wrist right now".

Annie held his gaze steadily, unflinching in the face of his anger. "Ben, I'm not your enemy", she said calmly, her voice soft yet firm. "But something's wrong, and I need to know what it is. Please, talk to me".

Annie maintained her grip on Ben's wrist, her expression a mix of concern and determination. "Ben, I need to know where (Y/N) is", she insisted, her voice steady despite the tension between them.

Ben’s jaw tensed as he wrestled with his emotions, the turmoil of his inner conflict written across his face. “She’s downstairs… in the hospital”, he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Annie’s brow furrowed with worry as she processed the revelation. “What happened? Is she alright?”, she pressed, her concern for you overriding any other considerations.

Ben pulled his arm away from Annie's grasp for good, his movements sharp with frustration. "It's none of your fucking business", he snapped.

"Ben, I'm just trying to help", she pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation.

But Ben's resolve remained unyielding, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "I said it's none of your fucking business", he repeated, his voice cold and cutting.

As Ben left the building without another word, Annie wasted no time in springing into action. She hurried downstairs to the Vought hospital.

Every step felt like an eternity as she raced through the corridors, her mind racing with a thousand different possibilities.

Finally, she reached the entrance to the hospital. With a quick glance around, she spotted the reception desk and wasted no time in making her way over.

"Excuse me", she said breathlessly to the nurse behind the desk, her voice urgent. "I need to know if (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is here. Can you please tell me if she's okay?".

The nurse bit her lip, her expression filled with sympathy as she regarded Annie. "I'm sorry", she said softly, her voice tinged with regret. "But I'm not authorized to share any information about Ms. (Y/L/N) without proper clearance".

Annie's heart sank at the nurse's words, frustration bubbling up inside her like a tidal wave. "Please", she pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice. "I just need to know if she's okay".

The nurse hesitated, torn between her duty to uphold patient confidentiality and her desire to help. "I understand", she said finally, her tone gentle yet firm. "But I'm afraid I can't make any exceptions. You'll need to contact Ms. (Y/L/N)'s next of kin or legal representative for any updates on her condition".

Annie nodded, her determination unyielding despite the setback. With a subtle shift of her gaze, she scanned the surroundings, searching for any opportunity to bypass the hospital's strict protocols.

Excusing herself to use the restroom, Annie slipped away unnoticed, her footsteps quick and purposeful as she navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the hospital.

Annie began to search for your room.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of searching, Annie found your room. With a silent exhale of relief, she slipped inside.

As her eyes fell upon you sleeping peacefully on the bed, a wave of relief washed over her. You didn't seem hurt or in any immediate danger, just a bit rough around the edges and tired.

Annie approached your bedside with cautious steps, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of you. Despite the shadows of exhaustion that lingered beneath your closed eyelids, there was a sense of tranquility about you that eased the knots of worry in her chest.

Annie's heart skipped a beat as she noticed the medical report at the foot of your bed. With trembling hands, she reached out and picked it up, her eyes scanning the contents with growing horror.

As she read the words "first pregnancy with a supe baby", her breath caught in her throat, her mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of what she had just discovered. It was impossible, unthinkable, something that defied all logic and reason.

Her ears went numb as she grappled with the implications of the revelation. Never before in the history of supes had there been a documented case of someone being pregnant with a supe baby. The very idea seemed like something out of a nightmare, a cruel twist of fate that defied all understanding.

Annie's mind raced with a thousand questions, each more terrifying than the last. How was it possible? What did it mean for you and the baby? And most importantly, what would happen if anyone found out?

Thats when Ben stepped inside, a large bag from the nearby pharmacy store and a huge bouquet of roses clutched tightly in his hand, his eyes immediately landed on Annie and the medical report in her hands. His jaw clenched with a force that seemed to echo through the room, his expression darkening with a potent mix of anger and betrayal.

Annie's heart sank as she felt the weight of his gaze, the tension in the air palpable as the gravity of the situation hung heavy between them. She knew that Ben was beyond mad.

But instead of backing off, Annie's eyes also flared with intensity, her own anger matching Ben's as she held her ground. "You really knocked her up?!", she growled, her voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and outrage. "Are you out of your damn mind?!".

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, the weight of their accusation reverberating through the room. Annie's fists clenched at her sides, her entire body tense with frustration as she stared down Ben, daring him to deny the truth that lay before them.

Ben's jaw tightened even further, his fists trembling with restrained fury as he struggled to find the words to respond. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension, as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

Ben's muscles tensed with barely-contained rage as he slammed the bag anf the flowers onto the table. Without a word, he grabbed Annie by the throat and forcefully pulled her out of the room, his grip firm and unyielding.

Outside the room, Ben pushed Annie against the wall, his expression twisted with anger as he glared down at her. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!", he demanded, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the hallway.

His patience wearing thin as he fought to control his temper. "(Y/N) is not your fucking concern. Stay the fuck away from her", his voice louder than intended as he struggled to keep his anger in check.

Annie managed to pull herself free from Ben's grasp, her chest heaving with exertion as she stared defiantly back at him. "Do you even know how dangerous this fucking pregnancy probably is?", she hissed, her voice laced with frustration and concern.

But Ben remained unmoved, his expression hardened with resolve as he met her gaze head-on. "I said stay away from her", he growled, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This is none of your business. So stay the fuck out of it".

Annie's frustration boiled over at Ben's stubborn refusal to acknowledge the gravity of the situation. "What the fuck are you gonna do if she dies?", she demanded, her voice cracking with emotion. "You think you can just ignore the risks and pretend like everything's gonna be fine?".

Ben's jaw clenched with anger at Annie's words. Without a word, he surged forward, gripping her by the throat once more with a force that made her gasp for breath.

"Watch your fucking mouth", he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "You have no idea what you're talking about".

Annie's eyes blazed with defiance even as she struggled to break free from Ben's iron grip. "I know enough to know that you're putting her life at risk", she spat, her voice filled with righteous indignation. "And if you think I'm just gonna stand by and let that happen, then you're even more of a fucking idiot than I thought".

As Annie and Ben's argument reached a fever pitch, a low rumble echoed from within your room. Startled by the noise outside, you attempted to sit up, but the dizziness that gripped you proved too overwhelming. With a gasp, you tumbled out of the bed, your limbs weak and unsteady as you hit the ground with a soft thud.

The sound of your fall cut through the tension between Annie and Ben, their argument momentarily forgotten as they rushed to your side. "Shit", Ben muttered, his concern evident in his voice as he knelt beside you, gently helping you into a sitting position.

Annie's expression softened with worry as she hovered nearby, her hands trembling with the urge to help. "Are you okay?", she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern as she reached out to steady you.

You nodded weakly, the world still spinning around you.

As your stomach churned with nauseating intensity, you found yourself unable to utter a single word, the queasiness overwhelming your senses. By now Ben was used to this look, knowing what´s going on. He scooped you up in his arms, his movements swift and decisive as he carried you to the bathroom.

Gently setting you down beside the toilet, Ben supported you as you collapsed against it, your body wracked with involuntary heaves as you emptied the contents of your stomach. The sensation was agonizing, waves of nausea crashing over you in relentless succession as you clung to the porcelain bowl for support.

Annie hovered nearby, her hands wringing with worry as she watched the scene unfold before her. "Is she going to be okay?", she asked, her voice tinged with fear as she looked to Ben for reassurance.

Ben nodded grimly, his jaw set with determination. "She'll be fine", he replied, his tone steady despite the gravity of the situation. "We just need to get her through this".

As you leaned weakly against the bathroom wall, the concern etched deeply into Ben's features was unmistakable. Despite his attempts to reassure Annie, a nagging sense of doubt gnawed at him from within. It had only been a few weeks since the discovery of your pregnancy, but already he could see the toll it was taking on you.

You had lost a noticeable amount of weight, and now, weakened by the flu and constant vomiting, you seemed more fragile than ever. The thought of you suffering like this filled Ben with a sense of helplessness that he struggled to push aside.

To be honest, he was more than worried. The weight of responsibility bore down on him heavily as he grappled with the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The fear of losing you, of failing to protect you and the baby, threatened to consume him whole.

Annie brought you a glass of water to rinse your mouth, her expression filled with concern as she offered you a small measure of comfort. As you leaned against Ben's solid chest, seeking solace in his embrace, a sense of guilt washed over you.

"M'sorry", you mumbled weakly, your voice barely above a whisper as you buried your face against Ben's shoulder. The weight of your apology hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the fact that you hadn't told him about the conversation with the doctor.

Ben's arms tightened around you, his embrace offering a sense of warmth and security that you desperately needed in that moment. "It's okay", he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring against the tumult of your thoughts. "We'll figure this out".

With a deep sigh, you allowed yourself to relax into Ben's embrace, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear.

Ben held you close, his chin resting gently atop your head as he pressed you tightly against himself. His eyes stared off into the distance, a myriad of emotions flickering across his features. Concern, fear, and determination mingled in the depths of his gaze as he grappled with the weight of the situation.

Annie stood nearby, her heart heavy with concern as she watched the two of you. The sight of your weakness tugged at her heartstrings, filling her with a sense of helplessness that she struggled to shake off.

With a heavy sigh, Annie approached, her gaze filled with empathy as she reached out to gently touch your shoulder. "Is there anything I can do to help?", she offered softly, her voice tinged with genuine concern.

Ben's jaw clenched again, his frustration bubbling to the surface as he listened to Annie's offer of assistance. "Keep your fucking mouth shut", he growled, his voice low and harsh. "No one can know about the pregnancy".

