#there is not a subtle bone in this mans body

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ law, luffy & foreplay

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤtrafalgar d. law, monkey d. luffy

tag(s)&warning(s). gn! reader, description of the body remains neutral, slightly suggestive, subtle body worship, reader refers to their heart with "she/her" in law's, law does some real freak shit (take reader's heart), reader reciprocates his freak, luffy is a different kind of freak

from vyon. this is not about lust, this is about love 😝

law knows the human body as well as any other doctor out there— maybe even more so, when he knows something, he knows it to its very end after all. basic human anatomy has always been easy— skin, epidermis, dermis, hypodermis, flesh, muscle, sinew, bones, tendons, whatever��� all methodically connected so that when you feel a burn at your fingertips, your entire arm knows to jerk back from the harm. 

but this wasn't law regarding your body in its physicality as a doctor, no, this was him playing worship. his knuckles running over your side where no one (not even yourself) has made a habit of touching just to see an earthquake rumble through your stomach, thunder deep in your flesh where you lay— underneath law, who was still standing by the bed, thighs pressed into the edge of the mattress. an impressive faraway look painted over the hull of his face, like he’d broken away the part of your body that made it yours and was assessing his own handiwork under a suspecting eye. lighting a motion of fire over a stitch of skin, undeniably immobile.

“so,” you begin, your voice light as your ribs shiver away from his touch. “good enough for a textbook?” you called out, suddenly whipping him back into the absurd moment with just your voice, airy and light in its teasing.

there’s some tired amusement on his face, exchanging the awkward hovering over you for settling his knee in between your thighs and then— leaning his weight forward when you shift back, taking your movement as a subtle invitation. “no,” he breathed. “better,” he admits before he sees spluttering faux heartbreak turn over your features.

pleasantly embarrassed, you turn your head up to look at him, eyes wide; everything you do is beckoning at the point, a narcotic transmitter that makes his muscles lurch in preparation for lucid piety.

his hands press over your cheeks, eyes burnt with ichor trace your features slowly. his thumbs brushed over the fat under your eyes, the rest of his fingers spread out, his pinky at the side of your neck, middle finger on your ear, and everything else in–between. your hair is uncomfortably pressed against the side of your face with the way he's holding you but it's not in you to complain when law leans down.

then he turns his lips onto you like he just wants them there, a light barrage of nudges and nips, no more than that despite your attempts. when you part your lips, law turns his attention elsewhere and you open your eyes to glare at him.

law, however, has his head lowered. it forces your neck to crane down awkwardly, your chin just about touching his hair as you furrow your eyebrows to really look at law. he bends his head down and presses a kiss over the fabric of your shirt where your sternum is. suddenly, it's strange. you realise it's the angle. law's never lowered himself to you consciously; you've never been allowed to see this kind of weakness in your captain.

you can see the hardened furrow of his eyebrows, the curl of his lashes, the cupid's bow of his mean lips as he pressed his thumb over where they've just kissed, the curve of his bow, the shoulders that you're so used to seeing pulled back curled in towards you. it's all too unusual, seeing law folded over like this, a nagging haunt in his bones and every move he makes like desperation's hypnic jerk. he continues dragging his hand over the stretch of your skin, the shirt you had on pushed all the way up to lay across your collarbones as he unearthed the flood; a man reserved to quiet loving— that’s what you can see in law.

he’s no stranger to love, but it can’t quite behave on his tongue. a language that’s grown old and foreign to him, translated as best it could be into a stilly retelling; it’s all his hands now, best spoken through firm gesticulation and motions. that’s what makes him the best at this. his hand over your heart, “room,” you hear. and then, “shambles.”

by the time you're up to speed, you realise that it's your heart in his palm. you watch, two parts in morbid curiosity and a final part in pure interest, as law's eyes turned back to you, unwavering, and then how he brings the boxed heart up to his face. his tongue pressed against the humming blue barrier your heart is locked into, it's obscene and dirty and still, you can't look away. his tongue held against one edge, dragging upwards until it finishes the length of the side, then he gently places a kiss over the top.

“oh,” a sort of strangled gasp leaves you. there’s really nothing else to say, nothing else that needs to be said because your heart starts speeding up in his palm. you point a finger at the heart, “can i have her back?” you ask, like it wasn’t yours to begin with. “she’s embarrassing me.”

law’s lips turned upwards, his teeth peeking through chapped lips. “she’s doing great.” he dismisses easily, stroking his thumb over the heart; you wonder if sensations still carry through to when law uses his devil fruit. you can feel the itch like a phantom limb, a dizzying sensation that feels like the callous on his fingers are turning over your skin.

he doesn’t listen to you— doesn’t have to— his room eases down, blue spluttering over your vision and he leaves your heart beside your head. like a hesitant worshipper that's finally being indoctrinated, his god for the taking, ready to forgive. his hands are first to feel the tender raw of forgiveness, brushing up your side and his lips fall onto your stomach as your shirt shifts. you can only watch, entranced. your stomach shivers inwards at the heat of his mouth, his nose bruising a desire path underneath your ribs— this was the kind of worship that would have urged god to open again the gates of eden.

you're wholly disturbed at the sight but your heart— your damn heart that's still sitting beside your head, ripe and raw, is only speeding up, banging on impossibly loud beside your head like a mantra. for reasons unbeknownst to yourself, instead of watching law touch you, you stare at your heart, kicking and burning alive to an ember with every turn of his wrist, every curve of his nails, every path he carves with his touch first before he turns down his lips to the ripe fruit underneath the skin he'd peeled back.

never patient enough for it and usually not so interested, you're just lucky that luffy likes to see the state he leaves you during foreplay. when he's in one of his moods, he just about brushes over the basic points of foreplay quick as he can— it's not to say he doesn't care about your pleasure, sometimes he's just so wound up that he needs immediate gratification and dragging on foreplay only makes it worse. it was like in drum island when, only after looking at the clothes he was wearing, he realised that he was actually cold. anyway, he's never one to savour, he takes what he pleases and if it isn't enough, he'll demand more and to blame a pirate for being a pirate— well, you've never been so petty.

in harsh truth, luffy's servitude is sometimes hard to remove from vulgarity, his kindness soaked in a criminal selfishness. his hands run over your skin in a ritualistic manner, he uses his palm to touch rather than his fingers, pressing against an expanse of skin with the butt of his hand and then dragging his fingers down across the skin he's seared.

strikingly slow and detailed for someone like luffy— he adds some weight as they press over the canyons of your ribs, just under your breast like he might be able to smooth it down to keep it as a roof over his head, create a home out of your flesh and burrow there come winter. then, he smacks his lips like there's the haunting taste of you on his tongue— catches his tongue between his teeth, furrows his eyebrows and then comes to the realisation that he hasn't kissed you yet. it's your fault, apparently, based on the way he's glaring at you.

"what now?" you sigh, exasperated because only a few seconds ago, you had squirmed away from his touch and he'd made a fuss over that too. your hands are tucked into the ends of his denim shorts, idly brushing back and forth as he's straddling your lap.

he pushes his hands down to your waist and squeezes the fat there, "you distracted me!"

you're buried under his every heavy action, no memory of ever doing so, but you defer. "uh huh, sorry captain, what'd i distract you from?"

"kissing!" he jerks forward, his hammock swinging abruptly from his move and whatever scold you have on your lips is devoured whole by luffy. teeth, tongue, spit— it's like he eats; slurping up the skin that crawls from you, hands on your shoulders and holding you down like you're the enemy. it's erratic, just as you think you're catching up to luffy, he changes the tempo; he does as he likes and you only follow as best you can. he searches through your mouth like if he’d stayed there long enough, he’d be rewarded and pull away with a pearl. when he finally does so, he stares at your lips for a second, watching them glisten in the dark lights; he turns his head, places his tongue over your mouth and licks from one corner to the other like a dog and smacks his lips again like he's wine tasting.

at that point, you can’t stop yourself from asking even though you know the answer will undoubtedly make you cringe. “lufs,” he hummed, “did you brush your teeth this morning?”

he stops moving, his face buried in the dip of your stomach and near your bellybutton— his eyes look up at you, wide before his lips pulled together and he resolutely looks away. "yeah, uh–huh, i did."

that's a no, you sigh. "and last night?"

"totally, brushed 'em so hard!" a whistle in his tone with his lips puckered from the lies. "anyways, shush!"

it's a childish command but a command nonetheless so you suck it up and your head falls back down. turning away the thoughts of luffy's very concerning personal hygiene should not be as easy as it is; for a man who finds his intentions after his body's already moving, he touches like it's been a life–long plan of his to do so. your skin squelches when luffy's teeth scrape over the jumps of your ribs, a sickly sweet that only comes from rotting fruit under his tongue; he hums, happy and content.

his touch burns, sticky like the sun is melting down into your skin; you know it's going to scar, there's going to be a part of your flesh that's going to run a little lighter than the rest. he opens windows in your body, turning it into a haunted house that his love will forever lurk in; his tongue drags a new colour onto walls, nails tearing down at the wallpapers, pushing around furniture— doing as he liked.

never quiet about it either, always murmuring things to your skin like he's talking to it with the intention of keeping you ignorant— some kind of praise that makes your head weigh heavy; a flawed movement full of unbridled freedom as his mouth opens over your side and he leaves the markings of his teeth wherever he can.

