#the urge to eat him grows stronger every day

[sapphoherselz]

everytime an artist gives Andrew piercings, an angel gains their wings 💓💓💓

[quirrrky]

I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU, AND ALL THESE LITTLE THINGS •✦ haikyuu

KUROO, KENMA, IWAIZUMI, OIKAWA, AKAASHI, KITA, ATSUMU, OSAMU and the little things that matter the greatest when you're with them

≡ NOTE ⋮ single as a pringle but I want my future relationship to be like this ૮꒰っ˕‹̥̥̥ ꒱ these boys make me fall in love hard

KUROO TETSUROU

It's the way he always stays beside you even though you're both doing different things. He'll rest his head against your arm as you type on your laptop/computer and he was on his phone, browsing for some random meme or nerd stuff. From time to time, Tetsu will show you some funny posts he'll come across just so you can laugh at it together. When he feels the urge, he'll plant a random kiss on your shoulder; and if he still can't get enough, he'll steal a kiss on your lips and who knows it might turn into something more. There are times when he's feeling extra so cuddly and will rub his cheek against your arm like he's your cat in human form, then he'll feel drowsy and fall asleep.

It can go the other way around too when you're caged in his arms with your attention on your phone and his on the TV. He'll nuzzle his nose on top of your head and you'll squeeze tight against his chest, just shrouded with his warmth and scent.

He doesn't have the perfect family growing up. He's awakened to the the impermanence of things a little too early that's why just by having you beside him is more than enough. Just the simplicity of basking in each other's presence—cherishing all the time you get to spend with each other no matter how mundane.

KENMA KOZUME

It's when he treasures every memory with you no matter how small. Kenma will sneakily take pictures of you whenever you're just simply eating fries, you're busy doing work, or crying over a tearjerking scene in a movie. That one time you looked so beautiful as you attend a party with him, the one when you are slightly snoring in your sleep and even when you have your mouth full as you munch on your favorite food, he has an album of all those. He has even created a private Instagram account with photos and videos of you alone and of the two of you as a couple.

Sometimes you will catch him smiling while tinkering on his phone and you just think he's playing a game, but little did you know that he is editing a video of you and the both of you.

He has been content being all by himself yet when you've come along, his world begins to be more colorful. It's like he's playing Pokemon but the one he's catching will always be you and your cute reactions, keeping every bits and pieces of your presence in his life as the greatest gameplay he doesn't want to be over.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

It's how he wakes you up each morning. Hajime is always the early riser. Set aside the times when he'll surprise you with a breakfast in bed or the instances when you're running late, he'll nag at you so you can get your lazy ass up from bed.

What you treasure the most is whenever you find your head resting against his chest as he fidgets with the strands of your hair. The beating of his heart against your ear is like a sweet welcome in the morning.

Also, the times when you'll wake up to him watching you sleep. His gaze is full of adoration and filled with emotions unspoken. The way his eyes will crinkle in his smile as he say, "Good morning." You feel so lucky to wake up beside this man. Just seeing him you look at you like that makes you grateful of each waking day, getting another chance to spend it with him. You want to freeze the moment, wishing for it not to end anytime soon. Just you and him before the world.

OIKAWA TOORU

It's the pillowtalk you have before going to sleep. How you reminisce the first time you meet each other and how far you've come together. The sparkle in his eyes as he recall how much more beautiful you have become and stronger you have been, growing into the wondeful person you are today. His eyes convey so much fondness and love that they beam even at the dimness of your room. There's also something so special with the way he caresses the side of your facewith the backnof his hand as if he's trying to bury each dip and line of your feature.

You'll dissect your emotions together, the good and the bad. You'll both cry at the sad moments, embrace each other through the hurt and laugh at the silliest and most embarassing memories.

Tooru has always been seeking for external validation, seeing achievement as the metric for his success yet with you it's just so simple. You're all he needs to be fulfilled. With you, it's just so easy. and sharing every moment with you, every loss, every victory, is something he will never ever trade for anything else. For, despite everything, he has finally found the safe space he can come home to at the ebd of each day.

AKAASHI KEIJI

It's when he doesn't want to let go of your hand. Keiji has always been a gentleman, but he won't let anyone break your handhold whenever you stroll outside. He'll always have your hand in his never breaking away. His hold is tight and gentle, expressing how protective he is of you. His thumb usually carresses the back of your knuckles so sweetly and he'll occasionally whisper a kiss like you're his treasured princess. When it's cold, he'll slip your linked fingers inside his coat. Sometimes, he'll gently breathe out against your hand if he notices you freezing. Whenever your handhold will break, he immediately seeks out for you. He'll stop walking just so you can come back in his grasp again.

He has gained a habit of playing with your dainty fingers idly too. Sometimes, it can catch people's attention just by the sheer intimacy of it yet he isn't aware.

Even when you're alone and at home, he still reaches out for your hand. He has you in a tender hold as you watch your favorite show or eat dinner. There are times you'll wake up with your fingers interlocked with each other and it gives you so much comfort. Comfort in knowing you have someone to hold on to for the rest of your life and you know you'll never ever let him go too.

KITA SHINSUKE

It's the way he cares for you like no one else does. Shinsuke will always see that you have eaten enough and at the right time. You can't skip a meal when he's around. If you're busy and can't take a meal right away, he'll bring the food to you. Makes sure that you drink plenty of water and you sleep on time. He snatches your phone away when you take too much time with it even during late at night. When he's farming and you're at work, he takes time to call you during lunch, making sure that you are looking after yourself as much as he's looking after you.

He always checks the temperature outside and prepares the right outerwear for you so you won't catch a cold. Even if you have layers and layers of clothing over you, he'll still pull you close with an arm around your shoulder to keep you warm.

When it's raining, his priority is to get you under the umbrella. It doesn't matter if a part of himself is getting drenched as long as you are not.

He can be strict at times but he is easy to cave in and will allow you to eat your favorite junk food or sweet once you surprise him with a kiss.

Though he can be quite strict at times, he really wish you know how much you mean to him he doesn't want you to be harmed. Your hurt is his hurt and he just simply wants you to take care of yourself the way he cares so devotedly for you.

MIYA ATSUMU

It's because you're his perfect match. Tsumu often buys something in pair. People will see you wearing matching jackets, shirts and caps. You even have couple phone cases and wallpapers because of him. Whenever he has a new jersey, he'll give the extra to you so you can sometimes wear it together. He just loves seeing his clothes on you. You look so good in them that

Whenever he buys something in the grocery, he'll also buy one for you. If there's only ine pudding left, he'll share the other half of it with you. Always with you. He always has you in his mind and thinks of you as he thinks of himself.

Sometimes, he'll sacrifice what he has just so you can have it. He won't let you know about this, of course, but he wants you to feel that you have him as a partner, that he'll be with you in every step of the way and that he sees you as an extension of himself.

MIYA OSAMU

It's because he lets you mess up. Though it's obvious with the way he sweats and brows furrow, how he's so nervous with what the outcome could be, Samu will still let you take over his kitchen.

Normally, he doesn't allow any foreign hands on any of his kitchenware, but you are the only exception.

He'll let you use his non-stick skillet pan though he just bought it. He knows it won't come unscathed after your use but he still lends it to you and you know it so well. Instead of getting angry at you, he just laughs at your mistakes, carressing the top of your head and giving you a sweet kiss. He's aware that you're trying your best to impress him even if he is constantly reminding you that he doesn't mind making breakfast, lunch and dinner for you for the rest of your life.

Most importantly, you can mess up his brand new skillet or even his whole kitchen. He can always get another one again but he cannot get another one of you.

@pixelcafe-network

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

hi hi hello HEAR ME OUT

FILTHY smut with either 12 or 07 leo

whatever you can come up with, let your creative mind go bonkers lol 💙

Still Angry? (18+)

2007!Leonardo x reader

A/N: I decided to do 2007 Leo, because I feel like it has been a long time ago. It is not super filthy, but it is a little dirty😉💙

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Orale - female receiving, implied sex.

You wanted to slap him. Slap him so hard that he would feel all the shock and pain you had been feeling for the last two years. All the pain he had caused you, because he decided to spend an extra year in South America, because he felt like his training as a leader wasn’t over. You were sad. Furious. Frustrated would have been an understatement. You felt betrayed by your boyfriend. And when you sent him another letter, asking him what that meant for the two of you, you got no answer. For a whole year, you waited around, unsure of your boyfriend’s whereabouts, or if he even was still your boyfriend. So when Leonardo one day came through your window, that you still kept unlocked out of habit, you saw red. You had never been so mad at him before, and never had he felt so ashamed. But he came to your apartment with a goal in mind -  to make it up to you.

How you ended up on the couch, with your lower half naked, your legs spread open and wide with Leo’s face buried between your thighs, was still a mystery to you. But even with Leo’s skilled tongue working in and out of your entrance, you felt anger towards him, along with the urge to hit him. But every pleasure wave he brought you, his tongue pressing against that sweet spot deep within you, you found yourself moaning, your hands holding onto Leo’s head instead of striking him, pressing him closer against your core.

One of Leo’s hands let go of your spread out thighs, placing his thumb on your clit, moving it in circles over your bundles of nerves. You threw your head back, letting out a loud needy moan, your legs shaking as you placed your bare heels against the couch pillow, pushing your core closer against Leo’s face. Leo let out a low groan, just enough to drown out his churring. A churring that had been going, ever since he pulled you in for a kiss, intending to show you how much he had kissed you.

“Leo…”, you moaned, unsure of what you were trying to say. You wanted to speak, be mad at him, telling him that he couldn’t eat you out and expect you to be okay with his return, after two years abesens. But here you were, a moaning mess, finding yourself getting closer and closer to your climax, wanting nothing more than to cum with Leo’s tongue deep inside of you.

Leo breathed out a chuckle against you, genuine happiness in his eyes as he looked up at you, your red face and hooded eyes staring back at him, silently begging for more. And more he gave you. His thumb coming faster on your clit, using his elbow to force your leg open when you instinctively tried to close it. An old habit of yours. An old habit that Leo had found himself dreaming and fantasizing about in the jungle, waiting for the day he could allow himself to see it play out once again. His tongue moved faster inside of you, his other hand pushing your leg further away from his face.

You let a loud lewd moan, arching your back against the back of the couch, your hips moving against Leo’s face, forgetting all about any thought of hitting him, your anger melting away for the moment of building pleasure and ecstasy. You felt the pressure inside of you growing stronger and stronger, making it impossible for you to sit still, moaning and moving under Leo’s grip - a sight and sound that Leo had missed during his two years in the jungle. Even with his own need growing in his cloaca, his member threatening to drop at any moment, he could not stop his work on you, not allowing himself to feel any sexual pleasure before he had made you cum.

“Fuck! Leo!”, you let out, your moans on the edge of turning into screams of pleasure, before you came hard, your body tensing up as your orgasm washed over you, blurring your vision with pleasure. Leo did not stop his actions against your core, continuing his motions, drawing out your orgasm and eating up every single drop your tight walls provided him.

Once you calmed down from your high, Leo removed his lips from your now sensitive folds, placing small kisses along your thighs, showering you with love until you calmed down. But before you could calm down, you quickly wrapped your hands around the sides of Leo’s face, pulling him to your lip in a hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Are you still mad?”, Leo asked as the two of you pulled from the kiss, trying to catch your breath.

“Of course I’m still mad!”, you answered, glaring at him as if it had been obvious. But even you couldn’t hide a smile with your next two sentences. “You can’t just eat me out and expect me not to be angry anymore! Now, get your dick out and fuck me probably!”

Leo could not stop himself from laughing at your words, finding himself relieved at your words. Sure, you might still be mad, but you were still in a mood to make jokes. That was a good sign.

“Anything for you, ma’am”, Leo smiled, before diving back in for another heated kiss. Anything to make up for his long absence.

[chipperchemical]

it's time for my annual insanity arc, so here is every hermit/traffic ship that i actively enjoy and 1 headcanon for each one! (worth mentioning that i love most ships, these are just my favourites)

Grian x Mumbo (Grumbo) -> Grian is the only one who can bring Mumbo out of his redstone hyper-focus mode by cooking him unnecessarily gourmet meals and pretending to be sad when Mumbo doesn't instantly sit down to eat with him.

Grian x Scar (Scarian) -> When Scar's in his wheelchair, Grian will run around while pushing him and sing the Mario Kart star song at full volume.

Grian x Bdubs (Gridubs) -> They have a STRICT nighttime routine and if anyone interrupts then they will never hear the end of it.

Grian x Doc (Gridoc) -> Grian keeps bringing different animals home and Doc keeps trying to say no, but every single one grows on him eventually.

Grian x Mumbo x Scar (Mumscarian) -> Mumbo keeps trying to convince the other two to eat redstone, but he's only successfully convinced Scar.

Bdubs x Doc (Bdoc) -> The absolute embodiment of the sunshine/moon trope, but Doc is the sunshine and Bdubs is the moon.

Bdubs x Etho (Ethdubs) -> Etho likes trying on dresses and skirts and gives Bdubs little catwalk fashion shows.

Bdubs x Impulse (Impdubs) -> Extremely sweet to each other while destroying their enemies.

Bdubs x Keralis (Kerdubs) -> They spend every Sunday eating cereal and watching a movie in bed.

Bdubs x Mumbo (Bedstone) -> Mumbo's fast food order is always incorrect and Bdubs is the one who has to ask the worker to correct it.

Bdubs x Zedaph x Impulse x Tango x Skizz (BZITS) -> The ONLY thing that makes them all chill out after hard days is a massive cuddle pile in their nest of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals.

Cub x Scar (Cubscar) -> When they're close to each other, their eyes get slightly bluer and their prankster urges get stronger, like a physical biological change.