Annie recoiled slightly at the force of his words, the gravity of the situation hitting her with renewed intensity. She nodded solemnly, understanding the severity of the situation. "I won't say a word", she assured him, her voice barely above a whisper. "I promise".

With a curt nod, Ben turned his attention back to you. He carefully lifted you up again, cradling you gently in his arms as he murmured, "Let's get you back in bed".

His voice was tender, filled with a quiet reassurance as he carried you back to the hospital bed.

Annie followed close behind. Despite the tension that lingered in the air, there was a sense of unity in that moment, a shared commitment to ensuring your well-being above all else.

As Ben carefully laid you back down on the bed, he tucked the blankets around you with gentle hands.

Ben watched you fall back asleep within seconds. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the weight of exhaustion settling upon his shoulders. With a weary groan, he sank onto the couch, his muscles tense with pent-up tension and worry.

Annie observed him from across the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she studied him. "You both look beyond exhausted", she remarked softly, her voice tinged with empathy.

Ben rubbed his face with a tired hand, his movements slow and deliberate as he tried to push back the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him.

"I'm fucking fine", Ben muttered defensively, his voice strained with exhaustion as he brushed off Annie's concern. "We're both fine".

But Annie wasn't convinced, her brow furrowing with worry as she refused to let Ben off the hook so easily. "What do the doctors say?", she pressed, her tone gentle yet insistent. "They must have some idea of what's going on".

Ben hesitated, his jaw tightening with frustration as he struggled to find the words. "They think it's the flu adding to her weakness", he admitted reluctantly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"But it´s not just that", Ben continued, his voice low and troubled.

Annie's concern deepened at Ben's cryptic words, her heart pounding with a sense of foreboding. "What do you mean?", she pressed.

Ben took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to reveal. "They're worried that (Y/N)'s body might be too weak for the baby", he confessed, his voice heavy with guilt. "No one knows if she'll be able to continue the pregnancy without… help".

"But what kind of help?", she asked, her voice trembling with fear. "Is there anything they can do?".

Ben shook his head, his expression haunted by the uncertainty of the situation. "The doctors are working on some kind of V medicine to make (Y/N) stronger", he explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "But… there are no guarantees".

Annie leaned back against the wall, her eyes fixed intently on Ben as she processed the weight of his words. "Do you love her?", she asked softly, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Ben's eyes narrowed slightly at the question, his expression guarded as he met Annie's gaze. He rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. "What kind of fucking question is that?", he grumbled, his tone defensive.

Annie sighed softly, recognizing the familiar defensiveness in Ben's response. She knew that he was not one to open up about his feelings, especially not to her. But she couldn't help but wonder about the depth of his emotions towards you, especially in light of the challenges you were facing together.

"It's just… she means a lot to you. I can tell, but.. ".

Ben's jaw tensed with frustration at Annie's probing, his walls rising higher as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "She knows how I feel", he muttered evasively, his gaze drifting away from Annie's probing stare. "That's all that matters".

"If you love her, you wouldn't allow her to suffer like this", she insisted gently, her voice tinged with sadness. "She's counting on you to protect her, Ben".

Ben's jaw clenched tighter at Annie's words, a pang of guilt twisting in his chest as he looked upon you, so fragile and vulnerable in that moment. "I'm doing everything I fucking can", he muttered defensively, his voice thick with emotion.

But Annie shook her head. "She's suffering, and you know that", she murmured.

With that, Annie left the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she disappeared from view. Left alone with his thoughts, Ben felt a wave of anguish wash over him, the weight of his responsibilities bearing down upon him like a leaden weight.

Ben's hands trembled slightly as he pulled the bag from the pharmacy closer to himself. He began to carefully arrange the small boxes of vitamins for pregnancy on the table, each one a beacon of hope in the midst of uncertainty.

He knew that he loved you more than anything in this world, and that his heart ached at the thought of seeing you suffer. But at the same time, he couldn't shake the overwhelming desire to protect the life growing inside of you, to ensure that your child had the chance live.

As he glanced over at you, still lost in peaceful slumber, a wave of tenderness washed over him, mingled with a fierce determination to do whatever it took to keep you both safe. His heart clenched with indecision, torn between his love for you and his desire for the baby that symbolized your love.

By midnight you were awake again, the soft shuffle of footsteps drew your attention to the doorway, where the nurse entered the room, her presence a comforting reminder of the watchful care surrounding you.

You watched from your bed as she approached, her gentle demeanor a balm to your weary soul. With a warm smile, she checked on you, her eyes filled with genuine concern as she assessed your condition.

Meanwhile, Ben lay sound asleep on the small couch nearby, his form bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, the lines of tension that had etched themselves into his features during the day softened in the gentle embrace of sleep.

"The fever seems to have gone down a bit", the nurse remarked with a gentle smile, her voice soft and reassuring as she checked your vital signs.

You offered her a weak smile in return, grateful for the small reprieve from your symptoms. She administered the new infusion. But the nurse's expression turned more serious as she turned her attention to the untouched dinner plate resting on your bedside table. "You need to eat something", she insisted firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument as she gestured towards the meal with a determined nod.

You nodded obediently, understanding the importance of nourishing your body, especially in your weakened state. With a weary sigh, you reached for the plate, determined to do whatever it took to regain your strength and vitality, if only for the sake of your unborn child.

After the nurse left the room, you turned your attention to the plate of food before you. As you ate, you found yourself sinking one hand down onto your belly. Slowly, you began to rub small circles over the swell of your abdomen.

With each gentle stroke, you felt a sense of connection to the tiny being nestled within your womb, a bond that transcended words and filled you with a profound sense of peace.

As Ben stirred from his slumber, his eyes slowly blinked open, heavy with exhaustion. His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the dimly lit surroundings before settling on you, sitting on the bed, quietly eating your vegetables.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched you, a sense of relief washing over him at the sight of you awake and seemingly feeling a bit better. Pushing himself up from the couch, he made his way over to your side, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he approached.

"Hey", he murmured softly, his voice rough with sleep as he reached out to gently touch your shoulder. "How are you feeling?".

You looked up at him, a tired yet genuine smile gracing your lips as you met his gaze. "Better", you replied softly, the words carrying a weight of gratitude for his presence by your side.

Ben's heart swelled as he looked down at you, his hand lingering on your shoulder. "I'm glad", he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and tenderness.

With a gentle squeeze of your shoulder, he settled down beside you on the bed. His arms holding you close against his chest. With a heavy sigh, he murmured softly, "I'm sorry for losing my shit… Again".

His heart still ached with the memory of seeing the fear in your eyes, a painful reminder of the impact his anger had on you. Despite his outward strength, inside, he felt a sense of guilt and regret for causing you any distress.

"I would never lay a hand on you.. Not like that", he added, his voice filled with sincerity as he held you tighter, as if seeking reassurance that you believed him.

You felt a wave of warmth wash over you at his words, knowing deep down that Ben would beat you or something. You nestled closer to him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, a comforting reminder of his love and devotion.

"I know", you whispered softly as you reached up to gently stroke his cheek. "I trust you, Ben. I always will".

Ben's heart ached with a profound sense of remorse, knowing that despite your words of reassurance, you had still flinched away from him earlier.

With a tender touch, he squeezed you even closer against his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as a silent apology for his earlier outburst.

As Ben’s hand gently guided you towards his car a week later, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of relief at the prospect of finally leaving the confines of the hospital behind. Your body still felt weak and fragile, but the promise of fresh air and freedom beckoned on the horizon.

Just as you approached the car, Annie’s voice pierced through the air, her tone filled with urgency as she called out to you. “Hey, wait up!”, she yelled, her footsteps quickening as she hurried to catch up with the two of you.

You glanced at Ben, a flicker of surprise crossing your features at Annie’s sudden appearance. It had been over a week since she found out about your pregnancy, yet she hadn’t reached out to either of you during your time in the hospital. Her sudden presence now left you feeling uncertain and apprehensive.

Ben's jaw clenched slightly as Annie's unexpected presence grated on his nerves, his annoyance palpable as he struggled to maintain his composure. Despite his irritation, he forced himself to remain outwardly calm, knowing that any outburst would only escalate the tension between them.

Annie's eyes flickered over to you, her gaze lingering on the small bump that adorned your abdomen, a mixture of curiosity and concern flashing in her eyes. "Are you feeling better?", she asked softly, her voice laced with genuine concern.

You nodded slowly, offering her a small smile of gratitude for her concern. "Yes, I am", you replied, your voice soft yet sincere. "Thank you for asking".

Ben's grip on your lower back tightened imperceptibly, a silent reminder of his protective stance. Despite his lingering annoyance, he couldn't deny the sincerity in Annie's voice, nor could he fault her for showing concern for your well-being.

Annie quickly reassured the both of you, her voice tinged with sincerity as she spoke. "I haven't said a word to anyone, and I won't", she insisted firmly, her eyes meeting yours with earnestness. "Your secret is safe with me".

You offered her a small nod of gratitude, appreciative of her commitment to keeping your pregnancy confidential.

But Ben's expression remained guarded. "Forgive me if I don't exactly fucking trust you", he muttered, his tone laced with a hint of bitterness. "Cause you've already proven that you can't be trusted".

Annie's brow furrowed with frustration. "I understand that you're upset", she replied. "But I'm telling you the truth. I haven't told anyone, and I won't".

Despite Annie's assurances, Ben remained skeptical, his distrust of her lingering like a shadow between them.