[crisisaegyl]

Hua Cheng the entire time they're at the Puqi Shrine: Calm, attentive boyfriend simulator

The moment Fu Yao & Nan Feng show up and divert Xie Lian's attention for 0.25 seconds:

Petty Bitch Mode Activated

[maegalkarven]

"And I'm the monster who will save you all." is the thing Levi says to Duke Ravengard in response to the man's rightful distrust of a former chosen of Bhaal.

And it's a direct parallel to Gortash's "And I am the hero who will save it."

Unlike Enver, Levi never sought the role of the hero. He is very content in his role of a monster, an abomination of twisting body parts and raw anger and violence.

He is someone who shifts (through painful transmutation not unlike polymorph, but more crude, violent and allowing him to literally break his body into new shapes and forms.)

Levis is someone who, upon recollecting some of his memories, snaps and breaks his own arms (esp the right one) into clawed, sharp, deadly mess, whose jaw shifts into inhuman shape as he gets agitated, who literally makes his body break his bones and reforge them. He grows something akin to wings what looks like bare bones wrapped in moss and grass, leaves, thorns and vines. And the worst part is these wings WORK.

He is a child of god he denied and the monster said god created. Bhaal did not undo him by discarding, Jergal did not make him someone else by ressurecting.

At the end of the day a monster stays a monster. And it's this monster who saves Baldurs Gate when the heroes have failed.

[applebeebuck]

I'm on season 2 of the rookie and my boy tim bradford is down baaaaaad, lmao

[overexciteddragon]

I need to fucking talk about this scene BADLY

The fact that DunMeshi actually depicts starving dwarves as ripped muscular anime boys is, to me, absolutely incredible. I can't stress how often fat people starving are depicted as either skin and bones or ✨️beautiful and healthy✨️ (the latter being a body shape that they are encouraged to maintain), it's straight up a trope in so much media for skinny people to be depicted as fat in the past as if it's some "dirty secret", or for fat people to be depicted as unhealthy/ugly until they starve themselves enough to become "attractive", and on top of that the depiction of the Dehydrated Adonis Protagonist has become more and more present in our day-to-day media

Meanwhile, it's becoming more widely known that this isn't how bodies work at all; that fat isn't inherently unhealthy and that ripped bodies aren't just impossible to maintain but often quite dangerous. All of that put together, the depiction of more actors and characters that are fat, chubby, large, etc and not used as comedic relief has been so, so important to really hammer home that lean, dehydrated muscular bodies aren't necessarily something to aim for

But especially, dwarves being shown to have the same physical features as these ripped muscly characters (lean, bulging muscles, sharp cheekbones, defined pecs and neck muscles, etc) when they're starved, and that being depicted negatively is such a huge deal. This is also coming from the same anime in which one of its male protagonists is the epitome of the hero-- an athletic tall man in a shining knight's armour with a big shiny sword-- and he isn't shredded, he's got a tummy, he's got soft arms, he's clearly strong and muscular but it's all protected by a healthy layer of body fat

I'm never gonna shut up about how Dungeon Meshi has been such an incredible vehicle of body diversity with neither insidious fatphobia/queerphobia/racism nor performative (and frankly harmful) allyship behind it. I'm excited for how many young people (and older too!) will be made to slowly but surely question their internalized and ingrained fatphobia or general medical misunderstandings about weight as they watch/read this series. These are such important details and not enough media addresses them in such subtle but clear ways.

Bless Ryoko Kui but also bless Trigger for not doing what a lot of studios do (thinning characters and lightening their skin colours)

[lanabuckybarnes]

Sergeant’s Got You

18+ Minors DNI

You’re stressed, he knows exactly how to make you feel better.

Note: I was asked for something like this, so it’s heavy on the love for his dog tags

Pairing: beefy Bucky (but he’s got that fatws attitude) x reader

Warnings: Dom Bucky, basically smutty right from the get go, filthy buck, he has his metal arm (I’m a slut for it), you like Bucky’s dog tags, like really like them, Petnames: sweetness, sweetheart, sweet thing, sweetie, good girl, baby, a LOT of dirty talk, sergeant kink, sir kink, oral (M receiving), unprotected p in v sex, he’s rough, degradation, feral Bucky, squirting, creampie, aftercare.

Word Count: 3.2k *insert cat HUH sound*

You were stressed beyond belief. Your mission ended up having a few more loose ends than anyone was anticipating leaving you to pick up the pieces. Now you were finally back in New York and ready to punch the next person who pats your back sympathetically with a ‘you tried’ look on their face.

Just as you were contemplating boxing the cupboard in the kitchen than wouldn’t stay open two strong arms pulled you back and into a hard body.

“You alright sweetness?” Bucky spoke into the locks of hair at the back of your ear. His cologne had you relaxing already, the fingers on his right hand hitched up your shirt to rub soothing circles over your hip bone. What really got you was the subtle grind of his hips against your ass; he was a filthy shit, you loved it when he knew what you wanted.

You flipped your body around in his arms, your fingers running up from his abs to his soft chest until they wrapped around his neck. He smirked, he knew exactly what you wanted him to do but he was a tease, you had to tell him or he wouldn’t. It’s just the way the world worked for you sweetheart.

You surged forward, desperate for a taste of the cherry lips you missed so much. You hated to admit just how much the man in front of you affected you, how often on your mission your hand snaked down your body and in-between your legs at the photos Sam sent of your lost puppy husband, his wide back and tiny waist wrapped in that blue Henley that had the arms pulled up to his forearm revealing the long veins and thick structure underneath. You needed him, now.

He pulled back just as your lips brushed his, a dark smirk and a filthy blue colour surfacing in his orbs. Fucking tease.

“You know you gotta use your words sweetheart” One of his big hands, his metal one, landed on the back of your skull, the metal thumb dancing over your bottom lip before you sucked it into your wet mouth. He growled at the innocent look you gave him as your tongue flicked over the tip before poking out and running up the underside of the shiny plates.

He pushed down, holding your tongue in place as it travelled, drool dripping from the muscle but he didn’t care, the sight of the rivulets of saliva sliding down the silver had him harder than a rock. One of the most technologically advanced pieces of handiwork and you were sucking on it like a little slut, pathetic.

He had you in his room before you could even blink, the rough slamming of the door vibrating the wall he pushed you up against.

“You’re a little slut ain’t you? Sucking on my thumb like my cock, getting your drool everywhere, you’re so lucky I don’t make you clean it up” he spoke as he hastily pulled your shirt and his off, his dog tags jangling softly as they fell back into place between his huge chest. You moved like a magpie, gripping at the shiny metal tags, giving them a squeeze, his name imprinting for a second of the fat of your palm before letting them slip between your fingers.

He watched you, ever fascinated at just how worked up you got about him, but it was your love for his dog tags that had him curious. You always, without fail slipped a finger around them, whether it was when you pulled him close for a kiss or if your slept on his chest, one of your fingers slipped itself through the chain and held them close to your hand.

He wasn’t stupid though, he could practically smell when you soaked yourself, always conveniently after his swinging tags made contact with your chin or ran up the column in your spine, the way that little pussy tightened around him when the old metal swept over your lips, tapping your teeth as you moaned out in pleasure. It made him embarrassingly weak too.

“You want me to fuck you cute girl?” He groaned into the crook of your neck, his plush lips suckling obscene dark marks downward till he reached the crevice of your breasts, your legs wrapped around him tighter as his hand grazed over your sensitive sides to the meat of your tit, gripping it softly and flicking a warm thumb over your nipple. You jerked into him at the shock of pleasure, your hand carding through his waves of hair and pulling him close as worked on the underside of your other boob.

“Words Sweetheart, I need words” He knew it wouldn’t be long till you hit that sub space, the same thing always happened when you were stressed, you needed your big Sergeant to take the wheel, use you a little bit.

“Please” fuck the whimper in your voice had him grinding up into you, the scratchy fabric of his jeans meeting the barely their material of the shorts you wore under your gear.

“Please what sweet thing?” he moved to watch the deep colour of your eyes swim with lust, eradicating any stress they once held, he was doing his job.

“Please use me Sir” you whined, fingers wrapping around the chain of his dog tags again to pull him close, finally getting that kiss you so desperately needed. His left hand cupped your cheek, rubbing a thumb over the high point softly, a sharp contrast to the bruising kiss you had going on. Teeth clashed with teeth, soft whimpers falling from your lips as he pushed closer, flicking his tongue viciously with your much weaker one, running against the top of it and sucking once it gave up it’s fight. He pulled you in again, tender with his lips this time, enclosing your swollen ones with his, his tongue running over your upper lip soothingly.