Cub x Doc (Docub) -> They constantly dress up as Dr Frankenstein and Frankenstein's Monster for Halloween, and they switch who is who every year.

Doc x Etho (Detho) -> Doc leaves little gifts and bouquets around Etho's base, but Etho either doesn't see them or has zero idea who they're from until Doc brings it up.

Doc x Ren (Rendoc) -> The fathers of the server.

Doc x Joel (Doel) -> They are the most stubborn and competitive couple to the point that the others can't tell if they're on the verge of breaking up or not -- they never are.

Doc x Zedaph x Impulse x Tango x Skizz (DZITS) -> They regularly smoke zaza together and bake brownies.

Etho x Joel (Smalletho) -> Their only petnames for each other are vicious insults.

Impulse x Skizz (Skizzpulse) -> Impulse doesn't typically like touch, but Skizz's hugs are so warm and comforting that he doesn't mind one bit.

Impulse x Zedaph x Tango (ZIT) -> Tango and Impulse have amazing body heat while Zedaph is always cold, so their cuddles are the perfect temperature.

Impulse x Zedaph x Tango x Skizz (ZITS) -> The other Hermits figured out that they were a polycule after extreme confusion over why they all kiss each other.

Impulse x Tango x Skizz (ITS) -> Impulse and Skizz both use Tango as a heat pack for their wings and chronic pains.

Tango x Jimmy (Ranchers) -> They're both the absolute best gift-givers and always give each other the perfect presents.

Skizz x Tango x Jimmy (Jizzango) -> Jimmy goes non-verbal sometimes so they all know sign language and are experts at Charades.

[vilsoo]

𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 ⌇LEON KENNEDY

vampire!reader x prince!leon || WC: 3,626

𖤐 SYNOPSIS. you’ve had your eye on prince leon for a long time, impersonating as a sweet duchess developing an ardent relationship with him. but with your dark intentions, you crave for nothing but his blood and to corrupt him as a vampire…

𖤐 WARNINGS. historical royalty au, duchess!reader, coercion so dubcon warning, seduction, hypnosis, eventual smut, bathtub sex, marking, neck biting, blood drinking, mentions of killing, loss of innocence, kinda ooc leon, multiple orgasms.

HORRORLAND/KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

[HAUNTED HOUSE ANNOUNCER] You are now entering the Lust at First Bite live venue. This haunted house attraction depicts scenes of violence, intense loud audio, special effects, and content warnings posted. For a fun and safe experience, please follow our code of conduct: no touching live performers and decorations, no flash photography, and no eating. Do not block passageways, or this will result in expulsion. Smoking and drinking are permitted for our haunted houses only. We hope you enjoy.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Your grace. There is a nice, hot bath prepared just for you in the master bathroom.”

Your gaze settles onto Prince Leon as you were reading a book on your sofa, drinking in the very sight of him. He felt his own heartbeat stomp through his ribcage from how ravishing you looked under the pale moonlight radiating from your window, dressed in your nightgown and the enamoring glimmer in your eyes drizzling into his skin, buzzing in all directions of his soul. You see him with his embellished suit off and only his white dress shirt, a sign that he would be retiring back to his chambers soon for the night.

You’ve favored each other for the longest. You knew that Prince Leon had deep, incandescent feelings for you, the darling duchess of España, but was too abashed to confess. And even though there was a lingering part of you that shares the same feelings, your heart wasn’t in the right place. No desire for love, commitment, marriage, or even the title of queen in the kingdom once Leon inherits his title as king. Only a handsome man like him can writhe you into a carnal fervor, your dark desire growing stronger like a restless, insatiable hunger…

The forbidden lust and tension between you two was tormenting to even bear every second you spend time together; you wanted him in ways that he could never imagine, all those filthy, vivid dreams filling your mind. The passion, the roughness, the danger, the urge to corrupt that sweet, innocent soul… Moments in time when you’re both alone was like playing with fire and ice, aware that such ravenous desire and yearning for each other could be intoxicating…

Prince Leon lends a hand for you as you stand before him, your beautiful, genuine smile causing his heart to flutter. “Why, thank you, Your Highness. I’ll be on my way right now.”

“No need for formalities, remember?” Leon smiled back, still holding onto your hand that his thumb involuntarily grazes your fingers. Your gaze flickers down on his hands and then up into his face, fighting the urge to inch ever so closely to feel his lips on yours.

“Right. Well, are you retiring to bed for the night?”

“I was on my way, but… if you have any requests before I go, I’ll be of service.”

Slowly letting go of his hand, your longing gaze drifts to the bay windows, a silent statement that you didn’t want him to leave just yet. Coronation is just in three days and Leon will become king. Ever since you were inherited duchess, you’ve waited so long for this very moment… Not to celebrate Leon and partake in festivities, but to celebrate your own triumph...

The triumph of finally drinking his blood.

“Will you help me unlace my dress?” you requested ever so fondly. Leon looked as if every fiber of his being seized at the question, rendered motionless and his jaw slightly slackened.

“Uh, are you— are you sure, your grace?” he stammered. “You’re comfortable with me… touching you like that? Wouldn’t we be in some sort of trouble…?”

His innocence prompted a chuckle from you, coyly slanting your head at him with the right kind of heat and ardor pooling in your flaunting eyes. Immediately his mind is haunted by the hollow embrace of your gaze. Oh how you loved enticing the prince without lifting a finger, that he couldn’t help but to get lost in you, already undressing you with his eyes.

“Oh, Leon. You said you’d be of service for me tonight. Why would I get you into trouble?” You simpered, whirling your body around to reveal your delicate frill laced corset beautifully tied into a bow. Though the prince was hesitant to even lay a finger on your enamoring body, he would forever adorn your warming embrace, urging him to please you and surrender to your unfair seduction.

“Forgive me. You know how I tend to be… wary of your grace. I would do anything as you please.”

A smile stretches across your face, emitting soft sighs of relief as Leon loosens up your dress and the pressure finally lifted from your waist. The steady pace of beating hearts and slowed breathing, his calloused hands lightly brushing against your back, the shape of your body seeping into his mind… Your body has already succumbed to this desiring aroma, addicted to each other with such burning ecstasy.

“I worry that once you’re king, the circumstances between us may change,” you murmured as Leon loosened the last section of lace, whirling around to meet his eyes once again.

He held back the urge to lean forward, to finally taste those saccharine lips of yours bathed under the moonlight, to kiss you for reassurance; even though he knew that you did not belong to him...

“Y/N. You know how deeply I favor you. Being a king may have more responsibilities, but that doesn’t mean not spending time with you. Surely that is something I won’t ever miss out on,” the prince professes, ever so sweetly.

“Oh, Leon...” Another warm, genuine smile and a soft chuckle was all you replied with, clutching your loosened dress to cover your semi-exposed chest as you made your way to the master bathroom. “If your desire to spend more time alone with me is true, will you partake in more favors for me?”

“Of course, your grace. Anything.”

You hummed. “Will you light the candles in the bathroom, please? You know I love the ones you gave me.”

Leon scoffed softly, finding your demure request oddly adorable. “As you wish, your grace.”

As he lights a match from your fireplace to transfer to your bathroom, your dress had already pooled around your ankles, completely naked as Leon saunters back and flinched in shock from accidentally averting his eyes on your bare skin. “Your— your grace!” he stammers again, shielding his face away from your direction. “Forgive my eyes, I— I didn’t know you disrobed so quickly— I will be taking my leave—“

“Leon,” you assured, also piqued by how adorable he was. “There’s absolutely no need for that at all. I still require your presence.”

The prince cleared his throat, his head still turned away and eyes fixated onto the wall. “Oh, uh— of course. As long as you are comfortable, I won’t leave your side…”

“Will you look at me when I am speaking as well?”

As much as Prince Leon was flustered from your risqué behavior stemming from nowhere, he couldn’t bring himself to disobey your commands. And though he was of much higher status, being heir to the throne, while you were of a lower rank than him, he always felt rather inclined to serve and satisfy you. When his frantic eyes drifts ever so slowly onto your nude body, the depths of his blood rushed to meet the surface of his cheeks. A slow inhale he took as if he breathed the sight of you in, effortlessly seducing his thoughts…

“What’s the matter?” you spoke, his eyes never leaving the beguiling sight of your body as you dipped your feet in the bathtub.

“Um— nothing, nothing. It’s just… you may have stolen my breath away once again, your grace.”

“Once again?” you teased. “Ah, how could I forget your expression after seeing me in my gown during our tea party in the gardens a week ago...”

With the dandelion colored candlelight dancing off the rippling water, you submerged in the warm bath of rose petals and lavender, the sweet aroma of affection, serenity, and fondness filling the air. Leon was undeniably enticed. As if you wrapped him under a spell with such wanton lust, every soft whisper and every alluring gaze you give each other unleashing a storm of temptation. He felt inclined to feel closer to you as you washed yourself, right beside your grand bathtub, his shadow towering over you.

“Your grace. As honest as I am with you as you are with me... I believe we both know exactly why you require my presence tonight,” he mutters, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Your eyes widened in utter shock, a facade of panic when deep down you were so close to getting exactly what you’ve wanted. “Leon? Are you— Are you disrobing?”

“Are you planning to make me beg for this? I can’t handle it any longer. And I know you can’t either,” he mutters passionately, lulling your heart from his poetic confession. “Just say the words, my dearest. Tell me what you want.”

Behind those mesmerizing shades in your eyes leave something much more desirable that Leon can sense. Your doe, heated eyes behind the blinds of time, slowly traveling up his chest and bare skin, lips parting like an invitation for him. You tried so hard maintaining your blood thirst that it took every fiber of your being to hold yourself back for years now. It was like a blaring siren overtaking your ears, your chest thundering and pounding erratically, and your gut screaming at you that it was finally time to feast on the man you’ve been keeping your eye on for so long…

“Leon… If we do this, we must—“

“—be discreet, yes. There was nobody around before I entered, your grace. Everybody else had retired to their chambers.”

You stammered on your own words as he undoes the rest of his undergarments, shielding your eyes and turning away as he dips into the rose petal bath. If only he knew your veneer bashfulness towards him, wickedly hypnotizing him with your sultry eyes and mind…

“Your grace. Is this alright with you?” he reassures. “You can, uh… turn around whenever you’re comfortable.”

Ever so slowly you face him, inhaling deeply and sighing softly at the sight of his flesh and body before you. His skin drizzled with drops of water was so beautiful, pale and mysterious, a man that walked straight out of your twisted fairytale. Your hands moved as if it possessed a mind of its own, delicately caressing him and ambling closer to the point he can breathe you in. Just how longer can you bear yourself around him?

“My prince,” you passionately whisper, inclining your neck to take in his warm bright blue eyes and the tingling feeling of his nose brushing against yours.

The bathroom was dimly lit, glinted in darker shades; somber, sultry, and sacred. All air had escaped your lungs, panting heavily and trembling lips parted like an invitation for each other. The gap between you was now inevitably thin. Leon’s hands slide down the slope of your ribs and the curves of your hip, a thrilling shiver coursing in your veins.

“Yes. I can’t begin to explain how much of a… wicked man I am for you,” he murmurs. “You effortlessly bewitch and beguile me. And I must—I must not only tell, but show these strong feelings I have for you. It torments my soul every morning and every night…”

“As does mine, Leon…”

“Tonight, right here in this bath we share… You’re my queen. I live to please and satisfy you, Y/N.”

He dips his head further, pulling you by the neck and settling onto his lips, smiling in between your passionate kiss. Hands wandering the perfect canvas of his skin, he was pressed against the walls of the bathtub as you melted into the kiss. Not only can you taste him, but you can smell his blood so up close, an inferno of passion which was also your tempestuous hell. Your heart became a cauldron, ablaze with yearning and maddening, pulsing blood lust. In a rapturous fervour, your body falls under your unquenched, carnal hunger for him.

“I love you, Y/N,” you hear him murmur. “I love you, I love you, I love you… Let us consume each other right here.”

Consume each other…

Your eyes were forced shut, concealing the wicked change of color in your eyes, emerging into your primal, vampire state. You enchant him with lips grazing against his neck, breathing slowly as his human scent invades you tremendously. He arches his neck with the back of his head resting on the bathtub’s edge, eyes closed in ecstasy from the way you drizzled his body with kisses that were soon to be your markings. Your rapacious desire, your dangerous craving and insatiable taste for blood that no one could ever know, not even the prince himself, has finally risen like the full moon. Terror was now your fine embodiment…

“Oh, Leon… I’ve always wondered what you taste like.”

You finally bared your fangs, its sharpness shining in the light of the moonshine peaking through the windows. Your piercing, cranberry-colored eyes flickered one last time onto Leon’s face like a predator feening on its prey that it just captured. His eyelids began to flutter as he gazed upon the ceiling like he was lost in his own world, somewhat contemplating the words you just spoke of. But as the candelight flickered and the air thickened, you were ready to feed.

“Taste like..?”

With no warning your fangs sink deep into his neck, draining him so harshly as you enthralled in your long-awaited bloodgasm and feral lust. His body beneath you squirmed and writhed, his eyes meeting your predatory, bone-chilling gaze as he was about to scream and shriek from the pain and terror. But you cover his mouth, hissing as he struggled to escape from your grasp until you feel his body going cold, his eyes falling heavy, his heart beating slowly, breath hitching, and his strength staggering. You kept marking him all over his neck and chest, robbing him of his delicious blood that you were sent into a frenzy, intoxicated state. A beautiful bloodgasm.

“Your grace, what— what are you…?” Leon groggily whispers, rendered numb and dazed from how much blood you drained out of him. “Are you— are you gonna kill me?!”