Annie's voice broke through the silence, her tone soft yet tentative as she broached the topic that had been weighing on her mind. "Do the doctors have any idea how your pregnancy will proceed?", she inquired gently, her eyes flickering between you and Ben. "Will the baby need any special treatment or care?".

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond to Annie's questions. Part of you still felt a lingering sense of resentment towards her for the role she had played in the team's actions against Ben, yet another part of you couldn't deny the longing you felt for her friendship.

"We're still waiting on some test results", you replied carefully, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "But so far, everything seems to be progressing kinda normally".

Annie's gaze shifted towards Ben as she spoke. "You need to be careful (Y/N)", she said softly, her voice tinged with urgency. "To not get hurt. You're important too, not just the baby".

Ben's jaw tensed slightly as he absorbed Annie's words, his expression guarded. "We'll be careful", he replied curtly, his voice firm with determination. "We know what's at stake".

You couldn't help but mumble under your breath, the overwhelming desire to just go home and find solace in the familiar comforts of your own space tugging at your heartstrings. "I really just want to go home", you whispered.

With a heavy sigh, you slid into the car, the worn leather seats enveloping you in a sense of familiarity and warmth. As Ben settled into the driver's seat beside you, you spared a fleeting glance towards Annie, a pang of guilt tugging at your conscience as you left her standing alone.

As the car rumbled along the familiar streets towards home, your hand found its way to your belly, instinctively seeking comfort in the gentle swell that cradled your unborn child. Despite the lingering weakness that still clung to your limbs, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you as you felt a subtle vibration beneath your palm.

A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you marveled at the tiny life growing within you.

Feeling Ben's hand squeeze your thigh, you turned to him with a curious expression, the gentle pressure of his touch anchoring you in the present moment. "What's up?", you asked softly, your voice tinged with curiosity as you met his gaze.

Ben's eyes softened as he glanced at you, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I talked to your doctor about the V medication", he explained, his voice filled with a quiet sense of optimism. "He said they're making great progress".

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a surge of hope flooding through you as you processed the implications of his statement. The prospect of a medication that could strengthen both you and your unborn child filled you with a renewed sense of optimism, easing the weight of uncertainty that had been looming over you in recent days.

"That's amazing news", you murmured, your voice filled with gratitude.

As you and Ben settled onto the couch, the aroma of the takeaway food filling the air, you snuggled up against him, seeking solace in his comforting embrace. However, as you nestled closer, a wave of pain shot through your back, causing you to tense up involuntarily.

Sensing your discomfort, Ben's expression softened with concern as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest. "You´re okay?", he murmured as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You winced slightly, the pain in your back intensifying with each passing moment. "It's just my back", you whispered, trying to downplay the discomfort. "I think I pulled something".

Without hesitation, Ben channeling his power into his hand to generate warmth. He then carefully pressed his heated hand against your lower back, the soothing heat radiating through your muscles and easing the tension.

As the warmth seeped into your aching muscles, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, the pain gradually subsiding under Ben's comforting touch. Leaning back against him, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to relax, grateful for his unwavering support and care.

When Ben's heated touch eased the pain in your back, a soft moan escaped your lips. Unbeknownst to you, the sound of your moan had a powerful effect on Ben, instantly arousing him and sending blood rushing to his groin, making him hard.

Feeling the sudden shift in his body, Ben's cheeks flushed with heat as he tried to suppress the rising desire that threatened to overwhelm him. With a shaky breath, he focused on maintaining his composure, his hand still resting gently against your lower back as he tried to ignore the growing ache between his legs.

Ben couldn't help but grumble under his breath, his voice strained with pent-up desire. "It's been a fucking while since I heard you making those sounds", he muttered, his words laced with a mixture of frustration and longing.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 32

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 12 Chapter 12 | golden hope⌟

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The next few days trickled by like smoke, slow and lingering, with a heaviness that clung to your skin.

As promised, Eurycleia alerted Queen Penelope of your state, prompting the queen to personally encourage you to rest, to take the time you needed. And so you confined yourself to your room, grateful for the solitude.

You knew, eventually, you would have to leave this room, that you couldn't stay hidden away forever—but for now, the quiet, the separation from the palace, it all felt like a welcome escape.

You couldn't bear the thought of seeing Andreia, of being anywhere near her without feeling the raw ache threatening to break you all over again.

It had been three days since the incident, and you were still trying.

Every day, the hours blurred together in your attempts to mend the lyre, as if somehow putting its broken pieces back together might also mend the fractures within you.

The delicate wood, worn and fragile, lay spread across your bed.

You had tried to fit the jagged pieces back together, to wrap the broken arm, to glue and bind—but no matter what you did, the damage was done.

You knew, deep down, it was beyond repair, that no amount of delicate handling or tender care could truly restore it to what it once was. But that knowledge didn't stop you.

You couldn't bring yourself to stop.

Even if the strings could never make the same sound again, even if the wood splintered at the slightest pressure, you kept trying.

And just like on the very first night, you found yourself kneeling before your bed, your fingers trembling as you attempted to notch one of the strings back in place.

The lyre sat there, pitifully wrapped with coarse string to keep the fragile wood held together, its once elegant form marred by splints and knots.

You tried to align the notch, leaning closer, your brow furrowing as you concentrated, your lips slightly parted in determination. But as soon as you tried to tighten the string, it slipped, snapping back off with a harsh twang, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet of the room.

You sighed in frustration, the breath leaving your chest in a heavy rush as you slumped backward, sitting back on your haunches. You rubbed your face with both hands, the exhaustion weighing on you, making your muscles feel heavy, your fingers aching from the hours of effort.

Slowly, you let your hands fall away, your gaze drifting toward the window. The light of dusk filtered into your room, painting the walls in hues of orange and pink, a soft glow that seemed almost at odds with the frustration bubbling inside you.

Beyond the window, the sun was dipping below the horizon, just a sliver of red-orange remaining, its fading light bathing everything in a tender glow. The sky above was a canvas of deepening blue, dotted with the first twinkling stars, their light faint against the dimming sky.

It was beautiful, peaceful—everything you weren't feeling.

For a moment, you let your gaze linger, allowing the colors to wash over you, a brief distraction from the weight pressing against your chest.

The lyre lay in pieces beside you, and for the first time since you began, you let yourself admit that it might never be whole again. And yet, you couldn't quite bring yourself to give up.

Not yet.

Not when there was still the faintest chance, however impossible, that it could be mended.

There was a sudden knock at the door.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering above the broken lyre before you pushed yourself up to stand. You expected it to be a servant, delivering your broth for the night, but as you opened the door, the sight before you caught you off guard.

It wasn't a servant—it was the prince.

He stood there, holding a tray with your dinner, his body half-turned as though he'd been muttering to himself before you opened the door. You caught a faint, almost whispered, "You got this, Telemachus..." as he looked up, his eyes meeting yours. He blinked, startled, and for a moment, his expression seemed to waver, his confidence faltering.

"Uh, ____, there's something important..." he began, but his sentence trailed off as his eyes took you in, his gaze flickering over you. You could see the way his expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes giving way to concern.

He knew immediately that something was wrong.

Without thinking, he stepped forward, his foot crossing the threshold as he reached out, his hand almost instinctively moving towards you, the tray balancing effortlessly in the other. "What happened?" he asked, his voice gentle, full of worry.

Panic shot through you as your mind flashed to the lyre, still sitting in the middle of your bed, the broken pieces spread out for anyone to see.

You moved quickly, blocking the doorway, stepping forward almost too hastily—your body colliding with his, your hands pressing lightly against his chest.

Telemachus blinked, taken aback, but he stepped back with a surprising grace, his balance never wavering, the tray still held steady in his hand. He tilted his head, his brow furrowed as he searched your face, stepping closer again as if drawn by your discomfort.

The concern etched on his face deepened, his eyes narrowing as he took in your expression. "What's wrong?" he repeated, his voice softer now, giving you space as though he thought your earlier actions stemmed from discomfort or fear.

His gaze lingered on your face, his eyes searching deeply, almost pleading, as if he could draw the truth from you without words. He took another small step closer, his body leaning forward slightly, the furrow in his brow now mixed with a hint of frustration—as though he wanted to reach out, to pull the truth from you, but knew he couldn't push too hard.

His other hand lifted a fraction before falling back to his side, his fingers curling slightly, betraying his urge to comfort you, to make the situation right. You felt the intensity of his stare, the warmth of his concern reaching for you, and it made your throat tighten, a sudden swell of emotion making it hard to breathe.

You opened your mouth, wanting desperately to tell him, to let it all spill out—about Andreia, about the lyre, about the pain that had been gnawing at you for days. But the words caught in your throat, refusing to come.

"I..." You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the ground as your thoughts began to spiral.

How could you explain it all to him? How could you tell him that Andreia had taken something so precious to you and shattered it, that she had done so with a smile?

The fear gripped you—the fear of being seen as nothing more than a servant overstepping, of Andreia's word being believed over yours. The fear of the consequences, of what might happen if you dared to speak out against someone of her status.

Your place was to serve, to stay silent, to endure, but a small voice in the back of your mind whispered otherwise, urging you to reach out, to let him see your pain—but you silenced it, shoving it down, knowing it wasn't your place.

You reminded yourself of that, even as your heart ached to tell him the truth.

You bit your tongue, swallowing the words that threatened to break free, forcing a smile that felt fragile on your lips. You forced yourself to fall back to the default story that had served you well enough so far.