“Fuck! You’re making me go crazy” he chuckled as he moved off the wall, backing himself up to the bed till his calves hit the frame. He sat down with both of you, your body straddling him, his right hand pushing you back and forth softly on his bulge. The lust in his eyes mixed with a softness as he looked up at you, his metal hand still on your face although now his shiny forefinger and thumb hooked onto your chin, pulling you forward for a kiss, and another, and another. You whined, you didn’t want kisses and grinding, you wanted him to blow your back out, use your pretty face, anything but this.

Seeming to sense your thoughts he stopped your movements, the right hand coming up to join his left on either side of your face.

“What do you want sweetheart? You want your soldier to ruin you? I can feel how hot you are on my dick… you want it bad don’t you?” You moaned at his words, dripping filthily from his tongue, he sure had a way to fuck you up without even pulling out his cock.

“Yes, yes please. Use me” he smirked, satisfied at your whimpered begging. With a click of his tongue and a flick of his eyes he had you manoeuvring onto your knees in front of him.

He was a sight, he looked carved from marble, each bend of his body, every nook and muscle and vein delicately etched into rock solid stone to be preserved for a lifetime. His bulge strained painfully against his jeans, angrily awaiting your slender fingers offering it reprise from its tight cell. You were glad to give it just that.

Clumsily, you fiddled with the thick belt around his waist, smiling in satisfaction when the rhythmic clanks finally hit your ears. You flicked the button open and were about to pull the zip of his fly when his hand stopped you.

“With your mouth sweetness” his lip caught between his teeth, a soft blush decorated his face and chest as he watched you. Your tongue ran up the metal, the slight tang hitting your tastebuds, you flicked the little tab until sat snug between your teeth and pulled it down slowly, each tooth of the zip clicking as it finally opened.

Once you were done, Bucky pushed the thick material down his legs with a relieved sigh, letting it pool at his ankles before flicking them off with your help. His hard-on raged against the soft grey briefs, a pool of darkness lay at the head, precum soaking through.

His hands met yours, pulling them up his thighs and hooking them around the waistband of his briefs. He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling and neck craned as he watched you both inch down his underwear until it caught on his tip, he hissed as the scratchy fabric pulled over his silky head before it slapped deliciously onto his public bone and stomach.

“God” he chuckled breathlessly at the feeling of finally being free “look at you drooling all over yourself for me, you want a taste sweet thing?” His metal fingers had wrapped themselves around the fat base of his length, pushing it forward till the spongy tip hooked onto your upper lip, his salty precum smearing over it like a x-rated lip balm.

You pecked the tip of his dick, the tip of your tongue barely poking him as you did. You moved down, lips brushing against every angry vein on his cock until you met the metal of his hand in which you slowly licked a thick strip back up until you swirled your wet muscle against his head relentlessly.

“Fuck sweetheart, good girl” he groaned, head lulling back as his hips jittered off the bed softly, pushing his head into your awaiting mouth. You sucked him in greedily, selfishly inhaling his thick musky scent that had your pussy drooling against your lace panties, threatening to spill into your shorts— you didn’t doubt that if he had you naked, your essence would drip all over the wood of the floor— he’d have a field day making you clean it up.

“God you’re so good, ha— making your soldier feel so good, you like your sergeant all needy? Ready to pull you up off that floor and sink my cock into you” You moaned against his length, gagging softly when he jerked up into the back of your throat.

“Shit, Nuh uh get up here, I wanna cum in that pretty pussy, move come on” He pulled you up and off his length like you weighed nothing at all, his fingers ripping the shorts from your body and only stopping when he caught a glimpse of you’re soaked panties.

“Fuck girl, who’s got you like this hmm?” His thick thumb brushed small circles over your neglected clit. You moaned loudly, jerking off the bed with a shudder at the feeling, more of your slick pooling into your already soaked gusset.

“Mmm I can fucking smell you, smell so good baby… bet I could fuck you without prep, you want that?” He spoke, his voice deep, laced with primal lust— nothing like the composed grumpy old man everyone else saw— no, he was raw, unhinged, pupils blown wide with sexual desire. You wanted nothing more than his cock in you.

“Please Buck, just your cock I don’t care just please” you cried when he pushed particularly hard on your aching nub, your knuckles turning white as you fisted then covers beneath you; your legs shook as they threatened to close on his thick forearm, you were close already but you didn’t want to cum without him filling you out.

He gleamed at your form, fucked out, soaked and crying already— he’d barely fucking touched you— he couldn’t wait to see your face as he fucked you raw.

He ripped your panties with renewed vigour, the ruined material pulled away from your sensitive heat to hang around the your ankle that now sat over Bucky’s muscular shoulder. Your thigh quaked softly at the stretch but his cold digits ran softly against the tight muscle, soothing it for the time being.

His fat head tapped against your clit, each wet slap causing your body to twitch off the bed at the electric jolts of pleasure it sent up your spine. You could feel Bucky’s fingers circling your entrance, two of his thick fingers squishing into your tight hole as he prepped you lightly. When they left, a long line of arousal followed, connecting him to you, he growled at the sight before licking the wetness from his rough palm and middle finger.

“Mmm so sweet, if I wasn’t so fucking horny I’d make you cum all over my face… make you soak my mouth, shit” he was talking more to himself than you but you clenched around nothing at the thought, the thought of him eating you out for hours was not impossible, he’d done it before.

His thick tip drooling against your entrance pulled you from your trance, he pushed softly, hooking his head along the tight rim of your pussy as he stared up at you.

“you ready sweet thing?” He leaned over, right hand resting against the side of your head, his thumb flicking stray tears from your cheeks. You nodded softly, eyes unmoving from him, watching as his lips twitched in pleasure as his head popped into you, each inch dragging in slowly, aided by your soaked folds.

You moaned pathetically, his head running over your g-spot had you clenching around him, your orgasm hitting you quickly, your hands tightening painfully against the sheets as white hot pleasure soaked through your nerves. Everything was tingling, flashes of colour dancing over your closed eyelids.

Bucky wasn’t much better as he watched you, having to will his own orgasm down at the sight of you losing yourself over him already. You were a fucking sight to him, your tits bouncing with each sharp breath you took, mouth hung open allowing each whimper or silent scream to escape unabashedly.

“Ohh good girl, that’s it mmmm shit you’re fucking clenching me tight baby” Bucky mumbled, words falling from his lips in verbal mush, his own mind barely keeping up. When you finally came down from your high you open your eyes to look up at him, a shy little smile playing on your lips at the way he bore down at you.

“I’m so-“ you began but he pushed forward, sucking up your moan at the feeling of him hitting your cervix into his mouth.

“Don’t you dare be fucking sorry for that sweetheart, you hear? Fucking almost made me cum like a fucking teenager again, naughty girl ain’t you? I fucking love you” His hot breath panted against your lips as he growled at you, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel ashamed about the pleasure you were feeling. You blushed deeply, it was quite funny just how much his love for you made you blush, even when he was currently pushing against the deepest parts of you.

“Can I move baby?” He asked against your lips, smiling satisfyingly as you nodded before planting a wet kiss on your lips and pushing himself up.

He started slow, letting each vein pull against every nerve in your heat, his teeth clenching at just how tight you’d squeeze every time his head brushed against your sweet bundle of pleasure. His smooth pace never lasted long though, his hips jerked violently against you once he deemed you ready enough, your body slipping up across the sheets at each slam of his hips against your thighs.

He was leaning over you now, your leg pushed up between both your bodies, his dog tags clanging above your face at each jerk of his body. You reached a hand up, encircling the darkened metal, pulling on it as your body twitched with hints of a second orgasm.

“Shit! You like when my fucking tags hang over your face, fucking little slut aren’t you? You like being fucked like this? your sergeant fucking all that stress away? Mmm god, maybe I’ll put them around your neck next time hmm? Have you wear them when you’re riding me, let them fucking swing between those tits— god you’d love that” Bucky rambled, on and on, thrusts becoming sloppy as you clenched around him for the umpteenth time, only this time your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, you could feel yourself soaking Bucky’s dick and thighs— probably soaking the already destroyed sheets below you.

With one final thrust Bucky’s moan caught in this throat as he pushed himself the deepest he could go, hot cum soaking your cervix and pushing out against his length to run along your folds, mixing with your juices. His legs give out forcing himself against you even more, pulling a pained whine from you at the feeling. As your orgasms settled, your breathing slightly less laboured although still heavy, you pulled him close by his tags, kissing his blissed out face right on the lips.

“You were so good for me sweet thing, so fucking good” he praised, his metal hand running through your tangled hair, soothing your heated scalp.