You may have felt a little remorseful for ruining him like this, but after all, this was your mission from the beginning. Nothing but an ardent relationship that arbitrarily developed into something much deeper, where you kept holding back on the days you were dutied to drink him then kill him. You can see the betrayal and longing behind his eyes. The fear staggering in his ribs that you can feel his heart thundering. He was still under your spell, hypnotized and mystified by your seduction, which was why he didn’t react so frantic or hostile. Perhaps he was riveted deep down, stupefied beyond belief of who you really are behind your lovely facade… The poor Prince Leon was a goddamn fool.

“I won’t... If you be obedient for me,” you reassured to him tantalizingly, noticing him quiver as you ran your sharpened lacquered almond nails down his chest.

“So this was your plan all along…? Reveal yourself to me before I’m crowned king?” Leon retaliates weakly. “How were… how were you able to live without… drinking blood?”

“What do you think happened to all our prisoners in the dungeons? All the innocent civilians going missing and found dead from loss of blood,” you smirked, Leon’s blood still draped all over your lips, teeth, and chin. “You should be grateful that you’re the only man I’ve shown mercy to. And with all my markings on your Heavenly body… you may be fatigued from how much I drank, but you’re still alive and useful. For now.”

Leon growled in frustration his nose flaring and his breath hitching, unable to fathom his demise. He still couldn’t move his arms, for all of his limbs remained numb and his strength rendered docile. “Damn you! What— what is it that you really want, Y/N? I know you’re not only thirsting after my blood— I demand an answer!”

“You… you will be my consort as we terrorize this kingdom and its people together, leaving us as the rightful vampire heirs,” you taunted, seizing every nerve in Leon’s modified body. “The night we have our dinner party, our guests will be treated with a special meal— paralyzing them just for us to feed on their blood and celebrate our triumph. The more we feed, the more we become powerful.”

“I— I would never!” the prince retorts, his voice suddenly cracking from his surge of emotions washing over him. “I loved you, Y/N! This wasn’t… this wasn’t the future I wanted with you…”

“That’s such a shame. With the changes going on in your body right now, our bloodlust future together is inevitable. You already belong to me, Prince Leon Kennedy.”

Moonlight washes over his face, eyes wincing from how rapid his heart was thundering in his chest. Every nerve in his body was on high-alert, tearing inside him in such agonizing, razor-sharp pain. In that fleeting moment, with every heavy breath he takes as his body surrenders to this brain-fazing sensation, he was no longer himself. Your daunting words and hypnotism dwells within his skull, corrupting him in vulgar, ravenous ways.

Not one word was spoken as he embraced the roaring pain slashing in his body like acid. He felt enraged. He felt animalistic. He felt thirsty. He felt… plagued by such a forbidden desire, your seduction like grotesque death to him. Corrupted by lust, he is now a dark incarnate. No longer a human. No longer a king.

He was a bloodlusted man that serves his only purpose of pleasuring you.

“I— I belong to you, Your Grace.”

You smiled a wicked smile, catching a glimpse of Leon’s new fangs as he parts his lips for you like an invitation. The innocence, purity, and humanity that would pool behind his beautiful eyes is now ravaged with salacious filth and hunger. His humanity and dignity will now forever remain unobtainable. With the man you loved and favored reborn as one of the most deadliest, sinister creatures to scorch the Earth, you were an indestructible pair…

Leon tossed away his chastity, his honor, his celibacy the moment your lips clashed together, savoring every bit of each other to engrave in your minds. His immoral lust was a feast of flavors that blazed wildly like an untamed flame. A low growl in his throat as he kissed you so hard and rough, wanting you to bite down on his lips with your sharp fangs. Sensations coursed through his body, transferring to your flesh. Water mixed with blood was splashing onto the floor as Leon tried to push you against the wall this time for control, but he your affect rendered the depraved man docile. He couldn’t win over you, no matter how physically capable he was.

“Your— Your grace,” he gasped, looking down at the water as your swollen cunt started grinding against his aching cock. “Please, I need to feel you… I’ve been waiting for so long to experience this ecstasy with you…”

“Oh, my poor prince,” you feigned a pout, planting kisses on neck and behind his earlobe. “Vampires don’t make love. Vampires don’t indulge in intimacy… We only consume. We ravage. Human blood and power is our lustful cravings for eternity, but you, Leon… Your love is the only lethal drug I can inject into my bloodstream to satiate me.”

“I don’t care what I am anymore, Y/N. As a human, as a king, as a vampire, as a dead man… I’ll always be a cruel, withered man crawling back to you with maddening hunger. My lustful craving was always you. You alone satiate me more than anything in this rotten world.”

You had no idea what took over you at that passionate, endearing moment shared with Leon… but everything fell foggy as you were sitting on top of his cock and kissing him at the same time, hearing the water sloshing around as you moved your hips on him with sultry rolls. He felt better than you had fantasized before; pinpricks of electricity and intensity blossoming inside you, hearing him whimper and groan in your ears as he fills you up so good. It was a whirlwind of pleasure and torture, carnality and filth, intimacy and immorality… Your body enthralled in the exquisite affection Leon has been longing for, causing you to betray your heartless nature.

Leon as a newborn didn’t get a chance to drink a human’s blood, but this fervent moment with you was saccharine of all things. Your pussy wrapped around his cock was like coveted treasure, his prized possession, pulsing erratically inside you that he wanted to release. Holding your waist in his large hands, he’d buck his hips and fuck into you as you held onto him. Such filthy, cloying sounds you made as you threw your head back, him holding your waist up and forcing you to take all of it. He adorned you, every inch of your crevice, every part of your wicked, corrupted soul.

Orgasm after orgasm, rippling waves after waves, crying the most beautiful hymn that Leon has ever heard. You’ve never been so defeated and plagued by tenderness, by passion, by several love confessions from Leon. But you were undeniably raptured from how hard you both kept coming and coming in the heat of the moment, clinging onto each other as you made love and recited your vows in the bathtub.

“Such an obedient man you are for me,” you praised. “As my consort in our new kingdom, what else can you do for me?”

Leon, smitten and trapped in a daze by you, no longer possessed humanity. No morality, no rectitude, no virtue. As long as he can thrive off pleasuring you, he will fall to his knees and always be at your command.

“I will kill for you, Your Grace...”

ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO © 2023. do not steal, plagiarize, translate, or repost/share any of my works on any social media where minors have access. original art here (artist unknown)

inspired by the bathtub scene from Queen of the Damned (2002) and “Knight of Relaxation” by Naudio on Quinn.

𖤐 TAGS. @crysugu @rinshoe @cran-berry-vodka @daddyzzlittlewhore @kimekioo @strawberrymilk4k @maidenssymphony @willsdollface @zippertwat @strawstfu @migueloharacumslut @maddietries @milestacy @blackhoodlea @bru1sedclavicle @dollicries @hehehehesthings @dvafoxxystrashcan

[acknowledge-reigns]

Animals | Jacob Fatu x Black!fem OC (SMUT) 18+!!!

Kinktober Day #8: Breeding & Marking

"Baby, I'm preying on you tonight.

Hunt you down eat you alive

Just like animals.

Animals, Like animals-mals..." 🎶

Description: Jacob celebrates his tag title win with his wife

Warnings: Breeding, marking, rough sex, possessiveness (on a healthy level?), somewhat primal, dirty talk, degradation, vaginal sex.

Face claim: Saweetie

MDNI!! 18+ BELOW THE CUT

My masterlist can be found here and my kinktober schedule can be found here.

As always my fics are based in kayfabe, not about real people.

tag list - @mysticreigns2 @queeny23 @jeyusos-girl @notfancyrebelpaper @xbriexx @skyesthebomb @mzv11 @paigereeder @glitterywitchstarlight @v4mp-reads @hunnidmilly

Jacob sat in the bloodline locker room, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his wife, Arielle. He had just won his first championship in WWE and was eager to celebrate with her. She had flown in just for his championship match.

As he paced back and forth, the door swung open and Arielle walked in, a smile on her face. "Congrats, babe," she said, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm so proud of you."

Jacob and Arielle had been together for a little over five years, initially she was just his hairstylist. Nights and nights of sitting up just the two of them laughing and bonding while she did his retwist brought on feelings neither of them could ignore.

the amount of times she'd pop his hand with her comb and scold him for his inability to stay still made her feel like she was turning into her grandmama. No one knew how to work her last nerve like Jacob Fatu.

And coincidentally, no one had ever given her butterflies like Jacob Fatu. His laugh was contagious. His genuine personality. He'd swept her off her feet. The way his goofy ass had insisted on telling people that in this story the little mermaid falls for the big bad wolf, not the prince. This of course being a play on her name being Arielle and his gimmick being the Samoan werewolf.

Jacob spent the last 5+ years grinding and putting in blood, sweat and tears on the Indies to support her and their growing family, they had two children, Kirsten (4) and Samuel (2) whom Arielle had sent off with her parents for the weekend so that she and Jacob could have their moment to celebrate. The struggle was over.

Jacob pulled her close, breathing in her scent. "Thank you, baby," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Arielle looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "So, what are we going to do to celebrate?" she asked.

Jacob grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I have something in mind," he said, his voice low and seductive. "But I think we should go back to the hotel first."

Arielle raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Lead the way," she said, a playful smile on her lips.

Once they arrived at the hotel, Jacob quickly pulled Arielle into the room and closed the door behind them. He pinned her against the wall, his body pressing against hers.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he growled.

Jacob's hands roamed over Arielle's body, his touch possessive and hungry. He nipped at her earlobe, his breath hot against her skin. "You're mine, and I'm going to make sure everyone knows it," he whispered, his voice low and husky.

Arielle moaned as Jacob's lips moved down to her collarbone. "I'm all yours, Jacob," she said, her voice breathless. "I've always been yours."

Jacob pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with desire. "Good," he said, his hands sliding down to her hips. "... 'Cause I'm bout to mark you as mine tonight."

He picked her up and carried her over to the bed, laying her down gently before crawling on top of her.

Jacob hovered over Arielle, his eyes roaming over her body. He could feel the heat building between them, the primal urge to claim her as his own growing stronger with every passing second.

He leaned down and captured her lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue demanding entrance. Arielle moaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

Jacob broke the kiss and began trailing kisses down her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin. "I'm going to leave marks all over your body," he growled. "So that everyone knows you belong to me."

Arielle gasped as Jacob's teeth grazed her skin, the sharp sting sending a thrill through her body. "Yes," she moaned, arching her back. "Mark me, Jacob. I want everyone to know who I belong to..."

Jacob growled low in his throat, his hands roaming over her body possessively. He nipped and sucked at her skin, leaving a trail of purple-ish red marks in his wake.

He moved down to her breasts, taking one of her nipples into his mouth and biting down gently. Arielle cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair as he worked his way down her body.

Jacob positioned himself between Arielle's legs, his eyes locked on hers. "Ready for me to breed this lil pussy again, baby? " he said, his voice low and seductive.

He thrust into her hard, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. Arielle gasped, her nails digging into his back as she adjusted to his size.

Jacob began to move, his thrusts rough and possessive. He pounded into her relentlessly, his eyes burning with desire. "Mine," he growled, his hands gripping her hips tightly. "Mine to fuck. Mine to mark. Mine to breed."

Arielle's moans filled the room, her body arching up to meet Jacob's every thrust. She could feel his primal desire, his need to claim her as his own, and it only served to turn her on even more.

"Harder," she gasped, her nails digging deeper into his back.

Jacob grunted, his pace quickening as he gave her exactly what she wanted. He drove into her with brutal force, his signature crazy eyes flashing with dominance.

"You like that, don't you?" he growled. "You like it when when I breed you like a lil bitch in heat.... Gonna knock you up again. Gotta grow the bloodline, babygirl."

Arielle's body tensed, her muscles clenching around Jacob's cock as he continued to pound into her. "Please," she gasped, her voice desperate. "Please, breed me, Jacob. I need it."

Jacob's thrusts became even more frantic, his movements becoming erratic as he felt his own release approaching.

"I'm going to come," Jacob growled, his body tensing. "I'm going to fill you up with my cum and breed you so good."

Arielle cried out, her body convulsing as she reached her own climax. "Yes!" she screamed, her back arching off the bed. "Yes, Jacob, breed me! Give me your cum!"

Jacob let out a guttural cry as he finally reached his peak, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside her. He collapsed on top of her, his body slick with sweat as he panted for breath.

Jacob lay on top of Arielle, his body spent but satisfied. He nuzzled her neck, breathing in her scent as he tried to catch his breath.

"You did so well, baby," he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion. Jacob slowly pulled out of Arielle, wincing slightly at the loss of contact. He looked down at her, a possessive gleam in his eyes.

"Let me clean you up," he said, his voice low and gentle. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a towel, then began to wipe her down gently, making sure to be extra careful with her sensitive areas.

Once he was finished cleaning her up, Jacob tossed the towel aside and lay down beside her, pulling her into his arms. He stroked her hair gently, his touch soothing and comforting.

"You did so well," he repeated, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You were such a good girl for your alpha." he stated, their honorific being 'Alpha' of course another play on the whole werewolf thing. As an avid romance reader, Arielle loved every bit of it.

Arielle snuggled into Jacob's chest, feeling safe and content in his arms. "I love you," she murmured, her voice soft and sleepy.

Jacob tightened his arms around her, holding her close. "I love you too, baby," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "You're mine forever, and I'll always take care of you."

[elect1z]

Hello! I have a tf2 request for you if you like.

GNC Tenth Class reader, with any Mercs you would like. Romantic or platonic, whichever you want.

Matches have been going the same as usual over the last week, though Reader has been acting just a bit stranger each time they Respawn. Their appetite grows bigger, their senses grow stronger, and small little things keep changing about their body.

Their hunger grows stronger and stronger, forcing a very confused and scared reader to lock themself into their room, hoping the urges go away. Whoever comes to get them is in for a bit surprise.