You took a steadying breath, meeting Telemachus' eyes with a look you hoped was convincing. "Oh, it's nothing serious, really," you said, your voice adopting a false lightness that made you cringe internally. "I was just caught in the rain a few days ago, and I've been feeling under the weather since then."

You could see his eyes searching your face, the concern not quite gone, but starting to ease. You forced yourself to continue, injecting a bit of preppy cheerfulness into your words. "But I'm starting to feel better now," you assured him, nodding slightly, "I should be back on schedule in a day or two."

Telemachus watched you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as though he could see right through the lies. He didn't move, his gaze steady, and you wondered if he might push, if he might ask again. And if he did, you feared you would have given in.

But instead, his shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and a small smile began to tug at his lips. His eyes softened; he seemed relieved. "That's good," he murmured, his voice low, almost a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you're on the mend," he added, the corners of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile that made your chest tighten.

He cleared his throat, glancing down at the tray before holding it out to you gently, the smile turning almost bashful. "Here, I brought you something to eat. You should have it before it gets cold, and make sure you get lots of rest, alright?"

As you reached out to take the tray, you noticed his hand twitch slightly, his fingers seeming to hesitate—as if he were about to lift his hand further, to touch yours, to give some sort of comforting gesture. But instead, he let it fall, curling his hand loosely by his side, dropping his gaze for just a moment.

You took the tray from him, the warmth of it seeping through your palms. You offered him a smile that felt more genuine this time, touched by his kindness. "Thank you, my prince."

Telemachus gave you a soft smile in return, bowing his head slightly. "Goodnight, then," he said, his voice gentle. "May Selene bless your dreams tonight and bring you rest."

Your lips quirked up, a true smile breaking through the tension that had been sitting heavy in your chest. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, you let yourself feel the warmth of his presence. "Goodnight, my prince," you said softly, your voice almost a whisper.

Telemachus lingered for just a moment longer, his gaze holding yours before he finally turned, stepping away from the doorway. You watched as he walked down the hallway, his figure gradually retreating, his footsteps soft against the stone.

You didn't close the door until he turned the corner, disappearing from sight, and even then, you lingered there a moment longer, staring at the empty hallway, the warmth of his presence still lingering in the air around you.

Finally, you closed the door, the latch clicking softly into place.

You pressed your forehead against the door, closing your eyes as a shaky breath left your lips.

The silence of the room pressed in on you, and you found yourself replaying the scene, the worry in Telemachus' eyes, the gentle way he spoke. Your heart ached with the weight of what you hadn't said.

You clenched your fists, the tray pressing harshly into your palms, the corners digging in painfully. You wanted to tell him so badly, but fear had held you back—fear of what might happen, of how things might change if you spoke the truth.

You let out another breath, this one more frustrated, almost a growl, as you felt the conflicting emotions rise inside of you—regret and relief warring within your chest.

You knew you had done the right thing, protecting yourself, protecting the fragile peace you still had. But that small voice in the back of your mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, Telemachus would have listened, would have believed you.

And the thought of what might have happened if you had taken that chance gnawed at you, leaving you feeling hollow.

Stepping back from the door, you turned and walked over to the windowsill, setting the tray down carefully before flopping back on your bed. You curled into yourself, tucking your knees close to your chest, wrapping your arms around the broken lyre that lay beside you.

It was a sad sight, the lyre—its once smooth frame now cracked and splintered, held together only by a makeshift wrapping of string, the wood barely aligned. The glow it once had was gone, replaced by a dullness that seemed to reflect your own feelings.

You traced your fingers over the broken wood, feeling the rough edges, the fragility of it. It hurt to look at it, to see it in such a state, but you couldn't bring yourself to set it aside.

The room was quiet, the silence heavy, and your thoughts began to spiral again, your chest tightening as the emotions began to swell once more—grief, anger, helplessness.

Everything felt like too much, the weight of it all pressing down on you, suffocating.

Your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep it together, trying to stop the tears that threatened to fall.

The air around you seemed to change suddenly, a strange current brushing against your skin. The room grew warmer, the soft glow of dusk shifting for just an instant as though something flickered across the light. It was as if an invisible presence had slipped into the room, and for a heartbeat, you felt as though someone was watching you.

A faint rustling, almost like feathers brushing against each other, seemed to echo around you. It was subtle—so faint you might have imagined it—but just as you felt yourself beginning to fall apart, a low, mischievous voice cut through the silence, startling you. "Ah, what's this? Such a sight, shedding tears over something so trivial. You mortals do get so attached, don't you?"

With a shocked gasp, your head shot up, your arm instinctively moving to cover your lyre as if to shield it from whoever had spoken.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

The figure hovered just a few inches off the ground, the soft flutter of winged sandals breaking the heavy silence around you. The small, delicate wings on his heels flapped lazily, keeping him effortlessly aloft. His feet were bare beneath the sandals, the golden straps glinting faintly in the fading light.

Your eyes trailed upward, taking in his flowing white chiton, which draped over his lean frame like a cascade of clouds. A golden belt cinched the garment at his waist, its polished surface gleaming with an otherworldly sheen. A deep red cloak hung off one shoulder, fluttering gently as though caught in an unseen breeze, the fabric brushing against the faint golden bracers on his forearms.

The closer you looked, the more your stomach twisted with awe and unease. This wasn't an ordinary man.

The laurel crown tucked into his curly brown hair, combined with the wings jutting from his cap, were unmistakable signs of something more. His hair was wild but alluring, framing a face too perfect to be mortal, yet too mischievous to be entirely serene.

Then, his golden eyes met yours. They gleamed with a playful intensity, sharp and knowing, like he had read every secret you'd ever had. His head tilted to the side, a grin curling at the edges of his lips—boyish, daring, and unsettling all at once. His presence felt impossible, magnetic.

You could feel the weight of his gaze even as he floated there, light as a feather but far more imposing. For a moment, you couldn't decide whether to speak, bow, or run.

The figure smirked as his feet dropped to the floor with a soft thud, the wings on his sandals fluttering briefly before coming to a stop. "What's the matter?" He chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement. "What, cat got your tongue? Or, should I say, a God?" His grin widened as if he enjoyed his own joke.

It took a moment for your brain to catch up with what he had said, the words slowly sinking in. God...

You blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening. You knew it was impossible—no one could have entered that quickly without your knowledge, and yet, here he was, appearing out of nowhere as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

God... The word echoed in your mind again, this time, your eyes widening in sudden realization.

You hastily scrambled to sit up, your heart pounding in your chest as you threw yourself into a bow, nearly fumbling over the edge of the bed. "I-I'm sorry, my lord," you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper, every ounce of your training urging you to show respect. "I didn't realize… I was in the pres—"

The figure let out a sigh, clearly amused, as though the entire situation amused him beyond measure. "Oh, no need for all that," he said, waving his hand dismissively. He stepped closer, the hem of his cloak brushing the floor as he approached, the glint in his eyes never wavering; he paused, tilting his head as he studied you, a flicker of something softer passing through his gaze. "Besides," he added, the corners of his lips curling into that same impish grin, "I'm hardly the kind of god who demands reverence."

You swallowed, your throat dry as you tried to straighten up, your eyes flickering between his face and the ground, unsure if you were allowed to fully meet his gaze.

He sighed, rolling his eyes in exaggerated annoyance. "Really, I swear, mortals and their customs... Stand up, won't you? I'd rather not have a conversation with someone cowering."

You awkwardly rose from your curtsy, your knees wobbling struggled to regain balance. Your mind raced, desperately trying to pinpoint exactly which god stood before you. There were so many—hundreds, maybe thousands—of gods, deities, and minor spirits, each with their own temperament and quirks—some more forgiving than others.

It could literally be anyone; gods often enjoyed meddling with mortals after all, and that thought both unnerved and overwhelmed you.

For a moment, anxiety twisted in your gut as the overwhelming possibilities crowded your thoughts—a tangled mess of every tale you had ever heard, desperately trying to match the face in front of you to the legends you knew.

The god's lips twitched, as though he could see every question flashing across your mind. He raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue in amusement. "Ah, you're wondering just who has the pleasure of gracing your humble abode, aren't you? Suppose I should get on with it, shouldn't I?" He swept his crimson cloak behind him with a dramatic flourish, giving you an exaggerated bow. His curls shifted with the motion, some falling across his forehead, glinting in the dim light.

He tilted his head up to look at you, still bent in the deep, exaggerated bow, that same grin playing at his lips. "I am The Messenger of the Gods, Guide to the Underworld, Protector of Travelers, Master of Thieves, Bearer of Tidings both good and ill and all things clever..." for a heartbeat, then straightened, flashing you a smirk that was equal parts charming and teasing, "but you can just call me Hermes."

Hermes.

Your breath caught in your chest, the gravity of his presence hitting you all at once—a jolt of realization that left you reeling.

The god who had been sung of and praised for generations; the tales, the legends—here he was, standing before you—the very god whose name you had heard whispered in the prayers of travelers and sailors.

You remembered your earliest memory of his name, going back to your very first journey to Ithaca; how the shipmen had held a ceremony on the first night of the voyage, offering gifts to both Poseidon and Hermes, praying for safe travels and swift winds.

Laughter, dancing, and prayers filled that night, with people pouring wine into the sea and chanting blessings in his honor.

And not just then—so often in your daily duties in the palace, whenever servants passed along a message, you and the others would often utter, "In Hermes' name, may my words reach their mark," a small prayer to ensure the task went well. It had become a part of your daily life—small phrases, casual praises, a habit you barely noticed.