He leaned back up with a groan, massaging your aching leg as he pulled it from his shoulder before slipping out of your pussy. You both moaned at the loss, your heat clenching against nothing as his cum slipped from your body in waves. He couldn’t tear his eyes from your heat, tongue poking out to wet his lips as he watched intently. You giggled shyly at his intense expression, your aching legs closing softly in embarrassment much to Bucky’s dismay.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up” he smiled, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you to the bathroom. You snuck a glimpse of the sheets as he carried you, the whole area soaked in a mixture of you both.

“Oh my god” you whispered in disbelief against his head.

“What?” He replied as he set you down and began running a bath.

“The sheets are ruined, I can’t believe I did that” you eyed his naked frame from behind, his wide back flushed red but still absolutely stunning, each muscle rippling as he moved methodically, his small waist directing you to his thick globes. It was then Bucky turned to look at you, catching you ogling at his ass, he laughed when you turned quickly.

“It makes me proud when I look at those sheets, I mean who else can make you squirt like that? Fucking no one” he growled the last part against your lips giving you a quick smooch before turning the water off and lifting you both into the hot bubbled water.

His hands massaged your shoulders, working out the knots from your activities as well as any left over stress from your mission, not that there was any after he fucked it out of you.

You two sat in silence, save for the occasional sigh you let out when he hit the right spot, both savouring each other’s presence, reminiscing on the way you exhausted each other. You laugh when you remember his words.

“What? what’s got you all giggly?” he asked, nipping the skin on the nape of your neck.

“Nothing… just… were you being serious?”

“About what sweetheart?” He eyes you curiously.

“About letting me wear your dog tags” you suppress a smirk as you feel him twitch against your back, obviously your words sparking something in him.

“We’ll discuss it later” he rasped causing you to laugh out loud.

Your week had been stressful, with never ending problems and constant nagging from the higher ups to do the job but when you were in Bucky’s embrace, when you had those dog tags between your fingers or dangling over your face, everything melted away into nothingness, leaving you and Bucky alone.

-

So I lied mwahahahaha, I was going to post it yesterday but I love alcohol so I was drunk but here we are.

I’m a little nervous to post this one idk why.

I hope you enjoyed x

(I do not own any of the photos, credits to original owners)

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hello!! If you’re still taking requests I’d love to see a Nanami x Reader fic where the reader is pregnant but doesn’t realize yet but I’d like showing OBVIOUS symptoms and for Nanami to start to catch on to them, I don’t know if that’s like weird? 😭 Also I hope you’re doing good!!

THIS. IS. EVERYTHING.

Yeah, we're doing this right now

Nanami realizing you're pregnant before you do

Pairing: Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,2k

Synopsis: well, basically the request above hehe

Warnings: I mean, reader is pregnant lol, fluff fluff fluff, Nanami is just the greenest flag I can't, please tell me you enjoy this as much as I do, I LOVE THAT MAN

Lately, everything feels… off.

It's subtle at first. Mornings are harder than they used to be, a strange kind of sluggishness that lingers in your limbs no matter how much coffee you drink after waking up. Your back aches at the most random times. And don't even get started on the nausea that strikes out of nowhere, leaving you clutching the bathroom sink with trembling hands.

But, still, it doesn’t cross your mind - not at first.

Nanami’s been noticing though. He’s always been perceptive, sharp in the way he observes the world, but lately, his focus seems to rest more on you. It starts with the small things: a subtle glance as you push your breakfast away with a grimace, the way his brow furrows when you wince, pressing a hand to your lower back. He doesn’t ask you about it immediately, and you’re grateful for that. Nanami doesn’t rush things, never has. He knows you well enough to wait until the right moment.

Today, however, something is different.

It’s a quiet Saturday morning. You’re both in the kitchen, sunlight streaming through the curtains in soft beams. Nanami’s making coffee, his movements precise as always, while you sit at the kitchen table with your hands wrapped around a cup of ginger tea. You’ve been craving that instead of coffee these days, the rich scent of the brew turning your stomach in a way it never used to. To be honest, you’ve never been a tea drinker your whole life.

He’s noticed that too.

You yawn, stifling the sound behind your hand as you stretch in your chair. There’s a strange heaviness in your body, and the thought of going back to bed, even after a full night’s sleep, is oddly tempting. It’s the third time this week that the idea of a nap has crossed your mind before noon. You blink hard, forcing your eyes to focus, and turn to Nanami, who’s watching you over the rim of his cup.

“Are you feeling alright?” he questions, his tone neutral but his eyes searching.

“Yeah, why?” you respond, but your voice lacks its usual energy.

Even to your own ears, it sounds tired. You clear your throat and offer a small smile, hoping to brush off the question as well as the wave of concern that starts bubbling up your chest all over again.

“I’ve just been a little out of it lately, that’s all.”

Nanami places his cup down on the counter, his gaze never leaving your face.

“You’ve been ‘a little out of it’ for a while now, darling.”

There’s a weight to his words, a quiet concern that has your defenses rising instinctively. You sit up straighter, forcing a more convincing smile this time.

“I’m fine, really. Just tired. It’s probably work.”

It’s true, to some extent. Work has been stressful, the usual demands piling up, but this exhaustion feels… different. It’s deeper, sinking into your bones in a way that no amount of rest seems to fix.

Nanami doesn’t say anything right away, but you can feel him assessing you. His silence is almost louder than words. You know he won’t push you to talk, but his patience, the way he waits for you to come to your own conclusion, can be just as insistent.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and rubbing at your eyes. There’s no way you’ll get out of this situation, not when your beloved boyfriend sits opposite of you with his calm but demanding orbs staring straight through your soul.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m coming down with something?”

It’s a flimsy excuse, and you both know it. But before you can think of anything else to say, a wave of nausea hits you hard and fast, making you lurch forward. You press a hand to your mouth, eyes wide as the world tilts just slightly. Oh god, not again.

Nanami is at your side in an instant, his hand on your back, warm and grounding.

“Hey, hey… breathe,” he murmurs gently, his thumb rubbing small circles against your spine.

“It’s okay. Just breathe.”

You close your eyes and focus on the rhythm of your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale until the nausea begins to subside. Slowly, you sit back, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. The embarrassment is hot on your face, and you can’t quite meet Nanami’s eyes.

“I’m fine, Kento”, you mutter, though you can tell it sounds unconvincing.

Nanami’s hand is still on your back, his touch firm yet gentle. He doesn’t say anything, not yet. You know he’s waiting, giving you space to figure out what’s going on. But even through your haze of denial, a part of you knows the truth is starting to unravel.

“Does this happen often?”

His voice is calm, but there’s an undercurrent of something more. Something you can’t quite place.

You swallow hard, not sure how to answer.

“It’s just been the past couple of weeks,” you admit quietly.

“I think it’s stress. Maybe some kind of stomach bug?”

Nanami’s brow furrows slightly, and he crouches down beside your chair, his eyes searching your face with that same quiet intensity.

“Are there any other symptoms?”

Your mouth opens to say no, but then you stop, thinking back over the past few weeks. The tiredness, the nausea, the strange sensitivity to smells, your shifting moods - small things you’d brushed off or tried to ignore. But now, all at once, it feels like they’re adding up, slotting together in a way that you hadn’t considered before.

You glance down at your hand, the one resting on your stomach, and something inside you clicks.

Oh.

Oh.

Nanami must notice the shift in your expression because his hand stills on your back.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat before you finally manage to speak.

“I think… I might be pregnant.”

There. You’ve said it. And the weight of those words hangs heavy in the air between you, a truth you hadn’t been ready to acknowledge until now.

Kento doesn’t react immediately. His expression stays calm, though you can see the flicker of something in his eyes - surprise, perhaps, or maybe something more. Did he already suspect this? Is this why he pushed you to think about your symptoms further? Slowly, he straightens up, standing in front of you now as he takes a deep breath.

“Are you sure?”

You shake your head, feeling a little lost.

“I’m not. I… I hadn’t really thought about it until just now.”

The truth is, you hadn’t considered the possibility at all. With everything going on - work, life, the general busyness of existing, it hadn’t crossed your mind that this could be the reason behind everything you’ve been feeling.

But now that it’s out in the open, you can’t help but wonder how you missed the signs.

Nanami’s hand gently cups your chin, tilting your face up so that you’re looking at him. His gaze is steady, calm in a way that grounds you, just like always.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions yet,” he says quietly.

“But if you think there’s a chance…”

You nod, your throat suddenly tight.

“Yeah. There might be.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels thick with unspoken emotions, a quiet understanding settling between you. Nanami steps closer, his hand moving from your chin to cup your cheek instead, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“We’ll figure this out,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

“Together.”

The sincerity in his words washes over you, bringing with it a flood of emotions you hadn’t realized you were holding back. You blink, your vision blurring slightly as you reach up to cover his hand with yours.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nanami’s expression softens, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know. But whatever happens, we’ll face it together. I promise” he mutters against your skin.

You nod, your heart swelling with a mix of fear, uncertainty, and something else, something warmer, softer. You aren’t alone in this. No matter what happens, you have your boyfriend by your side, steady and unshakable.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours again.

“Do you want to take a test?” he asks, his voice careful, as if he’s gauging your readiness.