(tldr, Reader has been either turned into a vampire/werewolf, or something is going on with the Respawn Machine. Feel free to make this sexy if you like!)

Sniper x Vampire!Reader cw: Blood, Dead animal, and bad writing

⚡︎ Everything has been normal like usual. The matches for the past few weeks have been good.. But there is something wrong lately. ⚡︎ Every time you respawn, you feel a change to you and your body.. ⚡︎ You notice that your body has slightly evolved, and so has your appetite. You are hungrier than ever, but nothing seems to satisfy you every time you eat. Your body has grown a little stronger too. ⚡︎ Now, you seem to get a pretty bad sunburn on every match. Other mercs notice your sudden change of behavior too, especially Sniper. ⚡︎ After a while, you start to drool whenever you see blood on the match, the voices inside your head telling you to do something... The urge is getting stronger. Something is definitely wrong with you ⚡︎ You decided to isolate yourself in your room, to keep yourself sane from your loud ringing thoughts... Sniper is concerned about you at that time and decided to check up on you Oh boy, he never expected this would come to him ------ "Roo, You haven't left your room in two days. Are you alri-" As he enters your room, He sees you on the floor, your back facing him, and your hands seem to hold something alive with a liquid dripping down on it... Is that blood..? One of the floors of your room is covered with said liquid and so does your hands. The horrifying scene that flashed right at him was you eating one of the Medic's pigeons.. "Bloody hell.. " You turned your head and realized he had witnessed your doing, you tried to explain to him. "S-Sniper! I..." You can't explain to him, you really can't. His face already turned into disgust, and he already covered his mouth from the stench of the dead animal. "What the fuck is wrong with you!" He was already backing away closing the door. In an instant you grabbed his leg and dragged him inside, locking the door. He kept struggling in your grasp trying to escape from it. But you're too strong and put him on hold, with you behind him and your legs locking his waist. He kept making noises, and it ended up with you shutting his mouth with your hands. With you saw him, the voices inside you kept getting louder as your face was inches away from his neck. He could smell the iron coming from your bloody hands. The stench of the dead pigeon still lingers in the room making him disgusted. "As much as I like you, Sniper. I couldn't help but to try shut those, loud voices" You let go of his mouth and grab his face positioning him and pulling his collar down where the the neck is more visible and accessible. "I'm sorry for this..." "What are yo-!" In a matter of seconds, you dug your fangs into his neck, and his own blood dripped on it. He screamed, the pain hitting him like a bullet. The taste of his delightful blood kept getting stronger as you dug your fangs further. Making him grunt loudly. After a while, his grunt became more and more less. With you feasting and not caring about the world. He knew that he would either pass out or die of blood loss. Another minute had passed and the grunting had really stopped, Making you snap out of your dream and come back to the real world. You stopped immediately and pushed him away from you. After checking his pulse, you are glad that he is still alive, turns out he just passed out. Wiping the blood on your mouth, you look at your hands and the mess that you made, Sighing to yourself you decide to clean what you did. You carried Sniper to his camper van and put him on the bed. While the dead pigeon.. you buried it somewhere safe, Thankfully it was nighttime and no one saw you. You cleaned up the blood on your floor with Luminol and cleaned yourself after that. After all of that, you went to sleep. But you couldn't help but think of the blood you feasted on Sniper. God, it was the best thing other than a pigeon's blood. Maybe one day, You could enjoy all of the blood you wanted...

A/N: DUDE I FORGOT TO PUT THE KEEP READING THING 😭

[romione-trope-fest]

Sleep Hexed

Title: Sleep Hexed

Author: cheesyficwriter

Selected Trope: Only One Bed

Brief Summary: A No Voldemort tale featuring two idiots in love who don’t quite know it yet. Post-Hogwarts years.

Rating: T

Word Count (if applicable): 3,738

Trigger Warnings: N/A

---

Chapter One

Sleep. 

Interesting, isn’t it? 

All humans need to have the energy to go about their daily lives. Although sleep is unavoidable, the task can become significantly compromised at any moment. 

For Hermione? Sleep has always seemed so simple, yet it causes her much more grief than she cares to admit. 

It’s midday during an impossible season of trials at the Ministry, and she can’t focus on the work that needs to be done simply because she tossed and turned all night long. Instead of her brain deciding that she needed proper rest before a full day of work, Hermione found herself laying awake for the fifth straight night in a row. 

Why can’t she sleep when it feels like she’s tried everything in the books to help her? Hermione always maintains proper hygiene, avoids caffeine as much as possible, performs a nightly Atmospheric Charm to keep her bedroom at an ideal temperature, and even has a set bedtime—no matter how often she has to remind Ron and Harry that the use of her Floo after ten in the evening should only be for emergencies!

Although the cafeteria is bustling with energy during the busy Ministry lunch hour, Hermione’s only point of focus is to mentally strategize ways to get at least an hour of shut eye tonight. Yet she nudges the food around on her plate with her fork, lacking any appetite to eat. 

Her legs are restless beneath the table as she fights the urge to bounce her knee in a jerky rhythm. Ron slides into the empty seat across from her, kinking an eyebrow in her direction as the table shakes from her incessant knee movement. He opens his mouth as if he wants to address it, but says nothing. Hermione bites her lip to hold back a yawn, her eyelids drooping of their own volition. 

“Ron!” Harry plops into the open chair next to Hermione without warning, his eyes bright. She jumps as his lunch tray clatters onto the table. “Mate, that match last night—”

“Was fucking brilliant!”

The two boys fall into a natural conversation, allowing Hermione’s thoughts to drift to topics that don’t involve her. She takes a long sip of her water, hoping the sensation will keep her engaged long enough to excuse herself to the loo without appearing suspicious.

Harry and Ron discuss Quidditch stats for the next five minutes, but her red-headed best friend steals glances her way every so often. A throbbing headache beneath Hermione’s temples grows stronger and stronger with the excessive noise in the room. As she reaches for her glass of water again, her hand collides with the rim and tips the clear liquid onto the table. 

“Bugger!” Hermione withdraws her wand and mutters a quick Scourgify, but nothing happens. She inwardly groans, agitated over her inability to even hold her wand with a steady enough hand.  

Unfortunately, she isn’t the only one who notices. Ron frowns and stops speaking mid-sentence, studying her movements with sudden interest. “What was that?”

“What do you mean?" 

"You. With your wand, just now.” He nods at the 10 and ¾ inch of vinewood dangling loosely between her fingers. “You fumbled a simple spell.”

Hermione scoffs at the critique. “Thanks, Ron.”

“No! It’s just—” He blunders, gesturing towards her face. “I mean it’s you. You’re brilliant. Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel a bit off today. That’s all.” The retort snaps out of her mouth all too quickly. “Maybe I’ll leave early to get some rest.”

“Leave early?” Ron snorts, leaning back in his chair. “You mean actually leave on time with the rest of us for once?”

Hermione rolls her eyes but clamps her mouth shut. It’s baffling how he manages to keep track of her work hours when he’s usually the one cutting out early. But she’s certainly not going to tell him that. 

Ron sighs, propping his elbows on the table as he leans forward. A whiff of sandalwood hits Hermione’s nose, and she struggles to find a way to hold her own underneath the intensity of his gaze. 

The growing lump in her throat is too difficult to swallow down, so instead she averts her eyes while mulling over a way to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Are you getting enough sleep, Hermione?”

He’s so dangerously close, it’s unnerving. Can he spot the dark circles around her eyes? She’s tried so hard to conceal them with magic this week. Hermione blinks as she fights off another yawn. In a curt tone, she responds, “I’m getting sleep, yes." 

Hermione omits the max one hour a night part, but still. 

Both of Ron’s index fingers shoot out from the fists propping his chin up. "Your spell must be wearing off. These weren’t there earlier.”

He’s pointing right at her eyes. Oh Merlin.

The implication of Ron’s words rings loud and clear. But Hermione is determined to remain Silencio regarding her sleep cycle. She just needs time to sort out what to do with her dilemma. 

“You’re still coming to our party at Grimmauld Place tonight, right?” Harry asks through a mouthful of pea soup, cutting in like he hasn’t been listening to their conversation, even though it’s obvious that he has. It’s so like him to want to maintain the peace. “Gin will hex you if you don’t.”

It kind of feels like I’ve already been hexed.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to see how the rest of the afternoon goes.”

Ron tuts, clearly not happy with her answer. “What are you on about? You have to come!” 

“I don’t think I have to do anything, Ron.” Her scathing reply comes out much snappier than she intends. She can tell her mood is starting to swing in the wrong direction, and she needs to put a stop to it before her friends pry any further. “Look, I’ll try my best to make it. I’ve got to get back to work.”

As she stands up with her tray, Ron mutters under his breath, “Got to get some sleep is more like it.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right, and that’s what’s so frustrating.  

Hermione ignores his comment and starts on her brisk walk towards the Floo, as fast as her legs can carry her. She’s got a stack of files on her desk at home. Maybe taking a half day and tending to those would be a sufficient amount of work for the day. Kingsley will understand, and she’ll make sure to send him notice as soon as she arrives at her flat. 

Although not certain she’ll have the energy to even make it to the gilded fireplaces, Hermione has to try.  There’s a good chance that she might give in to her fatigue before she is even out of view from her two best friends. And she certainly doesn’t want to be caught drooling all over the papers on her desk in the Law Enforcement department if Ron pops in to check on her. 

A part of her still believes it’s useless to go home right now—with the intention of getting some rest—when there is so much work to be done. She already knows that as soon as she crawls into bed, she’ll be wide awake again. 

–

It’s no surprise that Hermione ends up at Harry and Ginny’s party, after all. 

Even though Ron had sent an Owl to persuade her to attend—five times, to be exact—it’s still a decision that she made on her own. 

After giving it much thought, instead of getting her desperately desired sleep, it occurred to Hermione that exhausting herself at a large gathering might be exactly what she needs to fall into a snooze-filled dream tonight. 

So here she is. Along with every other witch and wizard from her year at Hogwarts, apparently. It didn’t occur to her that this would be a class reunion. Harry really does like to embellish when he insists that “it’ll just be a small gathering with a few friends” but there’s no turning back now. 

Music surges over the boisterous conversation as Hermione steps out of the Floo, and the atmosphere is immediately electric. The party is in full swing as she squeezes her way through the sweaty bodies of many familiar faces who greet her upon arrival. 

Luna is twirling underneath the large overhead chandelier in the center of the entryway. The twins are giving out free demonstrations of their joke products to individuals who are none the wiser. Ginny is already the life of the party, stumbling around and singing off-key to a Celestina Warbeck classic. 

The air is hot and sticky, clearly evidenced by the prickle of sweat developing on Hermione’s forehead. It’s quickly apparent that even with so many partygoers pressing in all around her, she still feels alone, as ridiculous as that sounds. 

At least until Ron appears out of nowhere, as if he’s just apparated straight into the middle of the drawing room. It’s a possibility, but it would be an impressive feat for someone holding two drinks in his hand. He thrusts one cup in Hermione’s direction.

Her nose wrinkles as she catches a strong whiff of cheap whiskey. “What is this?”

“It’s a drink,” he yells over the music, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You look like you need one more than anyone else here.”

She knows exactly what he means without needing to go into more detail. Loosen up, Hermione. You’re too proper. 

A heavy sigh leaves Hermione’s lips, but she takes the drink he offers. “Thanks. Great party.”

Ron cups a hand around his ear, leaning closer. “What did you say?" 

"Nevermind,” she shouts, just as her gaze falls on a man standing across the room, waving both hands in their direction. “I think Dean is looking for you.”

He follows Hermione’s point, snorting when he spots Dean and Seamus gesturing to the pyramid display of flipped over plastic drinkware set for another round of the wildly popular House Cup. Before jetting off, Ron’s fingers close over her arm. “Will you stay?”

The urgency displayed in his eyes warms Hermione’s cheeks. She falters, but agrees. “I’ll stay.”

Making such a promise turns out to be a hard one to keep. Apart from frequent check-ins by Ron, she keeps to herself. While her time at Hogwarts was great—fantastic, really—the best memories she has are with Ron and Harry, navigating their classes and gorging themselves on monthly Hogsmeade trips. 

Many of her classmates once spread rumors that she was in a love triangle with Ron and Harry. It was absolutely absurd! None of them had ever crossed that line. Can’t men and women be just friends without any romance brewing? She was there for Harry as he sorted out his feelings for Ginny and helped him come up with a solid plan to tell Ron, which turned out to be not so solid, but Ron got over it eventually. The boys were also there for her when she got her heart broken by Viktor Krum—well, more so Harry. Although Ron used to worship the Bulgarian Seeker, he is always in a foul mood nowadays whenever the subject of Viktor is broached. That particular period of Hermione’s life is now hidden away in the Forbidden Forest of conversational topics. 

Throw Lavender Brown in that forest too, but no need to go into detail there. 

Regardless of her close friendship with Ron and Harry, she’s now surrounded by many people who have better relationships with the boys than anyone else ever did with her. 

Is that Hermione’s fault? Did she not socialize enough at school? Sure, she took her studies seriously and spent more time in the library than on the Quidditch pitch, but Ron and Harry did their part to remind her to take breaks long enough to have some fun from time to time. 

The thought consumes her, enough to crave more breathing space. Hermione scans the olive green walls that seem to be caving in on her, looking for an escape. She locates the grand staircase at the end of the hall, which spurs a new idea. Of course! Harry recently converted one of the bedrooms upstairs into a library. She’ll take a short perusal through the stacks and then return to the party afterward, refreshed and ready to mingle. 

Once she navigates through her schoolmates and reaches the landing at the top of the stairs, her attention goes over the banister to the people down below. Hermione catches a flash of ginger hair in the entrance hall and meets Ron’s gaze. His brows furrow as she ascends the stairs, as if he has been keeping his eye on her the whole time. 