And now, he was here.

A real god, standing in front of you.

You could feel a strange excitement bubbling inside you.

It wasn't because you favored him as a god—no, this wasn't about favoritism. It was because you were here, standing in the presence of a literal god, whose tales had been sung for eons, long before your own birth.

The awe was undeniable, and despite your best efforts, you couldn't stop yourself from dipping into another curtsy, this one deeper, your head bowing lower, intending to show him the respect his presence deserved.

But before you could fully lower yourself, you felt warmth—long, slender fingers winding gently around your shoulders, stopping you. His touch was light but firm, and you froze, your eyes slowly lifting in shock.

Hermes chuckled softly, his laughter a low, rolling sound that seemed to echo in the quiet room. "Ah, ah, ah, none of that," he said, amusement dripping from his tone. "I already told you, didn't I? No need for all the bowing and scraping."

You felt your heart flutter, a strange mixture of anxiety and something else—something lighter—as you stared up into his face.

He was inhumanly beautiful. His features seemed sculpted, like the marble statues you'd seen in temples—only warm, alive. His golden eyes seemed to glow faintly, an aura shimmering around him that made everything about him seem slightly unreal. His smile was simultaneously inviting and intimidating, an expression that held all the secrets of the world.

Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze—eyes that seemed to see right through you, to every secret, every fear.

There was a glimmer of kindness there, but also something sharper, a reminder that he was not mortal, not bound by the rules of your world.

His hands lingered on your shoulders for a moment longer before he let them fall, stepping back just slightly, giving you space. You could still feel the heat of his touch, your skin tingling where his fingers had rested.

Hermes tilted his head, his smirk widening, his eyes glinting with that ever-present mischief. "Better now?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, his playful smirk returning to his lips. "Good." He paused for a moment, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement. "Careful, mortal. If you keep this up, my ego will grow as big as Zeus' head—or worse, his appetite for flattery."

As if on cue, a faint crack of thunder rumbled in the distance, soft but unmistakable. Hermes paused mid-laugh, glancing upward with a mock-serious expression. "Oh, come on, Father, take a joke!" he called toward the sky, waving his hand dismissively before chuckling to himself. "You'd think the King of the Gods could handle a little truth." He turned back to you, his grin as sharp as ever. "Now where were we? Ah, yes—me, being as humble as ever."

With a flourish of his red cloak, Hermes swept it dramatically through the air once more. For a moment, the fabric seemed to shimmer, catching the light like a liquid spill of gold. Then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, a satchel materialized from the folds, as though it had always been there.

The bag rested against his hip, its leather smooth and supple, embossed with faint, intricate designs that seemed to shift under your gaze.

"Ah," he said with a satisfied grin, patting the satchel like an old friend. "Never underestimate the utility of a good accessory—or the style points."

He flipped open the satchel and began digging through it, his face a picture of exaggerated concentration. "Now, let's see… nope, not that… ah, definitely not this—why is this even in here?" he muttered, his voice partially muffled as he dug deeper. At one point, he managed to get an entire arm and half of his head into the satchel, his voice echoing slightly from within. "Where did I put that thing? Aha!"

He pulled himself upright, his expression triumphant as he withdrew a wrapped large parcel, tied neatly with twine. "There we go," he said, holding it up with a flourish, his grin widening.

Then, without warning, he tossed it at you. "Catch!"

You barely had time to react, your arms shooting out instinctively as the parcel hurtled toward you. Your fingers closed around the object just in time, but you fumbled with the weight, almost dropping it before managing to secure it to your chest.

The sudden shock of its heft made your knees buckle slightly, but you steadied yourself, blinking in surprise.

You looked up at Hermes, breathless, and caught the amused glint in his eyes. He gave you an encouraging nod, motioning for you to go ahead and open it.

Slowly, your hands trembling slightly, you began to peel back the parcel paper, each crinkle of the wrapping amplifying the tension in the air. The paper fell away, and your breath caught as your eyes fell upon the object it had concealed.

It was a lyre—the most beautiful lyre you had ever seen.

It was larger than your old one, imposing yet elegant, with curves that seemed almost alive. The frame gleamed with a faint shimmer, as though carved from the purest gold not found in mortal mines but forged in the heart of a dying star.

Intricate etchings danced across its surface, lines and swirls that shifted subtly as the light touched them, telling ancient, unknowable stories of gods and heroes.

The strings, impossibly fine, appeared to be spun from threads of celestial light—shimmering faintly, as if the very essence of starlight was captured and woven into music. They hummed softly, resonating with a soundless melody, as if the lyre itself were alive, waiting to be played.

The base and arms were reinforced with a dark, otherworldly material—smooth and cool to the touch, gleaming faintly with a bluish-black sheen, reminiscent of polished obsidian or perhaps something even rarer, like the bones of a fallen titan.

It felt unbreakable, eternal.

Tiny gemstones were embedded at key points, glowing faintly as though holding fragments of captured dawns and dusks. Their colors shifted subtly—sometimes sapphire, sometimes ruby, sometimes emerald—depending on the angle of your gaze.

You gasped, the weight of its craftsmanship and presence almost overwhelming. It wasn't just an instrument—it was divine. The faint shimmer surrounding it felt like the lingering breath of a god, as if this lyre was meant not for mortal hands but for the hands of the immortals themselves.

For a moment, you hesitated to even touch it, as though you might somehow sully its perfection.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze back to Hermes, bewildered and awestruck. He met your look with a raised eyebrow, then let out a short, amused snort. "Don't look at me, I'm just the messenger," he said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "Who... who gave this to me?"

Hermes swished his cape, making the satchel disappear once more as if it had never existed. He shrugged again, this time more lazily, as though he were brushing off an insignificant question. "Honestly, I can't remember. You know how it is—lots of deliveries, lots of gods, mortals, nymphs, and what-have-you." He paused, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "Besides, I was supposed to deliver it a few days ago, but... well, it kind of slipped my mind. You mortals aren't the only ones who get a little distracted." He winked, the playful mischief never leaving his eyes.

Your gaze dropped back down to the lyre, your fingers brushing reverently over the strings, the gentle hum vibrating through your fingertips. The gift was beyond anything you could have imagined.

A sense of awe, gratitude, and disbelief swirled within you, leaving you speechless.

And Hermes just watched, that smirk softening slightly, a hint of something almost gentle touching his expression as he studied your reaction. "Go on," he said after a beat, his voice a little quieter, the teasing edge still there but tempered. "Give it a try. After all, it's not every day a mortal receives such a divine gift. Might as well make the most of it."

You stared down at the lyre, watching it gleam in the dim light, the golden frame catching the faintest hints of the God's flickering glow. Though the lyre was undeniably beautiful, you couldn't ignore the weight that still tugged at your heart.

With a heavy sigh, you smiled faintly, shaking your head as you cradled the divine instrument close to you before taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

Your old, broken lyre beside you, its splintered wood and frayed strings looking even more pitiful next to the divine beauty you now held.

Your fingers reached out to brush the familiar broken wood; the splints and coarse strings held together like a patchwork of memories.

You sighed, saddness seeping into your voice in a way you couldn't quite mask

"Thank you," you admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper. "But... no matter how beautiful it is, I don't think it will fix the hurt from my broken lyre." Your eyes flicked towards the battered instrument beside you.

Hermes stepped closer, glancing down at the broken lyre on the bed. He reached down, his fingers brushing over one of the snapped strings before flicking it with a casual disinterest, letting it twang pathetically. He snorted, a mischievous grin crossing his lips. "This old thing? You're better off using it as kindling." His voice dropped, muttering something else in an ancient, lilting tongue—a phrase older than time itself. Though you couldn't understand the words they carried a biting tone, akin to saying, ‘may as well throw it into Tartarus for all the good it does.’

You didn't answer him right away. Instead, you set the golden lyre beside you and gently gathered the broken one into your lap, your fingers tracing over the rough patches and splintered edges.

A bittersweet smile crept over your features as you cradled it with a tenderness that felt almost out of place for such a broken object. Your eyes softened, fingertips tracing its worn frame as your thoughts began to drift.

It wasn't just an instrument to you. This lyre was your first real gift since tragedy had entwined itself with your life—something given to you not out of duty or obligation, but out of care.

The queen herself had gifted it to you, and that alone made it irreplaceable.

The memory was vivid: Penelope's gentle smile as she presented it, the warmth in her eyes, the feeling that, for once, you were seen, appreciated.

It wasn't just the lyre itself, but everything it had come to represent. It had been your solace on long, lonely nights and your anchor during uncertain times, giving you purpose when you needed it most.

It brought back memories of your youth—the music your parents had played, the songs that had filled your home, the love that had been so freely given.

You could almost hear it now, their laughter mingling with the notes of the lyre, the warmth of their presence wrapping around you like a blanket on a cold night.

The lyre had been a small piece of that past—a reminder of everything you had lost, yet also everything you had cherished. Every note felt like a thread, weaving together fragments of a time you desperately wished you could hold onto.

Your voice was soft, almost lost in the room as you spoke. "It wasn't just an instrument. It was... the first thing that was mine since I came here. The queen gave it to me, and it brought back memories I thought I'd never feel again, even if just for a moment." Your voice trembled, the emotions too thick to mask, as you continued, forgetting entirely that you had an audience.

"Memories of the warmth... omusic, of laughter, of love, of a time when things were simpler." Your hand drifted up to press lightly against your chest, where an ache had begun to form. "I know it's broken and it wasn't much, but it's still mine. And it's still beautiful... in its own way."