You hesitate, biting your lip.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I guess I should, right?”

Nanami nods, but he doesn’t push.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

The idea of taking a test feels overwhelming, like it would make everything real in a way you’re not sure you’re prepared for. But at the same time, the uncertainty is starting to weigh on you, the not knowing gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you try to gather yourself. When you open them again, Nanami is still there, watching you with that quiet patience you’ve come to rely on so much.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice trembling just a little.

“Okay. I’ll take a test.”

Nanami squeezes your hand gently, a reassuring presence beside you.

“I’ll go get one,” he offers, his tone calm and matter-of-fact, like he’s suggesting something as simple as picking up groceries.

You nod, feeling a little more settled now that a decision has been made.

“Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

He leans down, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back.

“I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he grabs his keys and heads for the door, casting one last glance over his shoulder before he slips out into the hallway.

Once he’s gone, the quiet of the apartment feels almost too loud. You sit there for a long moment, staring at the cup of tea in front of you, your mind racing with thoughts you can’t quite hold onto.

Pregnant. You might be pregnant.

The idea feels too big, too surreal to grasp, and yet it’s there, lingering just at the edge of your awareness. A part of you is scared, terrified of the changes this could bring. But another part, a part you’re only just beginning to acknowledge, feels something else. Hope, maybe? Excitement? It’s hard to tell.

All you know for sure is that everything feels different now, that your whole life will be turned upside down if this test comes out positive.

When Nanami returns a short while later, test in hand, you take it from him with trembling fingers. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a small, reassuring nod as you disappear into the bathroom.

The minutes that follow are some of the longest of your life. You pace back and forth in front of the sink, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for the results. The silence feels deafening, and all you can do is focus on your breathing, trying to keep yourself calm.

Finally, the time is up. You glance down at the test, your breath catching in your throat as you read the result.

Positive.

You stare at it for a long moment, your mind struggling to process what you’re seeing. And then, slowly, the reality starts to sink in.

You’re pregnant.

With shaking hands, you open the bathroom door to find Nanami standing just outside, waiting. He looks up at you, his expression calm but expectant.

“Well?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, your voice catching in your throat as you hold up the test.

“It’s positive.”

For a moment, Nanami doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker to the test in your hand, and then back to your face, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, he steps forward, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle, grounding embrace.

“We’re going to be okay,” he murmurs against your hair.

“You’re going to be okay.”

And somehow, with his arms around you, you really believe him. Maybe you will be able to work this out. After all, you have none other than Kento Nanami by your side, right?

“Kento…”, you begin, the flood of sniffs and wild emotions now slowly but surely calming down.

“What is it, darling?”

“Did you…did you know?”

He sends a small smile your way while gently stroking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I couldn’t be sure. But after seeing you like this for a couple of weeks now, I had some suspicions”, he admits quietly.

You let out a huff.

“I can’t believe you realized it earlier than I did.”

“You are my life, (y/n). I notice every little thin about you.”

“And now you’ll be the father of a child”, you breathe out.

The words still feel strange while rolling off your tongue. Kento Nanami will be a father – the father of your child.

You are pregnant.

This is real.

“And I couldn’t ask for a better mother for my child.”

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[luvsupa]

001 | THE GARDEN

tags: trueform!sukuna x servant!fem reader, angst, smut(ish), pet names, lots of tension, teasing, mentions of death, mdni.

w.c: 3.9k (damn)

a/n: sorry for not posting in a whilee💔💔 I’ve been so sick and still am 🤧 😓 but this is req from this ask! (I will be making multiple parts to this i was writing a lil too much 😟)

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated!

part 2!

“sukuna-sama expects his dinner,” one of sukuna’s subordinates announces, pushing open the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. you and several other servants are already hard at work preparing the meal.

everyone tenses at the reminder, knowing that sukuna’s patience is thin. this is your first time preparing his dinner—usually, you’re assigned to gardening or cleaning. the sight before you is almost too much: bones, flesh, and organs stacked on the plate, creating a grotesque pile. the stench of death fills the air, making your stomach churn as you try not to gag.

as the meal is finished, you grab the edges of the heavy plate, bracing yourself for the weight of the revolting flesh.

“you’re not worthy to deliver the king’s food,” yorozu sneers, snatching the plate from your hands with a flick of her wrist. “you might upset him and end up as his next meal,” she adds, carrying the plate effortlessly while laughing as she exits. her mocking tone stings, and you can’t help but think of her with contempt as you and the other servants clean up.

bitch.

unable to bear the stench any longer, you leave the kitchen early. the other servants understand and let you go, knowing the smell has become too much for you. as you walk down the dimly lit hallway, you look up at the open ceiling, where stars shine faintly against the night sky. an eerie wind howls through the corridor, its sound both creepy and mesmerizing.

you glance towards the servant quarters but are drawn to the door leading to the garden. it feels like something is beckoning you, so you decide to take a detour. opening the door, you’re greeted by the moonlit garden—a stark contrast to the darkness inside. the flowers and fruit glow vibrantly under the moonlight, and the trees sway with the force of the wind.

walking deeper into the garden, you stop on the wooden bridge over the koi pond. you peer into the water, watching the koi fish below. as you look closer, your reflection shimmers in the rippling water. the fish suddenly dart away, disappearing in an instant. your confusion grows as you focus on your reflection and see four red orbs glowing ominously behind you.

frozen in place, fear grips you tightly. your heart pounds wildly, and you’re paralyzed by the chilling presence that seems to lurk just out of sight. your mind races, but you remain utterly silent and immobile, trapped by the eerie, haunting feeling that you are being watched.

you stand there frozen, the chill of fear gripping your body as your heart pounds furiously. you’re paralyzed by terror, unable to make a sound, not even a whisper.

“awh, i wish to get more of a reaction out of you,” the unknown voice murmurs darkly. slowly, you turn to see an extremely tall man with an array of unsettling features. the sight nearly makes you faint. the king.

“my lord,” you stammer, bowing deeply in respect. he chuckles at your rapid attempt to regain composure.

“it’s very easy to get into your head,” he observes, scanning your trembling form. “is there nothing up here?” he laughs, knocking your head playfully. you wince at his touch and rub your head, frowning at his mockery.

“there is,” you retort, turning your gaze away from him. you’re not trying to be disrespectful, but his subtle insult stings.

your heart still races as you focus on the rippling water beneath the bridge. sukuna towers over you, his presence as oppressive as the dark night sky. the garden around you is shrouded in shadows, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon and the shimmering koi fish gliding silently beneath the water’s surface. the air is eerily quiet, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of insects.

“so, what brings you to my garden, little one?” sukuna’s voice slices through the silence, smooth but laced with a sharp edge. you turn to look at him; this time, he’s also peering down at the fish.

you hesitate, unsure of what to say. the truth is, you hadn’t meant to end up here—you were simply drawn in by some inexplicable force. but could you really admit that to him? that you felt something calling you?

“i… needed some fresh air, sukuna-sama,” you finally reply, your voice barely a whisper. it’s a weak excuse, but it’s all you can muster.

he chuckles darkly, the sound low and rumbling, as if he can see right through your flimsy explanation. “fresh air? after dealing with my dinner? you must have a stronger stomach than i thought,” he teases, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief. he steps closer, the wooden bridge creaking under his weight. “or maybe you’re just running away from something?”

you stiffen, his words cutting close to home. he’s right, of course. you’re running—from the stench of death, from the sight of flesh and bone, from the reality of serving someone like sukuna. but admitting that feels like exposing your most vulnerable self, and you’re not ready for that.

“no, my lord,” you say, shaking your head. “i just needed a moment to clear my thoughts.”

sukuna hums, clearly unimpressed by your response. he circles around you, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. you can feel his gaze lingering on you, making you hyper-aware of every breath you take, every inch of space between you.

“clear your thoughts, huh?” he muses, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “what could a little servant like you possibly have to think about?” his tone is mocking, almost condescending, yet there’s a genuine curiosity in it.

you swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. what could you say that wouldn’t sound trivial to a man like him? you’re just a servant—your worries are insignificant compared to his vast existence. but something about his question—and the way he seems to revel in your discomfort—makes you want to push back, just a little.

“i think about a lot of things, my lord,” you say softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “like the stars, or the way the wind feels at night. or the flowers in the garden.” you pause, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “even… even what it must be like to be someone like you.”

the last part slips out before you can stop yourself, and you immediately regret it. your heart skips a beat as you brace for his reaction, fearing you’ve crossed some invisible line. but to your surprise, sukuna doesn’t lash out. instead, he halts, staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“someone like me?” he echoes, his brow arching with a mix of curiosity and disdain. “and what do you imagine it’s like, little one? to be someone like me?”

you hesitate, unsure how to respond. you hadn’t really thought it through—your words had just spilled out in the heat of the moment. but now that he’s asking, you can’t back down.