Oh well. He can follow me if he wants.

Hermione continues on her path until she reaches the library, jiggling the rusty doorknob until it creaks open. The darkly-lit room has a faint, musty scent of wood, and she could sneeze from the amount of dust clouding the air. Harry really needs to tidy up the place. 

Yet she could still spend hours in this dark corner, looking for hidden treasures or important insights. Harry’s bookshelf, she soon discovers, leaves much to be desired. It’s mostly filled with miscellaneous titles, such as Charm Your Own Cheese, and a stack of old periodicals, like the Sunday Prophet and Which Broomstick. The real eyebrow raiser though has to be his copy of 12 Fail Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Was that one a Ginny purchase?

And not a single one of their textbooks from school! 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to hide out here all night.”

Hermione grins despite the disruption, knowing that Ron would follow her. His curiosity always wins in the end. After setting one of the books back onto the shelf, she turns to find him leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Taking a step forward, she goads, “I didn’t realize I needed a security guard to keep a watchful eye over me.”

Ron’s eyes twinkle. “Did you just label me as a security guard? That’s a bit insulting.”

“Says the Auror with a massive ego—which proves my point, honestly.”

It’s amazing how their banter is doing wonders to re-energize her. Getting into a compelling argument is the only strategy that really works to keep her mind off her present situation. And for that, Ron is the best partner.

“And furthermore,” she continues before he has a chance to contend her claim, “it’s clear that you managed to lose your game of House Cup, seeing as how you have nothing better to do than to visit me in a library—of all places to find the likes of Ron Weasley!”

Ron’s eyes narrow as he takes a slow step in her direction. “Why are you picking a fight right now?”

“I’m not.”

I am. 

“You are, and it usually means you are avoiding something.”

All these years of knowing Ron Weasley, and she had somehow forgotten how well Ron Weasley knows her.

“Are you deflecting?” He continues, not loosening up on his interrogation tactics. “Is this still about our conversation from earlier? Please tell me you at least got some rest when you went home.”

“Rest, maybe. Actual sleep, definitely not.”

His lips press into a firm, thin line. She hates when he gets concerned. Ron is so fussy and determined and stubborn. The minute he sniffs out a problem with her, he gets all bent out of shape until he solves it. 

“Have you taken any Dreamless Sleep? I don’t recommend extended use of that stuff, but if you need something to give you a little push—”

Hermione holds back the urge to roll her eyes, not interested in hearing a list of solutions that she’s already worked through herself. “Tried it. Didn’t work.”

“How about seeing a Healer at St. Mungo’s?”

After two days of minimal to no sleep, it was the first place she went. “They say I’m perfectly healthy and there are no physical indicators as to why I’m not sleeping.”

“Well, have you tried counting Hippogriffs?”

Hermione’s forehead crinkles at the absurdity of his suggestion. “What?”

“You know, as the saying goes?” Ron waves a flippant hand. “Don’t Muggles count to one hundred in their head using some sort of quantifier? Like Chocolate Frogs?”

“It’s sheep, actually.” Hermione covers her mouth, stifling a giggle. 

“Even better!” Ron gives an exaggerated head roll when she doesn’t react. "Well, I think it would be fun.”

She really can’t think of something she’d rather do less, honestly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Ron taps his chin, giving this unauthorized role of being her Healer for the day a considerable amount of thought. “Have you tried keeping your room dark and cool?”

“Always.”

“Ear plugs?”

“It’s almost too quiet.”

“White noise charm in your room?”

“Doesn’t work.”

Ron’s shoulders sag as he slumps back against the wall, blowing out a steady stream of air that removes a stray ginger curl out of his eyes. “Of course you’ve bloody tried everything.”

Hermione releases a frustrated groan before sprawling herself out on the black velvet chaise in the corner of the room. Ron follows her, nudging her boots hanging off the edge of the furniture.

“Budge up.” 

“Fine,” Hermione grumbles, lifting her legs up long enough for Ron to slide in. He lowers her legs down over his lap. 

“Well, you just recently transferred from Care of Magical Creatures to the Law Enforcement Department.” He squeezes her ankles in a supportive manner. “Give yourself some time to sort it all out. You’re probably just in your head too much.”

The longer Hermione goes without so much as a power nap, the less convinced she is that Ron’s theory is true. 

She flops a hand over her eyes and allows a small yawn to escape her. Where did that come from? “I’m actually pretty tired right now.”

“Good. Sleep.”

Although she can feel her consciousness ebbing away, the universe must have a twisted sense of humor because all Hermione wants to do is continue talking to Ron. She needs to convince him that she will be just fine, and that she will figure out a solution on her own. 

Still, her eyelids flutter closed as she allows the world to fade to black.

–

A blazing ray of sunlight filters through Hermione’s eyes. The tingling sensation in her hand indicates that it must still be heavy with sleep, and her eyes shift to find the culprit. 

Ron.

The last visual she can recall is him sitting next to her on the chaise. Now he’s sprawled across the length of the seat, squashed in between her and the backrest. It’s also very likely that she’ll fall flat on her face given the precarious position she is now resting in, much in thanks to Ron’s body taking up most of the available space. 

Her legs and feet dangle off the edge of the chaise, and the lack of proper pillow support has her head tilted downward towards the floor. She’s even got sore limbs and a kink in her neck to prove it.

Wait, is it morning?

Hermione gasps, making a quick attempt to sit up, but she can’t move with the weight of Ron’s arm curled tightly around her waist. 

What in the world—

“Ron, wake up,” she hisses, nudging an elbow back to poke him in the ribs.

“Mmm…no.” Ron sniffs the air, shaking his head down into her curls that are splattered across his face. “Not the spiders, Mum.”

Hermione holds back her laughter, giving him a rougher shake. “Wake up, Ron!”

He groans, an action that only pulls her tighter against his chest. The pressure steals a significant amount of air from her lungs. “Ron, oomph, I can’t breathe!”

“What?” He finally croaks, his eyes clouding over in a sleep-filled haze. “Hermione? Wha—oh, fuck, sorry!”

Unfortunately Ron’s sudden realization of their positioning doesn’t fare too well for Hermione, who tumbles to the ground with a squeak as he releases his hold on her. It’s sheer luck that her forearms break her fall, preventing her from actually landing on her head. 

Ouch. That’ll leave a bruise later. 

“Shit!”

Hermione rolls her eyes, huffing stray pieces of hair out of her face. “Language, Ron!”

“Fu—er, I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t know…wait, is it morning?”

She clammers to her feet, rolling out her wrists. Glad you’re catching up, Ron. “We must’ve fallen asleep.”

Ron nods, letting out a yawn and stretching his arms above his head. “That’s good though, right? Looked like you needed the rest.”

A throat clears, alerting Hermione to another occupant in the room. Harry stands in the doorway clad in his pajamas and full of messy bedhead, squinting his eyes through his glasses. 

“Blimey, I thought you two had left. I saw the light on when I was walking to the loo.”

Hermione meets Ron’s gaze, both sets of their eyes widening.  “Uhm, actually we were just chatting. Must have lost track of time,” she manages to get out through shaky breaths. 

Harry’s eyes dart between both of them, appearing unconvinced. “All night?”

“Yeah.” Ron’s gaze remains fixed on Hermione, a slight twinkle in his eye. “All night.”

Hermione’s fists clench into two tiny balls at her sides. If Harry had shown up just mere moments earlier, he would have found them asleep together. What could he have possibly imagined then?

“You do realize it’s morning now?” Harry continues on with his line of questioning. 

Ron tilts his head towards the window in the room. “Worked that out for ourselves, thanks.”

“Got to be honest, Ginny was pretty miffed when she thought you two left without saying goodbye.” Harry crosses his arms, a devilish grin curling onto his face. “Wait until she sees that you’re still here!”

“I’ve got to go actually,” Hermione blurts out. There is no possible universe in which she will stick around long enough for Ginny to take the mickey out of her over this. “Crookshanks needs his breakfast and he’s a right terror whenever it’s late.”

Ron harrumps. “Bloody cat. Want me to see you home, Hermione?”

“I can get myself there, thanks.” With a brief wave at both of the boys, she exits the room in a hurry before either of them can see her flushed cheeks. 

She fell asleep. She fell asleep.

And it was all because of Ron Weasley.

[starryybrained]

Overwritten Routine

Whumptober Day 8: Isolation chamber

Content: Isolation, lab whump, captivity, nonhuman whumpee, self harm

It’s been hours now.

Solstice hasn’t seen another soul since it was left behind in the enclosure. Its only company is the warm yellow of the light in the ceiling beating down on him and the dirt beneath his feet. Every so often, a mist comes from the ceiling. He uses the mist to count how long time has passed, marking a line on the ground to help himself recall how many. He can’t count, but he can tell the row of lines is beginning to get long. Worried, Solstice recounts them on its fingers, checking how many sets of both hands there are. One set and its pointer, middle and ring finger… not including some it didn’t track.

The loneliness eats away at him. Where did they go? What are they doing? He paces, tracing the walls with his fingers like he’s done so many times before. He’s done this for many sets, so many he can’t keep track, trudging the circumference of the room, dragging his hand against the smooth walls and vocalizing to himself. With the room empty, it stretches its vocal cords, humming and making noises, anxious. He hasn’t resorted to crying or screaming yet, but he might, feeling his hope wane and the fear of the uncertain grow stronger.

It continues to trudge through the room, until the familiar feeling of moisture hits it. Misting. He makes his way to the tallies in the corner, adding a line and counting them on his fingers again. One set and the pointer, middle, ring, and pinky finger. Almost two whole sets. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

Solstice holds back a worried cry, biting its tongue. It hurts to do so, but Solstice soon realizes it’s a new sensation and welcomes it. Leaning back against the wall, it bites its tongue over and over – and hard – until it’s tender and sore, running it against the roof of his mouth and teeth. It hurts, yet he can’t help but do it anyway. He doesn’t understand why he would want to hurt. Its own behavior is indecipherable to itself.

The cool droplets of water from the mist roll down his back, and he finds himself tearing up. It just doesn’t understand. Where is everyone? There’s only so much it can do while waiting for them–!

It paces around the room again for half a set, until suddenly, it sits on the ground, back against the wall. It digs its fingers into the soil, raking it up, ripping out fistfuls of it. With nothing growing within it, it’s easy to do so; it crumbles in Solstice's hands, crumbs of it falling to the ground.

He lets the dirt fall out of his fingers, uncurling them. Then, with a newfound fury, it shoves its hands back into the ground. Something deep inside of him awakens, twisting and writhing, and it pours out from his palms, burning. Something creaks from beneath the dirt, penetrating the surface, wooden, gnarled. Solstice pushes himself further, urging the energy into the ground and into his creation, making it grow larger until finally, in front of him stands a thin, crooked sapling.

For a second, time is frozen, and he stares in awe, his hands still buried in the dirt, his body fixed in place. Then he reaches for the trunk, caressing it, feeling the grooves of the wood under his fingers. In that moment, it feels an almost motherly connection to it, forgetting about being lonely, forgetting about the scientists, forgetting about everything.

Then it begins to decay.

Frantic, Solstice holds on to it, trying to summon up the energy once more, having only known his power for a fleeting moment. He fails and the sapling crumbles into the earth, dying until there’s nothing left but the rotten, petrified remnants of its leaves and branches.

He is unmoving again.

He lets out a tiny sob, and with a shaking hand, reaches for one of the blackened branches. Then he raises his hand with the branch in it and slams it down on his leg, stabbing himself. He does it over and over until he’s numb to the feeling, shuddering with silent sobs as he does. Once it’s done, it drops the piece of wood, betrayed by its own feelings and actions. It brings a hand to its thigh, rubbing the raw skin gently, its touch feather-light.

Gingerly, it lays itself against the wall, curling up and holding its legs to its chest, letting its hair fall over its eyes, closing them tightly.

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

dual-part fic prompt: first a moment where nikolai ran across the darkling as a little boy, potentially even a scene where he'd broken into his private rooms and was hiding or something, and then a moment where he's mocking nikolai sometime circa R&R or KOS just before the monster takes over again (can be real or a hallucination)

Not the exact same concept but I was already working on a one shot with vaguely similar elements! Pre KoS I had a lot of thoughts about the Darkling resurfacing as basically a voice in Nikolai’s head. So I’m leaning into that with this.

***

At first, Nikolai thinks he is going mad. Ever since that fateful night, where he plummeted from the sky, still more monster than man, the Darkling’s power rapidly fading from him, but not quickly enough, he’s felt it. There’s an ice in his chest, always with him, an invasive presence chilling him to the bone. There are thoughts, urges, he doesn’t quite understand, that don’t quite feel like his own. When he dreams, even his nightmares aren’t fully his.

He might dream of meat, of sprouting talons and wings again, of losing sanity and taking flight. Or see his family dying at that last wretched dinner in his honor, gruesome memories from the army, from his time at sea. Those things are horrible, but they’re familiar. They’re not foreign things lodged into his mind.

Other nights though, he dreams of traveling endlessly, changing names with every village and city, always looking over his shoulder for fear of being discovered. Of hands holding him underwater, in an iced over lake. But in the most frequent dreams, he is only terrified of being alone in the all-consuming dark.

Then there are the dreams of Alina. Her hands, her neck, the feel of her. The way her face betrays her every single emotion. And the collar. Always the collar. Mine, a quiet, resentful voice whispers to him. She should have been mine. Mine to shape, mine to guide. My balance. My right.

It would be simpler to call it madness. But of course, Nikolai would never have such good fortune.

He’d hoped it— whatever it was— would go away with time, that it was just a matter of readjusting to life as a mere mortal again. That it was only the simple business of becoming reacquainted with trivial civilities such as speech, and literacy, and complex thought. But no, even as his monstrous foray feels more and more like a dream, Nikolai continues to feel distinctly altered.