For a moment, there was silence. You had forgotten Hermes was there, your mind wrapped up in your memories, your fingers still tracing the lines of the broken wood.

When you finally looked up, blinking as if waking from a dream, you remembered yourself—remembered where you were, and who you were speaking to. Heat rushed to your face, embarrassment flooding you as you ducked your head, your gaze dropping to the floor.

"I-I'm… I'm sorry, my lord," you stammered, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to…" You trailed off, not knowing how to finish. You didn't want to see the god's face, didn't want to see whatever expression might be there—pity, amusement, or worse, indifference.

But as you looked down, Hermes' reaction had already shifted.

His golden eyes had widened slightly, a spark of something unguarded there. His teasing smirk had softened into something else entirely, and for a moment, a blush crossed his face—faint, but unmistakable.

He was in awe, perhaps, not just of the love and depth with which you spoke of the lyre, but of the way you cherished his creation, of the reverence and emotion you held for something he had dismissed so easily.

He cleared his throat, the sound breaking the silence between you, and when he spoke, his voice had lost some of its earlier edge, the teasing lilt tempered by something gentler. "You mortals," he said, almost to himself, his gaze lingering on you as though seeing you in a different light. "Always so attached to things, always so full of... feeling." He looked away then, his eyes shifting to the window, as though giving you a moment to collect yourself.

You took a shaky breath, your arms tightening around the broken lyre, trying to steady your heartbeat. You could still feel the warmth of Hermes' gaze on you, even if he had looked away, and it made something inside you flutter—something you didn't quite know how to name.

"Well," Hermes said after a moment, his voice light again, though there was a softness to it now that hadn't been there before. "If anyone can find a way to make the most of a broken thing, it's you, I suppose." He looked back at you then, his golden eyes meeting yours, and there was something almost tender in his gaze. "But don't forget, ____," he added, nodding toward the divine lyre he'd brought, "sometimes the gods do know what they're doing. Give it a chance."

You nodded, your throat tight, the words caught as you looked at the two lyres—one broken, one divine.

You cleared your throat, saying you would and when you looked up, Hermes was gone.

Now left with just the silence of the room, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, somehow, both could have a place in your heart.

One was the echo of everything you had been through—every struggle, every cherished moment, and every painful lesson that had shaped you. It wasn't just broken; it was human, it was flawed, and it was you.

The other, with its impossible beauty and the faint glow of starlight, felt almost like a promise of something new—an invitation from the gods to step into something greater, something untarnished by human suffering. It was perfect, and perhaps that was why it felt frightening, like a reminder of everything you weren't—of what you feared you might never be.

You glanced between them, feeling the weight of both possibilities pressing down on you.

Was it possible to embrace both? To honor the past while daring to accept the unknown, even if it terrified you? Maybe, somehow, there was a way to let them coexist.

You weren't sure yet how, but for the first time since that dreadful day, you allowed yourself to believe it could be possible.

A/N: lolo i swest i didn't mean to leave you all on a cliff hanger 😬 it's nearing the end of the semester so ya girl gosta study and pass my exams; good news, i have like 1-2 more weeks left until break, bad news, once break comes imma have to start working 💀 so it's gonna be one of those, when i can if i can, typa thing. anywho enough boring shii, how did you guys like the chappie? i tried my best with descibing hermes/keepign him kinds close to the descriptors/fanarts i've been seeing of him from etm... ahaha sorry if i made him a bit too jokey lol i cant help but picture him as totally unserious after years ago coming acorss his damn origin story... bro literally took apollo to court—and won—a newborn, absolute king shii

[getozzn]

🪽playing with sub! ino takuma

word count: 1,168

there is a lot to ino. for the most part, he has a genuine heart and an optimistic disposition, which is rare. however, at the moment, with his hands tied, seated between your legs, his own long limbs spread wide open with your ankles, he is nothing if not pathetic. his clammy, bare back is to your chest. your thighs bracket his hips from behind.

“too much, baby?” you ask, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. it comes with an amused laugh that runs like sweet but hot molasses down every cavity of his overheating and sensitive body.

beyond that, in the grip of your hand that has kept up its constant pace up and down on him, his stupid cock is red hot, hard, so much so it’s curved towards him. if you let go, it’ll smack right against the taut muscle of his torso, the satisfying dull sound already echoing in your mind from when you first started.

he’s covered in himself, past few releases overdone, now in between your fingers and down your wrist.

your free hands moves up to feel his chest, palm flat as it ghosts over, grazing his nipples where you learned he was sensitive there. even on days where you don’t mean to be intimate, you may leave a kiss on his chest and it gets him so weak so fast.

he is putty in your hands easily. but it’s not exactly fair; he is puppy like in nature but more so in the love he has for you.

“oh please!” he cries brokenly, tipping his head back and trying to buck his hips into your fist. you tut at him a little and he backs off. he knows better than that.

ino’s shaggy locks stick to his heated, sweaty skin up from his forehead and temples to behind his neck, even against your own. his eyes squeeze and he breathes outwards, lungs seizing for air, like a hand reaching out, anything he can grasp at in the heat of the moment. your hand is working on him and demanding what will now be the fourth orgasm of the night.

he doesn’t even know if he has it in him.

ino is restless despite the grip your body has on him, head turning, hips twitching, and fingers convulsing in their tied grip.

“oh, god, oh, god, oh, god, fuck—please!” he begs without reason. it sounds like he’s crying with that breathy, broken little edge.

“use your words, darling~” you suggest lowly, laughing a bit as he gasps particularly sharply and pitchy.

he’s close. he shakes his head wildly and moans. the weighted drag and crisp sound of your hand on him is putting him in this constant whirlpool of pleasure, arousal that is beginning to teeter towards pain. maybe not pain, he reasons, his brain turning to mush.

“what’s wrong, ino?” you purr.

he weakly moans and shakes his head, stretching his back like he’s arching it.

“nothing, mmm!” he sobs a little, starting to lose the fight. “baby, oh, baby please…l

“please what?” you laugh and he cries a little.

you twist your wrist when your hand drags over his tip, a little pop that pulls deeply into him and makes his eyes roll back a bit.

“i-i… i can’t… no more…” you arch an eyebrow and slow down your rhythm. he has a safe word.

“you sure?” you whisper softly and he lets out a wobbly moan.

there’s something too satisfying about seeing the reverberation of his thighs, the twitching of his warm golden flesh, the trembling of the muscle. your free hand moves down to rub over them, from past times where you’d left on him: full bites and marks. you laugh again.

“is that really what you want hm? don’t you wanna let go, sweetheart?”

he’s so loud. you leave a few chaste kisses behind his ear and frontwards where his bobbing adam’s apple is.

he gasps loudly and nods vigorously.

“yes!” he chokes a bit swallowing a bit. “yes!”

his mind is all over the place. it’s fine, you’ll take care of him after of course. this moment now is in the forefront of your mind.

it doesn’t take much longer for his sounds to turn empty, hissing. his jerking body stills and he bucks up into your hand before he falls apart. he turns boneless immediately, panting hard. his chest heaves. there is a pink hue of flush that stems from his chest up. so pretty.

your hand continues to stroke, easing all he has left to give slowly coming to a pause. ino begins to breathe a little lighter, resonating a sound that resembles the whimper of a dog, and you know that means it’s too much. you drag your hand gently up off him and let him fall back against his body from your grip, defeated and limp.

he needs a moment to come back down to earth. he passes through the stratosphere, mesosphere, through the array of clouds that had been giving rain during the day, and he’s back in his body.

he catches his breath. you run your hand through his hair, from his forehead back, peppering kisses across the side of his face.

he hums a little and shuts his eyes, enjoying your touch.

“did i do good?” he speaks up, voice a little gravelly from earlier. he turns to you with heavy eyelids and big shimmering eyes.

you smile at him in the reassuring way he needs and nod, rubbing his cheek with the backs of your fingers. he keens a bit.

“you’re perfect, you know that?” you tell him. he smiles back.

you share another moment of silence. there’s light chatter filling in with praise from you, which warms him even more.

“let’s get you cleaned up, hm? maybe i’ll join you. you got me all sweaty,” you chuckle, hands untying his hands before moving to settle on his waist, rubbing his sides. you pat his right hip. when he sits up and moves to stand up, legs shaking, you can’t help but find that he’s not flaccid yet.

“ino…” you call. he’s grabbing the towel you had by the bedside and he pauses. he nods like he doesn’t even know. how would you not feel it? you wonder…

“hm?” he tilts his head.

“why are you still hard?”

the moment is filled with silence. he looks away and struggles to meet your eyes.

“i like it when you take care of me…”

“i bet you do. thought you were done for the night.” you laugh and shake your head.

“never am when it comes to you.” he maneuvers himself to hug you, pressing himself against your bare legs. in his nakedness, he takes your face in his hand and leans down to kiss you so sweetly and passionately like he hadn’t been crying and pleading to the heavens earlier.

ino can be so easy but more than anything he is full of love for you.

🪸 | ending was super rushed sorry haha. i hope i get better with practice lol. if you read all the way through, thank you 🫶

[kdwg]

• Scaramouche x Eroded God!Reader • Genshin Impact

----

•Warning: English is not my first language, I use ggl translate, Vietnamese version below, hurt-comfort, soft!Scara.

Words: 1,5k

English Version:

"Just do what I say, okay?"