“i imagine it’s lonely,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “to have so much power, but no one who truly understands you. no one who dares to stand by your side, except out of fear.”

the garden falls into silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air. you can feel sukuna’s gaze boring into you, but you don’t dare meet it. your heart races, fearing you’ve gone too far.

then, sukuna does something unexpected—he laughs, a low, dark laugh that sends shivers down your spine. “lonely?” he repeats, as if the concept is foreign to him. “you think i’m lonely?”

he leans in closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. “let me tell you something, little servant,” he murmurs, his voice soft but laden with menace. “i don’t need anyone to stand by my side. i don’t need understanding or companionship. all i need is power, and the fear it brings. that’s what sustains me.”

his words are harsh, but there’s something in his tone—a hint of something deeper, something he’s not willing to admit. you feel a pang of sadness, realizing that beneath all that power, there’s a void he refuses to fill.

“you should be careful, doll,” he says, his voice low and warning. “curiosity can be dangerous. especially when it comes to me.”

with that, he straightens up, turning to leave. but before he can take a step, he pauses, glancing back at you with a smirk. “perhaps i’ll visit you again. after all, i find your little thoughts quite entertaining.”

your breath catches as you watch him disappear into the shadows, leaving you alone in the garden once more. the night is still, the stars shining brightly overhead, but the fear that had gripped you earlier has lessened, replaced by something else—something you can’t quite put into words.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *-

the next evening, you enter the shared servant quarters with a basket of clothes, overhearing yorozu and your other roommates gossiping about what happened in sukuna’s chambers. you pretend not to listen as you place the basket on the bed and start folding the clothes, trying to catch snippets of their conversation.

“he’s a maniac,” yorozu boasts loudly, “he even made love to me until sunrise—oh, how incredible it felt.”

you raise your brows at her blatant lie. after your encounter with sukuna, you had carefully snuck into the room to find yorozu and the others fast asleep.

what a liar.

the girls listening to yorozu gasp in awe, pleading for more details about her so-called night with the king. their excitement fades, however, as the door swings open, and uraume enters. the ladies quickly notice their presence and bow in respect.

“sukuna-sama has requested you to give him his bath,” uraume announces, looking directly at you. you glance around, wondering if uraume might have mistaken you for another servant.

“me?” you ask, pointing at yourself in confusion. the other servants exchange glances of barely concealed disgust. uraume nods, and they take their leave, closing the door behind them and leaving you in an awkward silence.

you smile to yourself as you hear yorozu’s incredulous question about why you’re the one chosen to assist with sukuna’s bath. you’re not a high-ranking servant, let alone someone who should be in his presence for more than a minute, much less during a bath.

discarding the basket of clothes, you rush out of the room, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation bubbling inside you about what might unfold between you and sukuna.

the walk to sukuna’s chambers nearly left you breathless, so secluded is his room from the rest of his vast estate. the wooden double doors, adorned with menacing skulls, creak open as uraume gestures for you to enter. they guide you past the threshold and direct you towards the private pool area, marked as the exit.

as you step into his room, you’re struck by its enormity. it’s so grand that it seems like a small residence in itself, complete with its own living area, kitchen, and even a staircase leading to what you assume must be his private quarters. the room boasts a massive balcony overlooking the villages below, offering a breathtaking view. to one side, a door leads to his expansive garden. 

fear courses through you as you sense his overwhelming presence grow stronger. your gaze is drawn irresistibly to the garden door, and something compels you forward. you push the door open and step into the garden, which is bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. 

there, in the center of the garden, is a large, dark pool. steam rises from the bubbling water, adding an ethereal quality to the scene.

and there he is.

sukuna sits in the pool, his eyes closed. his two arms rest casually on the edge, while the other two are submerged beneath the surface. his chest, covered in ancient tattoos, glistens with water droplets under the moonlight. the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest with each breath is the only movement in the otherwise still night.

“there you are, my little one.”

you stood there, swallowing hard as he opened his eyes to meet yours. his hand motioned for you to come closer, and you obeyed, lowering yourself to your knees beside him.

“something disturbing you?” he asked, feigning concern as he searched your eyes for a reason. “nothing, my lord. I’m just surprised you requested me instead of yorozu.”

a smirk played on his lips as his fingers lightly brushed the fabric of your kimono. “join me,” he said, his tone laced with a provocative edge. your eyes widened at the request, and you stumbled over your words, unable to form a coherent response. all you could hear were the faint pops of bubbles in the pool.

“unless you’d prefer I call for yorozu,” he added, a hint of amusement in his voice that sparked a pang of jealousy in you.

with a deep breath, you carefully stood up, untying your kimono and letting it pool around your feet as sukuna’s gaze remained fixed on your bare figure. he bit his lip, watching as you hesitantly stepped into the steaming water. the heat was intense, but you pushed through, your entire body soon engulfed by the water. sukuna’s arms, hidden beneath the surface, wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until you were resting on his lap. you flinched at the unexpected contact.

you could feel his cocks.

he chuckled at your reaction, his laughter carrying a hint of cruel amusement. “does her name strike a nerve?” he taunted as you glanced around, avoiding his gaze while taking in the garden’s beauty. without warning, he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I don’t like being ignored, woman.”

“it doesn’t seem fair that you have sexual relations with her and then summon me. you’re only going to make the other servants despise me,” you confessed, your voice trembling. his expression was unreadable, leaving you unsure whether he was angry or merely contemplating your words.

your pulse quickens as sukuna’s intense gaze pins you in place, his four crimson eyes gleaming with dark amusement. his massive form looms over you, every inch of his heavily tattooed body radiating power and menace. the steam swirling around you thickens the air, and the bubbling water at your waist feels like it’s vibrating with the tension between you.

“jealousy doesn’t suit you,” sukuna murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. his tone is laced with condescension, as if daring you to challenge him. one of his hands tightens its grip on your waist, while another trails a sharp claw along the side of your neck, dangerously close to your pulse.

you swallow hard, trying to maintain composure, but your voice betrays you with a slight tremor. “i’m not jealous,” you lie, even as your heart races. “i just don’t understand why you would entertain her lies.”

sukuna’s lips curl into a cruel smirk, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “entertain her lies?” he echoes mockingly, leaning in so close that his breath fans across your face. “you think i care about what that pathetic woman says? the only reason i acknowledge her existence is to see you squirm.”

he moves one of his lower arms to grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him. his eyes bore into yours, and the sheer intensity of his gaze makes your knees feel weak. “you’re nothing but a fool to her,” he continues, his voice dripping with venom. “a pawn in her petty games. but you… you’re mine.”

your breath hitches as his words send a jolt of heat through your body, leaving you torn between the urge to slap him and an even stronger, confusing desire. the steam rises thicker around you, wrapping you both in a cocoon of suffocating heat, and the bubbling water feels like it’s boiling against your skin.

“i’m not a toy,” you manage to say, though the words sound weak even to your own ears. sukuna’s laugh is low and menacing, and you feel his upper arms encircle you, pulling you closer to his enormous chest, his wet skin slick and warm against yours.

“oh, but you are,” he purrs, his voice both mocking and seductive. “my toy. my plaything. and i’ll do with you whatever i please.”

the heat of the water and the intensity of his gaze create a pressure that feels almost unbearable. his four crimson eyes lock onto yours with a predatory gleam, while his massive, tattooed form looms over you. the steam from the bubbling pool rises in thick clouds, obscuring everything but the two of you, wrapping you in a suffocating cocoon of heat and desire.

sukuna’s hands continue their torturous exploration. his lower arms grip your waist, holding you flush against him. his touch is deliberate, almost maddeningly slow, as his fingers trail lightly along your sensitive slit, spreading your folds making you whimper at his touch. every brush of his fingertips makes you shiver, your body reacting instinctively to the teasing pressure.

“you feel that?” sukuna growls, his voice rough with dark pleasure. his fingertips linger at your entrance, grazing the sensitive area with tantalizing slowness. “every inch of you is responding to me. don’t try to deny it.”

the water around you bubbles more furiously, the heat intensifying as sukuna’s touch grows bolder. your breath hitches with every pass of his fingers, your hips slowly grinding on his fingers for something more. the tension between you thickening until it feels like it’s pressing down on you from all sides. the steam is stifling, making it hard to think, and the heat of the water feels almost like a physical presence, amplifying the pressure of sukuna’s touch.

you try to maintain your composure, but your voice betrays you, trembling with barely contained desire. “i’m not yours,” you manage to say, though the words sound weak against the backdrop of his dark amusement.

sukuna’s lips curl into a cruel smile, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. “oh, but you are,” he murmurs, his voice both mocking and seductive. “and deep down, you know it. you can’t hide from what you want.”

his lower arms grip your hips firmly, pulling you snugly against him. you gasp as his fingertips graze your clit with a teasing touch, sending a shiver of electric pleasure through your body.