Sobachka, he’ll hear the ghost of the Darkling say in his head. In the dark of night, half-ensared by sleep, when he will not fully remember. Usurper, he calls him. Thief. You foolish, boy-king. Your life is like a flicker of a candle, snuffed out before it’s begun.

The voice persists, grows stronger with each passing day, seeping into his waking moments. A nagging, bitter thing, a wound he cannot help but worry at, and feel it grow even more painful, inflamed.

Sometimes when the nightmares are at their worst, they’ll leave him thrashing in his bed, stumbling out of it with a will he doesn’t fully understand. Sometimes he’ll come to in the halls of the Little Palace, having slipped past multiple sets of guards, and through the wooded tunnel in his sleep. Usually he wakes before he gets too far— after all it’s always the same route, to Alina’s door.

This time, he wakes with his fingers— always stained with black, he still shudders at the sight of them— curled around the cool metal door handle. He recoils, almost stumbles, and he is about to turn away, but then the door opens a crack and he can see her peering out at him.

“Nikolai?” Alina says, voice raspy like she’s been asleep or perhaps crying. He can see the warm glow of lamplight behind her. She’s told him she cannot stand the dark anymore. That makes two of them.

He runs a hand through his hair, not quite fully awake yet. That dreaming urge to be near her still eating at him. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Is something wrong?”

Tell her you’re pathetic, a drowning child, foolish enough to wade out into the sea. Instead he blinks, tries to smile. “I couldn’t sleep.”

She finally opens the door all the way, gesturing for him to come in. His gaze flickers to the antlers at her neck, the scales at her wrist, and the second fetter, bone white but delicately carved into the shape of talons clasped around her other wrist.

He always wonders if she’d requested that bit of obfuscation, or perhaps David had been feeling artistic. It’s weakness. Even now she refuses to face difficult truths.

She ushers him through the impersonal audience chamber and to the hexagonal bedroom all in shades of black. He wonders idly if she’ll ever change it.

She fusses over him to sit by the fire. He hadn’t realized he was shaking.

“I’d ring for tea,” she says. “But you hate it, and it is unreasonably late.”

“It is an abominable hour isn’t it? I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

She smiles faintly, fetching glasses and a bottle of brandy instead. He takes his own glass gratefully, tries not to spill it. He wonders how drunk he’d have to be before he stops hearing that cool voice in his head, trickling through his own thoughts like meltwater.

It hasn’t quite been a year since the Shadow Fold was destroyed. Since she drove a dagger in the Darkling’s heart to do it.

Nikolai doesn’t remember this part, or well, he shouldn’t remember, he wasn’t back to himself by then. But somehow he knows. The roiling, cold thing, whatever remnant of the Darkling still exists inside him, it remembers. How could I forget? When I was so close to my purpose, so close to lifting this country out of its misery.

After all was said and done, Alina had quietly accompanied him back to the capital. The Saint at his side to bolster his claim. She’d weathered the coronation with him and the chaos of drawing Ravka back from civil war.

But mostly she just sequesters herself in this room and its funerary elegance. He wonders if she likes it because it’s so miserable, or simply because it belonged to the Darkling. It’s a strange shrine to a dead man.

He’d proposed to Alina yet again, after everything, and she’d rejected him firmly enough that he’s resolved that it will be the final time. It had stung though, so much that he doesn’t like to think about it.

Even an orphan girl that comes from nothing will not have you. How humiliating.

Nikolai wants to say, if certain dreams are anything to go by, then it appears you’re in the same boat. But he catches himself before he does.

The most frustrating part of this, beyond the confusion and the unnerving distraction of having a foreign voice nattering in his head, is that more often than not he cannot reply. Nikolai has always been uniquely terrible at keeping his mouth shut. Over the years he’s become very adept at knowing the right thing to say, but simply staying silent is not one of his strengths. It’ll be just what he needs, walking around arguing with an invisible adversary.

He can see it now. Mad King Nikolai, remembered for his good looks and the pesky habit of interrupting nearly every conversation with entirely irrelevant, but admittedly clever, insults.

Alina lets him drink in silence, waiting for him to collect himself long enough to speak.

“There’s something wrong with me,” he says finally, more bluntly than he’d like.

“What do you mean?”

There’s too much open concern in her eyes, startlingly dark next to the rest of her face. This close he can tell that she has been crying. For her tracker no doubt. Wasted tears on an otkazat’sya who was only ever born to die.

He must really look wretched, because she touches his face gently. It’s meant in simple comfort but for a helpless moment he wonders if she’s trying to hurt him.

That’s pity on her face. She sees you for the broken, repulsively frail thing you are. A clock with a missing cog, a puppet with cut strings. Pathetic.

The firelight catches in her pale hair, makes it into a halo. It gleams off the amplifiers too, turning the bone white of them to a warm gold. He doesn’t like the way his eyes keep catching on them. And the place on her shoulder, where beneath the nightdress, he shouldn’t know she has a scar.

He pulls away, looking to the fire, the rest of the room, anything but her.

Despite everything, his wounded pride and his wounded heart, he’s glad now that she knew better than to accept his hand. Perhaps she sensed it somehow. How he is still stained by the Darkling’s mark.

“I’m not entirely certain yet,” he tells her, attempting for a light tone and failing miserably. “There’s a few possibilities, I don’t much like any of them.”

“Well, what are they?”

He remembers, as a child, in his rowdier days before anyone had come close to mastering the art of making him sit through an entire lesson at a time, he’d actually snuck in here. It’s virtually unchanged since then, the same carved forest on the walls, the same chips of pearls on the ceiling. He’d known no tutor would dare to look for him in the storied Darkling’s quarters. And he’d been right.

Unfortunately the room’s occupant himself had the audacity to be there, sitting by the same fireside with a book. Nikolai still remembers how towering the Darkling had seemed to his child’s eyes, gazing down at him with a bemused expression. The smoothness of his gestures nearly uncanny, almost serpentine as he approached him and crouched to nearly eye level.

“Moi tsarevich, it’s an honor,” he’d said, too seriously.

Nikolai had only backed towards the door, unnerved.

“I assume you have very important business.”

He’d nodded. “I snuck a live lizard in tutor Mitkin’s lunch and now he’s very cross with me.”

“Hm, a noble endeavor. Stay out of my way and tutor Mitkin needn’t know where you’ve taken refuge for the moment.”

And then the Darkling had offered him cake.

It’s an odd memory he can’t quite reconcile with everything that came after. Far too ordinary.

Should I have poisoned you? I believe that’s your brother’s wheelhouse though.

“Insanity,” he tells Alina, moving to stand. He feels restless in this confined space. His skin itches, feels too tight, ill fitting and wrong. “Which would certainly be a very interesting way to start a reign.”

Alina lets him pace, watching him quietly. “The other options?”

“A very creative imagination. Rather unlikely, I would say.”

“And?”

“The Darkling has taken up residence in my mind. Somehow.”

“What’s it like?”

“It’s like he’s whispering in my ear. Like I can feel him, taking root inside me.” He still vividly remembers the shadows pouring down his throat. The strange wrenching feeling in those moments before he’d turned into the Darkling’s creature. “Unfortunately he fancies himself a conversationalist.”

“Oh. That sounds unpleasant.”

“It is.” He sits down beside her again. Feeling rather defeated and sorry for himself.

“Aleksander,” she whispers.

And the voice that answers is not his own. “My Alina.”

“I killed you,” she breathes. But she’s also drifting closer, like she wants to touch him— the Darkling, not Nikolai, he knows that�� but is afraid to.

“And I’ll haunt you for it.”

Alina takes a shuddering breath. It looks like she might cry again.

He doesn’t expect her to kiss him. He barely feels it, though his body responds regardless, hungry, possessive. At least for now, the Darkling’s voice is blessedly silent.

[beevean]

I take care of slamming the door as I storm back to my room.

Wasted, all of it, wasted! Good for nothing! Useless, like everything else!

I am old enough to have learned one of the most important lessons in life: sometimes, you do the best that you can, and still lose. I can accept that, I am no brat.

But when ’sometimes’ becomes ’often’, and ’often’ becomes ’always’, no philosophy is enough to quell the fire in my gut and the urge to break something, someone, I am sick of it…

I kick the bed for good measure. It shakes under my strength, but my boots are sturdy enough to protect me from the pain. It's not enough, nothing is ever enough.

A couple of knocks hit the door: I can recognize them anywhere. No, please, not you. Anyone but you. I'd rather face Lord Dracula…

“Go away, Hector.”

Silence. The door opens anyway - stupid me, I should have locked it first thing. Now I have to look at Hector's impossibly perfect face, not even a hair out of place. He has the decency to look contrite, though, but it's not enough to dent my revulsion.

“I thought I spoke in plain Romanian. I am not in the mood to talk to you,” I snarl through gritted teeth.

“I’m… sorry about what happened, I really am.” You better be, it's the least you can do. “But I don’t understand why you’re taking it on me.”

Of course you don't! You are never in the wrong, aren't you?! I am the one who always messes up!

“Do you have any idea of how much time and work I spent on that Devil?” I yell. “I haven’t slept in days, I barely had time to eat! I took care of every detail, every ability, I chose the perfect materials…”

“Yes, I could hear you work well into the night.”

Is he making fun of me? I choose to ignore him. “And then you come, fresh as a flower, with your shining new creation, and destroy mine as if it was made by an amateur! I’m not some child who just stumbled here– I’ve been immersing myself in Devil Forgery longer than you have!”

Hector wilts under my voice. Good. He deserves to feel small for once in his life. Do you understand me now, Hector? Are we finally seeing eye-to-eye?

If his pain is the only thing that gives me comfort now, then so be it.

“I didn’t do it on purpose! I’m not trying to undermine you–”

I slam my fist on the desk: something shatters on the floor, but I couldn’t care less. “What do you do that I don’t do? What do you have that I don’t have? What are you that I am not??”

I said it. The thoughts that have been plaguing me for months have escaped the cell of my mind. I should be humiliated by my own weakness, but I have made enough of a fool of myself already.

I can’t have reached my limit. I can’t be stuck, while Hector keeps growing in strength! I am not inferior! I cannot be! I cannot afford to be!

“Stop it!” Hector grabs me by my shoulders; I wrench myself away from his touch that burns down to my bone, and I dig my nails in my palms so that they don't end on Hector's face. “It’s not a competition! We both know how powerful and talented you are–”

“Your opinion is worthless! It’s Lord Dracula that judges both of us!”

“Lord Dracula is not going to get rid of you just because my Devils happen to be stronger!” Hector steps back, and he dares to look at me with pity, with those big clear eyes of his that used to put butterflies in my stomach. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

I try to keep my uneven breathing in control. My fists are shaking for how hard I'm clenching them - look at me, my Lord, no wonder I'm not worthy of Your praise.

I want to believe it so badly. I want to feel secure that I can do something worth of recognition, that I am useful. But…

But Hector never notices how He looks at him, and how He looks at me. I have become the ’other’ Devil Forgemaster, the spare one. I am replaceable, I already have been.

What if He decided that I am a waste of space, because everything I could offer, Hector could do it better and faster? What if He thinks my life is pointless? It already is, isn't it? Why can’t Hector fail once, just once, we were supposed to be equals, what am I doing wrong…

Humiliation and shame roll deep in my stomach; I am this close to throwing up, and for what? For Hector? No!

I grab the first thing that I notice in my field of vision: it's a small hammer, it doesn't matter, what matters is Hector's raw fear when I swing my arm at him.

“Leave me!”

This time, Hector listens to me. I hold my tears for as long as I can, to make sure he's not within earshot when I lose control of myself, weeping in my hands like a child. I disgust myself. Lord Dracula would be disgusted with me as well. I bet Hector never feels sorry for himself.

[smutracha]

Why are the stars missing? I’m right here, your star.

Angst, Fluff, BF!Hanji, anxious and stressed reader, hints at past self-harm

A skz comfort one shot cause m drowning in exam anxiety and my moods are everywhere.

For some reason the days have all been passing in the same way. There was an obvious reason and it’s not like you were shying away from it but still. The days were repetitive, not that it bothered you, but every night you pondered it with a strange kind of calmness.

Slow days, eating because you should, no appetite really. Not being able to focus on a single thing, a comfort show to pull you in. shifting focus to the all-consuming anxiety that forced you to work on the exams that loomed over you. Then the lack of focus was back, music playing in the background while your mind snatched you from reality and your emotions just took over. Pain and screaming with frustration and anger about the things you could never control. A sudden calm, stray tears every now and then. You weren’t sad, just so overwhelmed that nothing could keep the mood swings at bay. And then you were okay again.

The only thing that was constant was the tightness in your chest and the knot in your throat. But it was different now, there was an obvious change. In the past you would have been struggling to cope with any of it. The countless nights laying in the dark, feeling so alone in a house with the people that loved you most in the world despite the way you couldn’t stay constant. The way your mind consumed you and the battles to stop that screeching voice that tore you down with every word. The uncontrollable sobbing and begging. The detachment as you stared at your stars through the skylight, soothing yourself, waiting for fatigue to take over as you assured yourself that when the morning came, you’d be okay again.

But now the suffering didn’t come. You’d forgotten it ever did. Now it was dealt with in such controlled strangeness that it made no sense. But the anxiety was stronger than before, and nothing could stop the crushing grip it had over you.

The only comfort you’d found before now evaded you. You couldn’t find your star in the darkness above your balcony. Like it was stolen. And without noticing the tears began falling from your eyes. The only solace was the sound of your boyfriend’s music humming through the night. The comfort playlist had a way of making everything seem okay even if you were crying. Still, you weren’t sad or frustrated, just calmly crying to let the pressure out.