You respond with a weak nod. Scaramouche can see your eyebrows furrowed, your nails digging into your knees and your back hunched over like a millipede. He sighs, the overwhelming pain inside you was growing stronger, almost beyond endurance. Scaramouche is afraid you will soon lose consciousness, and worst of all, you won't hear anything he says anymore.

He snaps his fingers to signal a few times:

"I know you're in a lot of pain, don't focus on it, just listen to me."

Scaramouche straightens your back. You can hear him whispering in your ear, repeating the words relax over and over. The fingers on the shoulder pin to the wall are now running down to the lower abdomen, the back of his hand places on the navel slowly pressing gently.

"Don't breathe through your mouth. Absolutely not. Breathe out completely."

He is pleased when his knuckles feel your ribs and pelvis.

"Very good. Inhale, expanding your belly, making sure each inhale is so full that you can't take another breath. Then, exhale completely, flattening your belly. Repeat ten times."

You seem to be struggling, the pain is so great that you can't fully relax your muscles. However, you did as Scara said, trying to focus on your breathing, mentally maintaining those words like a broken tape recorder.

"Hey! You're transferring the pain into--"

Before he can finish speaking, Scara quickly squeezes your mouth painfully enough for moans to escape from your throat. You felt two of his knuckles wedged between your jaws followed by a sharp crack as you bit down and pieces that felt like porcelain or plastic shattered in your mouth. They quickly turned into pale yellow spots of light, drifting along with the red blood flowing down the chin and floor. You coughs, your whole body collapses, the agony was like a cleansing spear cutting your body in half. At that moment, there was only a plaintive scream in your ears, not Scaramouche's, your mind was only filled with a dazzling, dense white that made your eyes and skin numb. You find yourself exposed to the naked essence, they burn your nerves, the pain is excruciating but you cannot move even a knuckle bend. Everything is just white, white and polarized to the point that it's like three or four millennia have passed, and life is inviting you back to the dark night.

"Hey! Wake up, did you hear anything?"

You realize you are screaming, you are in a kneeling position holding your head. Scaramouche used all his strength to get you back into a meditative position but it was useless, you looked like a dried corpse.

When the pain fades, you take a deep breath, repeat what he told you five times before standing up straight on your hands and knees.

"Kunikuzushi..."

"You're always like that, you always hold your breath when you're in pain."

He frowns, placing two uninjured fingers under your nose to check the stability of your breathing.

"I hurt you again."

You grab his wrist, pull him closer. Half of his mangled hand is still bleeding. Raising his head to look into his eyes, Scara just gives you the look like not to worry. Sighing, you kiss his white wrist, blue light envelopes both of you and in a moment his beautiful hand intacts.

"I can heal myself. If you still have the strength, you'd better find a way to lift your body up."

Scaramouche let you lay your head on his shoulder, hearing your own panting, you also guessed his dissatisfied expression.

"Just makes your work easier."

Scaramouche is not a good at healing his wounds, and he rarely lets himself get seriously injured in fights. You're right, if he needed to heal half of his hand by himself, he'd have to keep it hidden in his pocket for a week at the palace.

"So does it work?"

"Maybe it would be effective if I focused completely on my breathing. At first I did as you said and it helped, but at the last moment the erosion was almost at its peak, I passed out and stopped breathing... To be honest it was quite difficult to do."

Scaramouche laughs:

"If every time it hurts you remember what I said, do half of it would be great."

"What do you mean by that?"

Seeing your confused face, he hesitates for a moment but finally answeres:

"I'm going to Sumeru, I'm not sure how long it will take..."

Scaramouche knows it is quite useless to look for some method to relieve your pain when most of them are useless. He also understands that even if it's painful, you can get over it, whether he's here or not doesn't help much. However, Scaramouche couldn't stop worrying about leaving you to torment yourself.

"I'll be fine. Even if I breathe wrong or stop breathing, I'll still live."

"That's right, I worry about nothing."

He smirks and looks down condescendingly. Having said that, he cleaned up the mess before holding you down.

"I have to go, take care of yourself...okay?"

"You look worried. You won't come back?"

You confusedly clasp your fingers together when you catch Scara's complex, long look at you. Fear comes when you start to think he was too tired of taking care of you and now Scara was choosing a reason, looking for a good excuse to leave. If he does that, you think you'll still be okay, you'll overcome everything, even dying alone, if you've come this far, all the worries in the world are just...

"No, I just don't know if I can return or not."

Scara interrupts your train of thoughts, his hand covering your withered eyes.

"Why are you discouraged this time? It's not like you at all..."

"It's a premonition."

You intertwine your hands in his and whispered:

"Didn't I bless you?"

Once again, you spread kisses on the hand that had been broken countless times because of you.

"Are you saying this is a blessing?" Scara laughs mockingly, "To be honest, I expected something more. But, I think I will find a way to return, I'm afraid it will take a long time, soon maybe a year, maybe longer... thirty or fifty years?"

An indescribable wistful look, Scara suppresses a sigh of frustration, you have enough problems to worry about, he doesn't want to make the situation worse. But, he is just afraid that at this rate, if he doesn't come back soon, you may not remember who you are, don't even say him.

"I won't forget you," You pull him closer, clasping your hands in a very urgent prayer position, "Even if I lose myself. Please promise to return, I can wait as long as it takes."

Hearing your voice lost in endless fear, eyes bright and pure, lips trembling, he smiles faintly:

"Does someone like you have to beg?"

"Aren't you my god?"

Scaramouche leans in to kiss affectionately at the tail of your eyes as deep as a well:

"I'm always your god, right?"

He bends down, snuggles into the crook of your neck, he doesn't know how long it will be before he can immerse in your hug and kiss.

"I will return, I am not the one who would betray my archon."

Scara places one last kiss on your forehead as you drift off into a light sleep. He put firewood in the stove, turns off some candles and oil lamps, adjusts the blanket and the direction of your slippers.

I hope that on the days I leave, Snezhnaya will be warmer.

Vietnamese version:

"Hãy làm theo những gì tôi bảo, được chứ?"

Bạn đáp lại bằng cái gật đầu yếu ớt. Scaramouche có thể thấy lông mày nhíu sâu lại, móng tay đâm sâu vào đầu gối và lưng bạn còng rạp xuống như một con cuốn chiếu. Anh thở dài, nỗi đau chồng chéo đang dày xéo bên trong bạn đang ngày càng lớn dần sắp vượt ngoài sức chịu đựng. Scaramouche lo sợ bạn sẽ sớm mất đi ý thức, tệ nhất là bạn sẽ không còn nghe thấy anh nói gì nữa.

Anh búng tay ra hiệu vài lần:

"Tôi biết chị đang rất đau, đừng tập trung vào nỗi đau, hay nghe tôi nói."

Scaramouche chỉnh cho lưng bạn ưỡn thẳng. Bạn có thể nghe thấy tiếng anh thì thầm bên tai lặp đi lặp lại hai chữ thả lỏng. Những ngón tay trên vai ghim vào tường giờ đang chạy dọc xuống bụng dưới, mu bàn tay anh đặt trên phần rốn từ từ ấn nhẹ.

"Đừng thở bằng miệng. Tuyệt đối không. Thở ra hết đi."

Anh hài lòng khi đốt ngón tay mình sờ nắn được phần xương sườn và xương chậu của bạn.

"Tốt lắm. Hít vào, căng bụng ra, chắc chắn rằng mỗi lần hít vào đầy đến mức chị không thể hít thêm. Sau đó, thở ra hết hơi, xẹp bụng lại. Lặp lại như vậy mười lần."

Bạn có vẻ chật vật, nỗi vần vã quá lớn khiến bạn không thể thả lỏng được hết cơ bắp. Tuy nhiên, bạn chật vật làm theo điều Scara nói, cố gắng tập trung vào hơi thở, trong đầu tâm niệm duy trì những lời ấy như một cái máy ghi âm bị hỏng.

"Này! Chị đang chuyển nỗi đau vào--"

Chưa kịp dứt lời, Scara vội vã bóp miệng bạn đủ đau để những tiếng rên la bật ra khỏi cổ họng. Bạn cảm giác hai đốt ngón tay anh chèn giữa hai hàm và theo sau là tiếng rắc chói tay lúc bạn cắn xuống và những mảnh tựa như sứ hay nhựa vỡ tan tành trong khoang miệng. Chúng nhanh chóng hoá thành đốm sáng vàng nhàn nhạt, trôi theo dòng máu đỏ chảy xuống cằm và sằn. Bạn ho sặc sụa, cả thân hình đổ sập, cơn đau thống khổ tựa như một mũi giáo tẩy trần đang xẻ đôi thân xác. Bấy giờ trong tai bạn chỉ còn tiếng hét ai oán, không phải của Scaramouche, tâm trí chỉ còn một màu trắng đặc sệt chói loà và bức mắt làm con người da thịt tê tái. Bạn thấy bản thân mình như phơi giữa cái tinh túy trần trụi, chúng đốt cháy sợi dây thần kinh, đau đớn khôn xiết nhưng bạn không thể cử động dù chỉ là một cái gập khớp ngón tay. Tất cả chỉ có trắng rã, trắng rã phân cực đến độ tựa như ba bốn thiên niên kỉ trôi qua, đời mời trao trả lại miền đêm tăm tối.

"Này! Tỉnh dậy đi, chị có nghe thấy gì không?"

Bạn nhận ra mình đang gào thét, bản thân ở tư thế quỳ rạp ôm đầu. Scaramouche dùng hết sức bình sinh để gỡ bạn trở lại tư thế thiền định nhưng vô ích, bạn giống một cái xác chết khô.