“my precious brat,” sukuna growls, his fingers continuing their teasing caress, barely making contact but just enough to drive you wild with anticipation. the sensation is maddening, the heat of his touch against your sensitive skin making it hard to focus on anything but the overwhelming need building within you.

you try to maintain control, but your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. “’m not yours,” you repeat, shutting your eyes, hoping he would do something.

sukuna’s eyes glint with cruel satisfaction as he increases the pressure slightly, his fingers brushing over your clit with a teasing rhythm. the dizziness increases as the pressure of his touch and the intensity of his gaze combine. 

sukuna smirks as he brings his hand from the water to pinch your neglected breasts, pulling and teasing your nipples until you gasp loudly. simultaneously, his fingers rub circles on your poor clit with a harsh rhythm, each touch sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body. the sensations blend together, leaving you dizzy and disoriented, as if you’re drunk off his touch. 

the steam seems to wrap around you tighter, making it hard to think clearly. sukuna’s touch is relentless, the teasing strokes sending waves of heat through your body. your mind is spinning, caught between the heat of the water, the pressure of his touch, and the oppressive weight of his presence.

his fingers trace along the edges of your entrance with agonizing slowness, the touch making your body quiver with anticipation your breasts aching at the teasing. sukuna’s hands grip you tighter, pulling you closer, and the sensation of his body against yours only adds to the unbearable pressure.

“say it,” he commands, his voice rough and demanding. “tell me you’re mine.”

the words catch in your throat, the intensity of the moment making it almost impossible to speak. the steam, the heat, the pressure of sukuna’s touch—all of it overwhelms you. the tips of his fingers push into your hole, your body instinctively wanting more. the tension breaks, and the words slip from your lips, barely audible over the sound of the bubbling water.

“f-fuck yours- ‘m yours ,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of the admission. he widely smirks as you gave in, knowing that you’re his. the heat of the water, the intensity of sukuna’s touch, and the oppressive presence of his gaze converge, leaving you breathless and dizzy, completely trapped in his embrace.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the next morning, you and the other servants were summoned to the kitchen by the higher-ups. as you prepared, memories of your night with sukuna kept making you smile, his words-you’re mine- echoing in your mind. sukuna wanted you, and only you.

in the large, cobblestoned kitchen, you and the servants gathered around the wooden island table where uraume had called everyone. chatter and gossip filled the room as you stood with your friends, one of them clutching your arm nervously as everyone waited for uraume’s arrival.

the wooden doors creaked open as uraume and several guards filed in, immediately commanding attention. “good morning, everyone,” uraume said, silencing the room.

“sukuna-sama has been keeping an eye on a few of you while you worked,” uraume continued, causing a collective gulp of fear to ripple through the room. whispers of suspicion and dread filled the air, as many feared sukuna’s scrutiny meant trouble.

“and he is beyond pleased with one of your skills,” uraume added, and the room erupted in gasps and murmurs of relief. you heard whispers behind you—could it be me? it has to be me.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at their eagerness. most of the servants slacked off when uraume or sukuna’s subordinates weren’t around, but you always made sure to be diligent. you weren’t trying to be a suck-up; you were just keenly aware of the consequences of falling out of favor. after all, many had met grim fates.

was this about me? had the king of curses been watching? you think.

uraume walked closer to your side of the room, maintaining their usual emotionless demeanor. a few of the other servants' smiles faltered as uraume pushed through the crowd, making a beeline for you. their eyes were filled with a mix of envy and disbelief, and you straightened your posture with a slight bow, a wide, hopeful smile spreading across your face.

“i’m very thankful for this—”

“move.”

you choked on your saliva, your face flushing with embarrassment as you froze, head down. the realization that you were not the one being recognized hit hard as uraume moved past you to the girl in the back. murmurs and chuckles spread through the room, and you could feel your cheeks burning with shame.

i just want to disappear.

uraume pulled one of the servants deemed ‘skilled’ to the front of the room. you slowly raised your head to see yorozu, standing there with a beaming smile, clearly thrilled.

“sukuna-sama is beyond satisfied with your skills and dedication,” uraume announced. “he has requested a personal dinner with yorozu.”

what?

[azrielsrealmate]

if I don’t put my hands over you right now…

azriel x reader

summary: your night in Rita’s was supposed to end with Azriel between your legs, not Azriel beating up your abusive ex.

warnings: suggestiveness, fight, blood, injuries, dark themes if you squint, SLIGHT trauma from an abusive relationship.

word count: 2.7k

Yk when at the High Lords meetings Azriel just snaps when Eris speaks about Mor..? Yeah, I liked that scene way too much. So here this is😸

Rita’s is packed, the heat radiating from every dancing body, the rhythm of the music pulsing through the floor and vibrating in your bones. You've spent nearly half an hour letting yourself go to the rhythm, your hips swaying in time, your eyes half-closed as Mor laughs and pulls you closer to the crowd. You're intoxicated, not just by the liquor you've consumed, but by the power you feel in being so aware of your body, so heated and alive in this dress that hugs you tightly and leaves so little to the imagination.

You spent hours getting ready. Three hours in the bathroom, meticulously shaving, slathering yourself with coconut creams until your skin was soft and fragrant, every detail of you arranged with almost cruel precision. And while part of you did it just to look good, to feel pretty, you know there’s something more. A deeper desire, the real reason you spent three hours locked away like a maniac.

The reason hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he first saw you that night. Azriel. It's always been Azriel.

The push and pull between you two has been constant, furtive glances and subtle touches, half-spoken words and smiles that hide more than they reveal.

You know he’s watching you, you feel it even when you’re not looking, a sensation that burns the back of your neck, and anticipation grows with every passing moment, tingling under your skin. A pang in your gut—intuition, they call it—you think something is going to happen. Naively, you think it might be good, really good, a reward for those three hours in the bathroom pampering yourself.

The music shifts to a slower, deeper rhythm, and the heat in the room seems to intensify. And you really can’t take it anymore, your breath is quick and shallow, and you hate the thought of breathing in the scent of sweat from constantly moving bodies, so you decide it’s time for a break, for a cold drink to refresh you.

You pull away from Mor with a smile and head to the bar, enjoying the slight coolness that the nonexistent breeze offers. At least there aren't people blocking everything in your view anymore.

Just as you're about to order your drink, you feel it. That familiar scent of cedar and mist, an aroma that always makes you turn your head, that wraps you in a feeling of safety, of desire, and something darker. Your heart beats faster with it, urging you to be afraid, but you're smarter than that. And then, the hands. Firm, confident, and so large on your hips that you fantasize about what they could do to you, they settle on your hips and pull you back against a hard, unyielding chest.

Though his chest isn’t the only thing that’s incredibly hard.

You laugh softly, knowing who it is without even having to look. You can feel the strength in him, the tension built up in the way he pulls you so desperately against him. He’s so close, and he leans down so that his mouth is right by your ear, and when he speaks, his voice is a low growl that wraps around every inch of your skin, making you exhale, your skin prickling. You press your thighs together.

“If I don’t put my hands on you right now, I’m going to put them around the neck of every man looking at you.”

The whole world seems to stop for a second. Your breath catches, and the pulse in your throat pounds. You knew there would be consequences tonight, but the reality of it hits you like a punch. Azriel, always controlled, always restrained, is on the edge, and the idea of that control breaking… is intoxicating. You smell it, so thick you can taste it, musky. God, you’d give anything to have it on your tongue for real.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic,” you murmur, but your voice trembles, betraying you. Because deep down, you like it. You like that he’s so close, that he’s so vulnerable with you, that he feels something so fierce that it drives him to act. Your words seem to only provoke him further because the grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress.

“Dramatic doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he whispers against your ear, his warm breath trailing over your skin. “You… have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

The trembling inside you turns into a wave, and you can barely contain it. It’s an effort not to roll your eyes in pure pleasure, not to rub your thighs together to get some friction.

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whisper, challenging him. Although to you, it’s not a challenge, it’s an offering. So full of need that you have to mask it.

Azriel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turns you, gently but firmly, until you’re face to face with him. His eyes, as dark as the night itself, are lit with a mix of emotions that make you tremble. Slowly, his gaze lowers to your dress, the slight leopard lace that gathers at the top, just enough to give him a tantalizing view of the skin you so carefully prepared.

“This dress…” he murmurs, his voice deep and laden with meaning. “It’s on purpose. You knew what it would do, what it would do to me.” His hand moves up, slowly, from your hip to the small portion of bare skin on your shoulder, brushing it with a tenderness that contrasts with the fire in his eyes. “If you wore it for me, then I have the right to take it off you.”

Your lips part, words trapped in your throat as you try to process the intensity of what he’s saying. But before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, stealing your breath, demanding more than you thought you were willing to give.

The kiss is hard, fierce. His tongue claims your mouth as his own, exploring and savoring; you barely have time to keep up with him.

His hands roam over your body, exploring the skin you’ve prepared for him, and you cling to his shoulders because your knees are trembling. It’s as if the world around you disappears, leaving only Azriel, his mouth on yours, his body firm against yours, and the fire that heats your skin and spreads to his.