“Baby?” There he was. “Babe? I thought I’d come over and surprise you.” He called out, feet softly padding through the apartment as he searched for you. “Oh, here you are, what are you doing out here?” “Just looking for my star” you turned to gaze at him as he settled next to you at the railing. A soft sad smile fell over his features as he noticed the glisten staining your rosy cheeks. “Oh baby, what’s wrong?” “Nothing, m just so anxious cause of exams. Its all been so weird, this new pattern my mind has made to deal with it.”

He'd brought you inside to the sofa. Bundled under a blanket and cuddled into his chest as he held you, you spoke it through to him. “I never really had much control over my emotions and how my mind dealt with them and anxiety. It crushed me before, but now it just constricts me. It’s all so different now that m doing better. But it still changes with the day, at night I feel the heat of it all. So, I feel the gnawing urge to scream, and I feel a tug at my heart but eventually it calms down and I just kinda go into idle. I let out random tears, without knowing its gonna happen, sometimes  don’t even realize. But it’s calm and I’m okay with it all. It’s so new and controlled and it confuses me a bit. And then I end up realizing that I’m actually growing up and changing to finally suit my age because m not scared of growing up anymore. But the anxiety just builds and m not really getting it out.”

He just nods and holds you as you speak, rocking you back and forth as your playlist softly outlines the softness of the moment. “it’s ok that this is happening, you know? You don’t have to understand it all, as long as you still feel that it will be okay. I know exams always scare you and stress you out and that these changes cloud you a bit. But this is good, you’re handling it well even if your emotions play out on their own, you still are able to stay calm and let them just be. It’s good, as long as it’s not frenzied. And I think the music probably helps to soothe the process.”

“You don’t think the tears are weird?” “Eh, kinda but I never like seeing my pretty girl cry so that’s probably why. But I cry too, and you know m a sobber. just like my pretty baby. Its okay for your tears to fall, its good.”

“I love you, Ji.”

“I love you, yn.”

A comfortable silence settles over you and pretty soon you feel sleep fogging your mind. He giggles softly at the way you snuggle further into him; you always do when you’re falling asleep. “C’mon cutie, lets get to bed.” “Sleeping over?” you ask as he carries you into your bedroom, he settles you down on your side of the bed. “Mm, figure my pretty girl needs some comfort.” He leaves a soft kiss on your nose before he dips back out to switch the apartment off for the night.

He settles back down into his side of the bed pulling you back into his embrace.

“Why are the stars missing?” you ask as you finally drift off, soft breaths leaving you as your lips part in a pout. “I’m right here, your star.” He says softly. He was never gonna leave you, his love for you burned eternal.

{waiting for us started playing while I was typing the last bit and m crying now. I didn’t know I needed to write this so badly but m actually just crying all of my stress and anxiety away. Kinda sad rn too}

[weird-dere]

My turn to ask about ur hubies >:3c

Do you think that ichigo shaves his pubic hair? Is there any random headcanons u wanna share of him? Things that arent mentioned or said in the anime/manga but u just feel like they r true?

What type of dad do you think ichigo is? Do you think he is more of a daddy girl? What do you think it woulded been if ichigo's mom was still alive? What woulded change and what not?

KITH 😚💕

I am laying down kicking my feet at the chance to talk about the love of my life <3. Thank u bby!! 💋💋💋

—————————

Pubic hair tingz:

Ichi does shave his pubic hair, but he doesn’t shave himself bald. Just maintains it at a nice trim :3. I feel like when he’s younger he doesn’t let himself have a happy trail tho. Always shaves that away so all hair is contained in his boxers. But as he gets older he kinda just leaves it be and I am always kissing down it when we get intimate ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).

He also loves whatever I am most comfortable with concerning my own pubic hair, which for me is at a trim or at full bush >:3. No bare coochie here lmao. Bro loves eating the kitty and seeing our mixed arousal on the hairs when he’s on top of me uwu.

Random Headcanons:

Tho he hates getting called the nickname ‘strawberry’ by literally anyone ever, he does love getting strawberry themed gifts for me. Plushies, stickers, treats, etc. If I have something strawberry themed, he prolly got it for me and everyone knows. It’s like his mark or signature almost lol.

Breakfast is his favorite meal, which is great for me as someone who doesn’t eat it a lot bc he makes sure I have something to start my metabolism day uwu.

Canonically he doesn’t like the rain. Hasn’t most of his life. But I like to think he finds hale very interesting.

Things not said in anime/manga but that just feel true

Bro does not grow a lot of body hair in general (meanwhile me, a Sasquatch 🧍🏾‍♀️). His skin is so smoooooove. Bro cannot grow a mustache or beard to save his life (but this is okay bc I prefer him without anyway). He still has to shave away his 5 o’clock shadow every once in a while tho. Trims his sideburns from time to time too.

No matter how active he is, dude never bulks up. He’s muscle-y, but he’s just built genetically lithe. Isshin (his dad) naturally seems to get thicker when he gets older, but I don’t see Ichi doing that. Which again is okay with me, I love him as he is uwu. I feel like seeing him be Bakugou type of big and muscle-y would be weird lol.

I feel like he thinks about true zangetsu (hollow ichigo) a lot actually, even after he disappears for a while. Reframing how he thinks about him the more he grows. Reflecting on what his relationship with zangetsu says about himself on a deeper level.

Ichigo as a dad:

As u know, in my selfship cinematic multiverse Ichigo and I have 5 kids lmao. 3 boys and 2 girls in the order of B B (<- twins) G G B

As a dad he is a mix of doting and tough love. Playful and supportive, but serious when he needs to be. Ichigo has a tendency to get annoyed easily and will yell and argue with any of his friends, but he never gets loud with the kids. Ever. When communicating with them, tone is everything to him. It’s how he gets his point across and shows his authority.

He does love his girls, but I think he treats all the kiddies the same :3. Though because he got used to being a boy dad after the twins, he was a little nervous when he found out we were having our first girl. He was so gentle with her 🥺. Had to reassure him sometimes.

If Ichigo’s mom was still alive?:

I feel like he would be a very different person. Might be more expressive and emotive rather than scowling all the time. Also I feel his urge to protect may not be as strong, since he wouldn’t have lost the one thing he wanted to protect most.

Also I feel he may have been way more powerful? Because he may have been let in on his Quincy lineage and may have learned to protect himself that way before gaining his shinigami powers and being even stronger.

He would still find him annoying, but I also feel that maybe Ichigo’s relationship with his dad would be better if Masaki was still around.

Ichigo is very confident as is, but I feel like if his mom were still around he’s be confident in a different way. Rather than having to prove himself or prove others wrong, he would feel like he is already inherently good and valuable bc of his mom’s encouragement.

——————————

I am taking all of ur kithes bby sorry this took so long! Lots of brain power went into it jwksisjzjosjz

[cursesavior]

Gaze drops to the pavement at her words - Suguru knew that she wasn't concerned about the curse, of course not, but he's always had an aversion to having others worry over him. Maybe it's because he's always been stronger than most, always been the one to support others and never had to be supported himself, but it just feels wrong. He's already burdened Chiaki enough as it is, seeing as she'll have to help him get back, he doesn't want his downward spiral to weigh on her mind and distract her. With the kind of thoughts he's been having lately, he's not sure he deserves the care she shows him in the first place. He winces slightly when she wraps an arm around his side - not from pain, he was used to gritting his teeth and bearing it, but there was no way that she wouldn't notice the weight loss now. As if avoiding questions wasn't going to be hard enough as it is, and he certainly doesn't want anyone trying to get him to eat more. He just... can't stomach it anymore. Can't stomach any of it.

"Mm," He makes a little noise of acknowledgement low in his throat at her insistence - no matter what, huh? He wonders if she really means that - if she could mean it, not knowing what's going on in his head. If he told her what he was thinking, about the hatred that felt like it was corroding his soul day by day, would she still stand by him? He doesn't think so, honestly - he's not sure anyone would. The only other person who had even remotely experienced the same thing as him was Satoru, and he seemed just fine... Were his feelings justified, or was he the problem? He doesn't know anymore. Regardless, he doubts she was going to stand by his growing hatred for humanity, by the murderous thoughts clouding his mind. So he keeps it all inside as he limps along with her assistance --

Or at least, that's what he thinks he's going to do. But then Chiaki's prying further, pointing out the all-too-obvious signs of his decline, and... Well, what can he do? It's not like he can say that she's wrong when this is the state that he's found himself in, practically falling apart at the seams - it's too late for that, she knows. And it seems like she's noticed for a while... Funny, how she picked up on it when Satoru seemed entirely blind to it. Not that he can entirely blame him, he did lie to him when he asked, but that doesn't stop it from leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The feeling of her strings holding him up is a bit strange, but he's too preoccupied with his racing mind to mind all too much at the moment.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens again - almost argues with her about her almost never smiling either, but that's always been the baseline for her, and he knows it's futile to try and misdirect the conversation at this point. He lets those fighting words go with a heavy sigh - he has to say something with some truth to it. "Nothing else... Happened, exactly, it's just... I had a change of perspective after Riko, I guess." That's the lightest possible way of putting it, but it's not a lie. "You know, when I woke up and found Satoru, he was standing there, holding her body - and everyone was clapping. Fucking applauding the murder of an innocent teenage girl who'd done nothing to them. He asked me if we should kill them all... And I said no. I was in shock, and... At the time, I still thought that was the right thing to do. That sorcerers shouldn't hurt defenseless m-- humans, no matter what. The strong need to protect the weak... And I didn't want to make him do something he'd regret."

He has to swallow down the urge to call them monkeys - because that's what they are, really - and just repeating his former ideology makes him nauseous, but now that he's started talking it's hard to stop. Word vomit. "... But I was wrong. Being a jujutsu sorcerer isn't noble or heroic - people like that don't deserve protecting. Every missions we risk our lives, fighting curses for the sake of civilians who would applaud at our deaths, and for what?" He scoffs, cold and bitter as venom starts to seep into his voice. "Just so that we can watch our peers - our friends - laid out on the morgue tables, one after the other? So that we can experience the worst this world has to offer over and over until we meet the same fate? It's not like the curses will ever stop coming. We're chipping away at nothing and the people we're supposedly protecting are..."

Scum. He cuts himself off before he can actually say it, but it's true - they're all scum. Filthy, disgusting, unrepentant animals. He can't bring himself to feel an ounce of sympathy towards them, not when he'd been faced with just how ugly humanity was. He can hardly bear to be in their presence at all anymore - he had to force his mind to shut down whenever he was on public transport to keep that simmering rage from boiling over. He can't stand it. Wouldn't it be better if they would all just... Disappear? He won't say it out loud, lips pursed tight in a frown to shut himself, but he hasn't stopped regretting the answer he gave Satoru that day. He should've let him kill them all - they would've deserved it. Better yet, he should've spared him the pain and regret and slaughtered them himself. They would be outcasts, sure, forced to defect, but... At least he could say he did the right thing. At least this wouldn't be eating away at him. It follows him everywhere - the sound of rain, of shower water hitting the tile floor sounds just like that deafening applause and knowing they're all still alive, living happy lives while good people like Haibara give up everything for a pointless cause... It makes him sick.

"It's hopeless. It's a marathon race where the only reward is a pile of corpses. It's-..." He takes another deep breath, shaky this time as furious tears sting at his eyes. Even now, in his weakened and lightheaded state he felt that urge to tear them all apart, fingers balling into fists as his cursed energy flares dangerously. "... I don't know, but... There's something terrible happening inside of me, some horrible truth unfolding, and... I can't stop it."

❝ WHETHER YOU EXORCISED IT OR NOT isn't what i'm worried about, geto. ❞ chiaki's response is instantaneous, her voice as unshakably level as ever. something about what he says — or perhaps the way he says it, so terribly resigned, as if he is stuck in a constant state of walking toward the gallows — sends a bolt of pain through her, and it is not the pain of a sympathetic friend. it is recognition. the deep, dread-invoking recognition, seeing a familiar name on the list of disaster casualties, the feeling you get when they open the morgue drawer and ask you, is this her? is this him? and you can't even cry because you feel so numb.

it isn't just summer stress, is it? she doesn't say, even as she blinks back a swell of saltwater and loops the arm on geto's good side around her shoulders. it would be just as easy to hoist him up with the threads of her cursed energy that swirl among his like oil and water, but being this close — and delicate, especially with the arm that wraps around his waist and rests above the wound — allows her to confirm a suspicion she's held for some time.

he's wasting away.

chiaki, of late, has been incredibly grateful for her lifelong sweet tooth. it's the only way she's been able to keep food down, the rush of dopamine from a hit of sugar allowing her body to keep running the gears of fueling itself even through the screaming haze in her mind. it certainly isn't the healthiest diet — god knows some part of her that has been choked out by the grief misses the energy she got from balanced meals — but when everything else tastes like ash and the motivation to eat feels like an uphill battle, at least it's something. still, he isn't the only one who looks worse for wear lately. chiaki just has the benefit of being able to hide it better.

❝ hey. don't apologize, ❞ she murmurs. ❝ you're my friend. of course i'm going to help you, no matter what. ❞ it's a loaded sentence; it means so many things all at once.

❝ what's happening to you, geto? ❞ the words slip out without her meaning to, without passing through her diplomacy filters she was formerly known for — which, in fairness, have all crumbled in the wake of her parents' deaths anyway. it feels so stupid to try to speak around people's feelings. what's the point? what's the point when even the best of them die anyway? her parents, haibara, who's next? nanami? shoko? chiaki herself?

she doesn't realize she's clutching him too tightly until her arm cramps from the tension; with a gasp, she loosens her grip on his bad side again, lets a cluster of threads attach to his shoulders to aid her in supporting his (concerningly light, even with her relative weakness) standing weight. ❝ don't try to wave it off this time. i'm — sorry if this sounds rude, but you're not okay. you're skin and bones, you haven't been eating, i haven't seen a real smile from you in months — ❞ bold, maybe, from the girl who famously smiles once in a blue moon. but that's different. ❝ it wasn't just amanai, was it? something else happened. ❞

[pedropascalsx]

Kinktober - Day 2 - Overstimulation - Dave York.