Khi cơn đau nhạt dần, bạn hít một hơi thật sâu, lặp lại theo những gì anh chỉ năm lần rồi mới chống tay ngồi thẳng dậy ở thế quỳ.

"Kunikuzushi..."

"Chị luôn như vậy, chị luôn nín thở mỗi khi chị đau."

Anh nhăn mày, đặt hai ngón tay không bị thương dưới mũi bạn để kiểm tra độ bình ổn của hơi thở.

"Tôi lại làm đau em rồi."

Bạn cau mày nắm lấy cổ tay của anh kéo lại gần. Một nửa bàn tay nham nhở vẫn còn đang chảy máu, ngẩng đầu nhìn vào mắt anh, Scara chỉ ngụ ý đừng bận lòng. Thở dài, bạn hôn lên cổ tay trắng ngần ấy, những làn sáng xanh bao trùm lấy cả hai và trong chốc lát bàn tay đẹp đẽ của anh đã nguyên vẹn như cũ.

"Tôi có thể tự chữa lành, nếu còn sức tốt nhất chị nên tìm cách xách được cái thân dậy."

Scaramouche để bạn gục đầu lên vai anh, nghe tiếng thở dốc của bản thân, bạn cũng đã đoán ra nét mặt không hài lòng của anh.

"Chỉ là cho em làm việc dễ dàng hơn."

Scaramouche không phải là người tự chữa các vết thương tốt, đặc biệt anh cũng hiếm khi để mình bị thương nặng trong các cuộc giao tranh. Bạn nói không sai, nếu tự thân chữa trị nửa bàn tay chắc cả tuần đến cung điện anh phải giấu khư khư trong túi áo.

"Vậy nó có hiệu quả không?"

"Có lẽ sẽ hiệu quả nếu tôi tập trung hoàn toàn vào hơi thở. Lúc đầu tôi làm theo lời em nói thì đúng là có ích, nhưng cơn bào mòn vào phút cuối gần như là đỉnh điểm, tôi đã bất tỉnh và ngừng hô hấp ngay sau đó... Thành thật mà nói nó khá khó thực hiện."

Scaramouche cười trừ:

"Nếu mỗi lúc đau chị chịu nhớ lời tôi nói, thực hiện được một nửa là đã tốt lắm rồi."

"Nói thế là sao?"

Bắt gặp khuôn mặt khó hiểu của bạn, anh lưỡng lự một lúc nhưng cuối cùng vẫn trả lời:

"Tôi sẽ đến Sumeru một chuyến, chưa rõ bao lâu sẽ về..."

Scaramouche biết khá là vô ích khi tìm một số phương pháp để thuyên giảm cơn đau của bạn khi hầu hết chúng là vô dụng. Anh đồng thời cũng hiểu dù đau đớn bạn cũng đều có thể vượt qua được, chuyện anh có mặt ở đây hay không đều chẳng mấy giúp ích. Song, Scaramouche không nguôi nỗi lo canh cánh để mặc bạn tự dày vò.

"Tôi sẽ ổn thôi. Dù có thở sai cách hay ngưng thở, tôi vẫn sẽ sống."

"Phải rồi, tôi toàn lo chuyện không đâu."

Anh cười khẩy nhìn xuống đầy trịnh thượng. Nói rồi, anh lau dọn đống lộn xộn trư��c khi bế bạn nằm xuống.

"Tôi sắp phải đi rồi, hãy tự chăm sóc bản thân...được không?"

"Trông em có vẻ lo lắng, em sẽ không quay trở lại?"

Bạn bối rối đan những ngón tay vào nhau khi bắt gặp ánh nhìn phức cảm thật lâu của Scara nhìn mình. Nỗi sợ hãi ập đến khi bạn bắt đầu nghĩ anh quá mệt mỏi với việc chăm sóc bạn và giờ Scara đang lựa một lí do, tìm một cái cớ thoả đáng để bỏ đi. Nếu anh làm vậy, bạn nghĩ bạn vẫn sẽ ổn thôi, bạn sẽ vượt qua tất cả, kể cả cái chết đơn độc, bạn đã đi xa đến mức này thì mọi âu lo trên đời chỉ là...

"Không, chỉ là không biết có trở về được hay không thôi."

Scara cắt đứt mạch suy nghĩ, bàn tay anh phủ kín đôi mắt héo mòn của bạn.

"Tại sao lần này em lại nhụt chí? Không giống em chút nào..."

"Là dự cảm."

Bạn đan tay mình vào tay anh, thì thầm nói:

"Chẳng phải tôi đã chúc phúc cho em?"

Một lần nữa, bạn rải những nụ hôn lên bàn tay đã vô số lần gãy nát vì bạn.

"Chị nói cái này là chúc phúc sao?" Scara bật cười nhạo báng, "Thành thật mà nói, tôi trông chờ thứ gì nhiều hơn nữa. Nhưng, tôi nghĩ tôi sẽ tìm cách trở về, chỉ sợ là rất lâu, sớm có thể là một năm, lâu hơn có thể là ba mươi năm mươi năm?"

Một ánh nhìn đăm chiêu khó tả, Scara nén tiếng thở dài ngao ngán, bạn có đủ vấn đề đáng bận tâm rồi, anh không muốn làm tình hình trở nên tệ hơn. Nhưng, anh chỉ sợ đà này, nếu không trở về sớm, bạn có khi không nhớ bản thân mình là ai chứ đừng nói là anh.

"Tôi sẽ không quên em đâu," Bạn kéo anh lại gần làm tư thế chắp tay cầu nguyện vô cùng khẩn thiết, "Dù kể cả đánh mất bản thân. Làm ơn hãy hứa sẽ trở về, tôi đợi bao lâu cũng được."

Nghe giọng bạn lạc đi trong nỗi sợ miên man, đôi mắt sáng thống khiết, bờ môi run rẩy, anh cười nhạt:

"Người như chị cũng phải cầu xin sao?"

"Em không phải là thần của tôi sao?"

Scaramouche nghiêng mình để hôn trìu mến lên đáy mắt sâu như giếng của bạn:

"Khi nào tôi cũng là thần của chị đúng không?"

Anh cúi xuống, rúc mình vào hõm cổ, anh không biết bao lâu nữa mới được vồ vập trong cái ôm, cái hôn của bạn.

"Tôi sẽ trở về, tôi không phải người sẽ bội ước archon của mình."

Scara đặt một nụ hôn cuối cùng lên trán khi bạn chìm dần vào giấc ngủ nông. Anh cho củi vào lò, tắt một số ngọn nến và đèn dầu, chỉnh lại chăn và xoay hướng chiều dép cho bạn.

Anh mong những ngày anh rời đi, Snezhnaya sẽ trổ nắng.

[melodiclune]

It starts eerily calm.

And he craves revenge, more than anything. It's too late to search for allies, friends- people. Only redemption for himself exists now.

Tango falls, and he feels satiated, however briefly. He goes around, person by person- trusting no one, yet communicating and trading with everyone. As is his job, of course, as an honest Trader Scars' owner.

Skizz is next. He lets him go, even though the bloodlust is there. He lets Joel take it- he's gotten a good fill of his betrayal for now.

("Scar sends his regards.")

A fond farewell, to perhaps the only place he ever called his own- Trader Scars' may be destroyed, but it lives on in him.

Bigb takes so, so many hits. It's so tempting to get him. But he lets it go- he has some cowards hiding up in the tower to deal with.

("He sounds like a wounded wild animal- I feel so bad! Let's put him out of his misery.")

Etho goes down. It's like the apocalypse all over again- this time it's permanent. The villainous behaviour once forced down his throat, now devouring him as he lets it consume all his goodwill.

Bigb falls- it's just as quick as every other death so far. Cleo is trapped- it's so easy, really, to drive the sword through her back as he watches her bleed out. ("Goodbye!")

They fall, fall, fall... and Scar is always there at the sight of the bloodshed.

(Except for the Watcher- he dies, completely away from any place Scar could influence. How odd.)

And then, it's down to two sides. Scar wonders briefly, about how he has worked with both. But he sticks with the side he's on already- after all, switching now would be too much work. There's better numbers on this side anyway.

("Who cares- we all die anyway. It's all nothing.")

Bdubs and Joel fall- all he can do is stare as they do, a small attempt at saving them not going any farther than their attempts at befriending him.

Shooting Impulse off feels good, like killing everyone else did. The bloodlust remains strong.

Pearl helps him damage Scott a hefty amount- and later Gem comes to them, tears in her eyes and blood on her hands. He knows what has happened. She looks renewed, but broken.

He drives the sword through Gem, and then there were two.

Of course, there was never a true alliance to begin with. He's too tired of everyone's half hearted promises to him anyway. Pearl falls- he barely notices, the zombie capturing his attention.

("Pearl- where are you?")

(The Watcher speaks from beyond the veil. "She's dead, Scar. You've won.")

"Well, that can't be right. How did the guy with no friends win?"

He laughs, a bitter one. The zombie is attacking him- he feels himself succumb to it, but the numb feeling is overpowering.

Out of muscle memory, he trudges his way to the beginning of it all. The end of it all. The secret keeper hands him health, like it always does. Does he need it anymore?

("Win Secret Life.")

Well. He's completed his task. Time to move on.

But he sits there, by the Secret Keeper. The sun is bright in the sky, the blood on his hands drying.

It ends, eerily calm.