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist with @absurdthirst​'s promptlist.

Warnings: Female reader, established relationship, Oral (F) receiving, Overstimulation + Mentions of p in v sex.

Dave York x F! Reader.

You felt it, the way his chuckle reverberated against your core as you squirmed and shook beneath him, adding to the pleasure already pulsating in your core. The same pleasure you had felt more times than you could count tonight, as your husband continued feasting on your cunt. “Dave… Please,” you cried, as his tongue lapped over your swollen bud, ripping another wave of pleasure from you, “I… I can’t.” He chuckled again, licking lazily at your bundle of nerves a few more times before moving his head up away and looking at you. You were wrecked and he fucking loved it. Mascara smudged down your cheeks, your hair sticking up all over the place and a thin layer of sweat making your skin glisten under the soft glow from your bedside lamp. “You know what to say if you want me to stop, baby girl,” he replied with a raised eyebrow, “Mhm, but you won’t. Because we both know that you don’t.” He drags his index finger through your sopping wet folds slowly, his eyes flickering up and down over your exposed pussy as he admires his handy-work. Your pussy lips glisten with evidence from the multiple orgasms his tongue has ripped through you, your clit swollen and enlarged and your hole still fluttering as your body continues to come down from your last high. “Da-AAAVE!” you scream, as he rips his finger from your clit and replaces it with his eager tongue, the taste and smell of you continuing to permeate all of his senses. The urge to reach down and free his rock hard cock growing stronger and stronger, but the need to prove you wrong beating it out.

Earlier that day, you’d had a discussion, a chat amongst friends, and Dave had caught the tail-end of it. “It’s like when men say they’d spend forever eating your pussy, when we all know they just wanna get you ready enough so they can get their dicks wet… no man has that amount of stamina.” He knew you weren't complaining about his performance in bed, he confidently knew that he satisfied you every time without fail, but he was never one to back down from a challenge. And this? This felt like a challenge. So, now here you are; squirming, screaming his name, your thighs beginning to quiver, until it gets too much and the quivering becomes a full on shake. Your hands fly back down to entangle in his hair, pulling his gorgeous face even closer into your pussy as you come again. A new wave of arousal coats his chin, and he laps it all up, tongue gliding throughout your folds and then finding its way back up to your clit. He continues to bring to orgasm over and over, the proof on your sheets that are now saturated with your come. You whimper softly into the pillow next to you as he crawls his way up to you. His face glimmers with your arousal as he grins down at the sight before him. “God, you’re so beautiful. My beautiful little wreck,” he teases as you reach up to grip his face, lowering it to yours so you can pepper it in your sweetest kisses. “No more, baby, just need to feel you. Feel you deep inside me… god you must be leaking, baby,” you splutter out between kisses. He hums in agreement, “You can have my cock, sweetheart,” he says before smashing his lips against yours. He devours your mouth, letting you taste yourself off his lips and his tongue before pulling away, “But not until I’ve got one more taste.” You giggle loudly as he buries his face between your legs again. You were wrong, but honestly, was there any other man like your Dave? Absolutely not.

[sukirichi]

black magic [01]

REQUEST. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife)

CONTENT/WARNINGS. some suggestive scenes, but overall fluff and romance! slight crack fic, I guess? I was laughing when I wrote this lol

NOTES. I NEED A HUSBAND! SUKUNA I’M GOING TO CRY GOODBYE THIS HAS ME SOFT. also anon i’m not sure if you wanted something with more ~sexual tension~ since this is kind of just comedic, but I hope you like it anyway!

part one | part two (nsfw)

“This is new,” you comment with a glare, your ankle propped on Sukuna’s knee.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, pushing your skirt aside to clean the wounds you attained through exorcising curses. You’ve taken a particularly strong curse today and you’re caught off guard, barely finishing the mission unscathed. Limping all the way back home isn’t easy especially since you live on top of the darned mountain, but if Sukuna’s going to kneel in front of you like this...maybe it wasn’t too tough a journey. “You should stop going to missions you’re not ready for. Look at you, all wounded and bloody.”

“You sound like you care.”

“You’re my wife,” he huffs while dropping the bloody towel on the floor. Sukuna wraps the bandage around your ankle and carries you bridal style even though you’re perfectly capable of walking, but he shoots you a silencing glare. You’d have knocked him in the face any other day, but he’s particularly warm and smells nice today – plus you’re beat – that you bury your face in his chest, ignoring that stupid fluttering in your stomach. “Of course I do.”

You snicker, mind tracing back to your earlier years of this dreaded marriage.

It definitely wasn’t the best – the memories blurring between strangling each other to making out as if breathing was never a thing – and it felt like forever ago when you first met him.

You’d never say it out loud, but... you don’t regret this arranged marriage. Not when Sukuna is tucking himself beside you on the bed, your head above his muscular chest a place similar to home. He covers both your bodies over with a blanket, pulling your body closer to him with a strong arm, his lips pressing onto the crown of your head.

Ugh, you think to yourself, giving in to the need to cuddle your husband after a long day of work. You still refuse to say it out loud, though, and you irk him further by muttering, “That’s not what you said two years ago.”

“I wasn’t in love with you then.”

 “I refuse to be married to you!”

Sukuna fights back the urge to cover his ears. Ever since your clan decided to visit his land and started exorcising curses one by one, his life has been nothing but hell. Not only are your relatives the most arrogant people ever with a consistent god complex, they just had to let their little mortal child be in charge of taking on the stronger curses. Seriously, what were they thinking, sending you – who’s barely even out of their training bra years – to deal with curses like him?

Everyone knows Sukuna is a no bullshit man. He won’t hesitate to cut your head off the moment you came raging at him, but then he sees how young you are and decides to send you back to your family.

Expecting that everyone would just call it a day and he’d get offerings for his unexpected mercy, Sukuna is beyond stupefied when they send you back to his temple, all dressed pretty with a basket of fruits and flowers braided in your hair. He remembers growling because you look adorable, but that’s easily wiped away when you open your mouth, your voice scratchy against his ears as you stomp your feet like the young mortal you are.

Sukuna pushes a thumb to his forehead to ease the impending headache, and that’s just from your presence. Something inside him tells that you’re going to be a bigger pain than you look.

“You don’t have much of a choice. You should’ve thought of that before deciding to run rampage over my land,” he reminds, turning boredly to his lone servant from above his throne. Sukuna isn’t impressed, to say the least, especially with your clan’s audacious proposition to gain his favour just this once. “Is this really the woman you bring me – the one they insist to be my wife?”

“She is their best fighter, my Lord.”

Well, he can’t disagree to that. You did, after all, single-handedly give him a cut on the cheek. “She’s feisty indeed.”

“Don’t talk as if I’m not here!”

“Mouthy too,” he mumbles to himself, but your sorcerer senses are sharp and easily picks up on it. He sees you flush angry again, looking immensely adorable with your tiny fists clenched like that and he snorts, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. Get the wedding over with,” he nods to his servant, his sigh loud and tired as he makes his way to you.

You don’t stiffen at each haunting step, his eyes only glimmering harder with entertainment. It’s rare to find a mortal that doesn’t quiver at the sight of him, the urge to break you only growing stronger.

Even as he cups your face, making sure to not let his claws dig into your precious skin, Sukuna smirks. You’ll be entertaining indeed.

So Sukuna makes a promise, four eyes surveying the way your body is starting to fill in curves at the right places, the swell of your flesh just perfect in his hands... He chuckles to himself, daunting you further as he leans down to your ear, taking pleasure in the slight way your breath hitches. “Maybe then I’ll get to teach you a lesson or two.”

You’re definitely something else, taking advantage of each presented opportunity and not wasting any time before you make your move. Right after the wedding and everyone’s left, leaving you alone with your new husband behind closed doors; you push him until he’s on the ground, legs straddling each side of his hips while you growl above him – the sound similar to a battle cry.

Sukuna merely smirks, barely moving a muscle as his large hands come up to rest on your hips to steady you. “I’ve imagined countless ways you’d be on top of me like this,” his eyes light up with humour upon feeling the cold blade on his skin, “None of them included a knife on my neck though.”

“Shut your mouth. I will kill you myself,” you warn, pressing your knife harder until it draws a slight tinge of blood.

You hardly look threatening above him like this, dolled up to look the best in your wedding with this cursed being. If anything, you look more divine than deadly, and Sukuna thinks that perhaps your beauty could be your best weapon. You are bewitching, after all.

“I refuse to be your Queen and sit next to your throne.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the wedding?”

“I—”

Sukuna’s teasing grin grows wider when you pull back, trying so hard to not trip over your words. It takes all of his self-restraint to not take you right then and there, but he does a good job of holding back, enjoying this view above him instead. “Could it be you’re attracted to me after all, hm, little one?”

“Do not test me, Curse. I’m more than capable of exorcising you myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re the strongest in the Gojo clan, are you not?” he prompts to appease you, “I don’t even want to see what you’re capable of, but maybe, just maybe...” just as his eyes darken, the edges of his lips turning up into a smirk, Sukuna digs his claws into your thigh in a possessive show of ownership, a painful reminder that you’re his now. “...You could put on a little show for me?”

“I hate you!”

Experienced and strong as you are, you’re nothing compared to a thousand year old curse who’s killed a lot more people faster than you could blink. Sukuna immediately notices the animalistic way you draw your blade, arm swung back with rage written all over your face. Before you could so much as bat an eye, he easily switches the positions until you’re under him, using only one hand to pin your arms above your head, your blade effortlessly thrown to the other side of the room.

“As I thought, you’re a lot prettier under me like this,” he observes, roaming his eyes shamelessly over the fabric clinging prettily to your body. You’ve fallen silent at his unconcealed attention, your compliance enticing him to lean closer just to inhale your intoxicating scent.

“Not so feisty now, little one? Where’d all your hatred for me go?” Sukuna pulls back with widened eyes, “Oh? Am I hearing it wrong or is your pathetic human heart beating so loud right now?” You refuse to look at him, wriggling your hips in an attempt to leave, completely unaware that the mere movement is hypnotizing the curse above you. Sukuna grips your hips in warning, not wanting to destroy you – not now, anyway. “You know all you need to do is say it. I’d gladly take you right here and then.” His words spoken with that deep, throaty voice immediately sends a wave of heat down your core, but you turn away from him, breathing hard and nervously; something Sukuna picks up on in an instant. “Little one...have you never had a man hold you like this before?”

“N-no...”

“I see. Pure and innocent behind that ferocity, huh?” He surprises you by pulling away, smoothening his white robes down as he leaves you panting still on the floor. “Fine. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

“I’d rather die before that ever comes out from my mouth.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, winking at you before he shuts the door. “Little one.”

There’s a lot of weird – and utterly inconvenient things – about being Sukuna’s wife. The man eats everything, absolutely everything, and it doesn’t help that he sucks at hunting too. For a man so huge and burly, he sure is lazy, preferring to do the laundry in the riverside instead while you go out every day to prepare your meals.

You actually don’t mind, but it’s very fun to complain around him.

You’re on your way back to the temple when Sukuna grabs at you, making you drop the freshly caught birds onto the ground. Your brows furrow, about to scold him for being too eager again when Sukuna stares at your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Following his line of sight, your lips form an ‘o’ shape. There’s blood trickling down your forearm from his claws accidentally cutting you, guilt written all over his face. Another weird thing about Sukuna is that he babbles a lot when he’s emotional, and you’re too tired to hear him beat himself over it that you just drag him inside your room, sitting his ass down before taking a clipper.

Sukuna scoffs when you start cutting his nails. It irks him that you don’t even bother wiping the blood off first and he tsks, eyes narrowed at you. “You should have thicker skin.”

You roll your eyes as you file his nails; you’ve been married to him long enough to know it’s his way of saying sorry. Not wanting to let him wallow in guilt any louder, you pad kisses over his knuckles before swiping the black ink off your desk, using a pen brush to colour your nails instead. Sukuna hovers behind you, head tilted to the side as he watched you. “Are you painting your nails black?” he utters in disbelief, trying to ignore the fact he feels...proud and even a little smug. “Not so fitting for the angelic sorcerer now, isn’t it?”

“I’m only doing this so you don’t feel left out.”

“Maybe I’ll add markings to your pretty face too,” he cups your jaw to make you turn to him, landing a solid kiss flat to your lips which makes you sigh, pretending to be annoyed but leaning over for another peck anyway. Sukuna laughs and pulls you onto his lap, kissing your neck this time around, a little annoyed that you don’t stop in brandishing your nails. “Wife, what do you think?”

“I have work, Sukuna. You flirting with me doesn’t change the fact I need to go.”

“Come home safe for me, at least?” he breathes down your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You’ve definitely changed since the first time he’s met you, starting from a mean (although he stands strong that you are still mean to him sometimes) temperamental little one to a mature, stronger sorcerer who’s secretly weak for his wife.

Unable to resist him as always, you turn around once you’ve finished painting your nails, rubbing your nose over his until your strong, scary husband is turning into putty at your hands. “Of course I will,” you peck his lips one last time, Sukuna’s eyes closing as he dives in for a deeper kiss. “I’ll always come back home to my handsome husband.”

If anyone were to ask how it’s possible that the King of Curses is actually very soft for his sorcerer wife, everyone would claim it’s impossible and a heresy – but if you ask Sukuna, it’s probably just black magic doing its wonders.