When he finally pulls away, you’re both panting, and he looks at you as if he can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you again or carry you out of Rita’s right then and there.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice more of an order than a request, and although his tone is firm, there’s a plea in his eyes. A need that mirrors your own. And it’s completely overwhelming, you can only nod. And your legs move when your mind is still dazed from the kiss, his hand on your waist as if he can sense that.

Azriel comes to a sudden stop, just before you can cross the threshold of Rita’s, when a cold, venom-laden voice rises above the club's noise.

“Already got another man?”

Your heart stops for an instant, the heat of euphoria fading as you recognize the figure approaching. Tall, dark-haired, and gray-eyed, who used to look at you with something you believed was love, but now only shows resentment. Your face hardens at the sight of your ex, and a familiar tension settles in your chest, a reminder of the scars you still carry.

Azriel notices immediately. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin possessively. You can feel the tension in him, the way his body prepares to act, to protect you. Azriel’s shadows, always lurking, slip across the floor between you like snakes, dark and threatening until one of them coils around your shoulders.

“We broke up over a year ago, get over it,” you say, your voice tense but firm, maintaining your composure despite the turmoil inside you. You have no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence affects you, how much Azriel’s grip on your waist is doing for you.

But he laughs, a bitter, hollow sound that makes your stomach churn. He takes a threatening step toward you, and though your body wants to retreat, you stand firm. You know this game. You know he’ll drink and get drunk on the slight fear in your eyes, he’ll go crazy if you back away, he’ll think he has more power than he does, so you force yourself to stay still.

His fists clench, and you see Azriel’s gaze turn lethal, a flash of cold fury that he barely contains.

Your ex doesn’t give you time to respond, the gray of his eyes fixed on Azriel, and his voice comes out filled with disdain, as sharp as a knife. “You’ll find out soon enough, she’s not worth it. All that pretty face, and she’s not even going to suck your…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t. Because the moment those venomous words leave his mouth, Azriel moves, faster than a blink. You feel the heat of his body leave you for an instant, and then, the sound of impact. A dull, heavy thud reverberates in the air, and you see your ex stagger backward, blood spurting from his nose.

But Azriel doesn't stop there.

The wild gleam in his eyes tells you everything you need to know: he's not going to stop. He doesn't want to stop. With lethal efficiency, he launches himself at your ex again, his fist finding its mark over and over, with a fury that has been simmering for too long, now unleashed in an unstoppable torrent.

And you... do nothing to stop him. You could always say you were paralyzed, that you didn't know what to do, that it caught you by surprise because you remain there, your feet rooted to the ground as you watch Azriel destroy the man who had hurt you time and again. You should scream, you should intervene, but you don't. Because a part of you—that dark and wounded part—feels a perverse satisfaction watching him get what he deserves. Each blow seems to erase one of the invisible scars he left you, each groan of pain he emits sounds like justice for the years you lost with him.

Blood splatters the ground, and your ex tries to cover himself, but it’s futile. Azriel is unstoppable, his face transformed into a mask of pure rage, his shadows swirling around him like frenzied beasts, hungry for more.

But then, a giant figure bursts onto the scene, a whirlwind of muscle and strength. Cassian.

In an instant, the General of Rhys’s armies is upon them, his arms encircling Azriel and pulling him back with brutal force. But Azriel fights, his body trying to break free, desperate to keep punishing that man, to make him pay for every word, every insult, every wound he caused you.

"Azriel, stop!" Cassian’s voice booms above the chaos, laden with authority, but also concern. Cassian tightens his grip, his wings spreading to block everyone else’s view, his expression hardened as he uses all his strength to contain his brother.

You barely see it, but you hear him growl, a sound that doesn’t seem human, and for a terrible second, you think he might even turn on Cassian. His shadows swirl, dark and violent, but then, in an almost imperceptible movement, you see Azriel close his eyes, taking deep breaths, struggling with himself, fighting to control his rage.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Azriel relaxes enough for Cassian to release him, though his eyes are still blazing with that fury that makes you tremble. The shadows slowly recede, as if they still want to attack but obey their master.

Your ex lies on the ground, gasping, his face barely recognizable from the beating, but you know he’s conscious. You feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, but you can only look at Azriel. At Azriel, who continues to look at you as if you’re the only person in his world, as if his vision had narrowed to just you.

Cassian holds him by the shoulders, keeping him in place, though it’s no longer necessary. The fight is over, but the air is still charged with tension, so thick that if anyone decided to push too far, it would shatter with the sound of another broken bone.

Azriel steps away from Cassian, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a step toward you, then another, until he’s standing in front of you, so close you can feel his breath on your skin.

"Are you okay?" His voice is a whisper, rough from the rage, but also filled with that unshakable concern he’s always had for you.

And for the first time in what seems like an eternity, you feel you can breathe again. You nod.

Cassian steps aside, giving one last piercing look at the man on the floor before giving you some space. Azriel remains unmoving, his eyes scanning every inch of your face, searching for any sign that this has affected you more than you admit. But all he sees is your determination.

"Let’s go," you finally say, your voice louder than you expected. You take his hand, his bloodied and bruised knuckles against your skin, and guide him out of Rita’s, away from the curious gazes and the chaos left behind.

————————————

The silence is almost overwhelming as you close the door of your apartment behind you. Azriel stands at the entrance, his eyes still dark with fury, but now the exhaustion and guilt begin to show in his expression. He says nothing, just watches you as you head to the bathroom and fetch the first aid kit. The sound of running water fills the space, but the tension between you is almost tangible.

When you return, you find him standing in the middle of the living room, his gaze lost on the floor. You don’t say anything as you gently take his hand, guiding him to the couch. Azriel allows himself to be led, his wings drooping and his posture relaxed now that the adrenaline has worn off. You can feel lighter yourself.

"Let me see," you whisper, barely a breath. You hold his hand with a softness that contrasts with the brutality of what you just witnessed. His knuckles are bloodied and his hands tremble slightly, though you’re not sure if it’s from the fight or from what he feels now.

He says nothing as you clean the blood, his gaze fixed on your hands, watching every move as if it’s the first time someone has cared for him this way. As if he’s never experienced tenderness before, and the way you’re wiping the blood from his knuckles is presenting it to him on a silver platter. It’s not the first time you’ve done this, but the intimacy of this moment, after what happened, feels different.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I shouldn’t have lost control like that."

Your hands pause for a moment, your eyes meeting his. You see the guilt there, mixed with that smoldering rage that never seems to fully disappear.

"Don’t apologize," you reply firmly, resuming your task. "He deserved it. And... I’m not going to lie, Azriel. Watching him get what he deserved... it wasn’t so bad."

He looks at you, surprised by the confession, but something in your words seems to calm him. He accepts your response, though you know a part of him will always blame himself for losing control. It’s what makes him who he is.

When you finish cleaning and bandaging his knuckles, you keep his hand in yours for a moment longer, savoring the warmth you’ve always found in him. Azriel, who has always been your rock, your protector, now allows himself to be cared for, letting you see that vulnerability he so rarely shows.

"Thank you," he says softly, meeting your gaze with eyes now velvety as he looks at you without worrying about anything else, and his other hand reaching to caress your cheek with a gentleness that contrasts with the brutality of the night.

You don’t respond because there’s no need. Instead, you lean into him, allowing yourself to rest in the warmth of his embrace, in the comfort only he can offer you. Outside, the world keeps spinning, but here, in this small corner of your life, everything is calm.

[chrollogy]

18+ MDNI; smut, kiyoomi gets all worked up after you kiss him over his face mask, brief heavy make out session <3, unprotected sex, creampie, prone bone :), brief mentions of biting (reader receiving), kinda poor writing i think (wrote this while i’m sick lol). divider: cafekitsune.

── it was subtle but you noticed the slight shift in kiyoomi’s aura; the way his pale veiny hand gripped the steering wheel, the taut muscle in his jaw, the small crease between his brows—not to mention the thick atmosphere inside the vehicle, a low hum filling the void of silence.

he had just finished a rather tedious practice session with the team, and thought that your presence was heaven sent. that was until you decided to be a tease.

you recounted a few minutes ago where you had teased kiyoomi with a kiss over the ivory face mask that sat snug over his nose, and lips. normally, you would’ve gently pulled the mask down to plant a chaste kiss but you had a different idea—one that kiyoomi didn’t particularly like.

one that had him slightly parting his lips beneath the mask, and subtly leaning in to chase your own as you pulled away—an innocent gleam in your eyes.

your heart thrummed against your chest as kiyoomi wordlessly keyed the lock of your shared apartment. he stood tall against the door, shoulders rolling back as he walked in, a slight awkwardness in his step.

you weren’t stupid. you saw the way his semi hard on outlined the MSBY track-pants he wore while driving home but you didn’t dare try bring it up. it stared at you, eyes wandering over to kiyoomi’s lap countless of times within the span of the drive back.

“you okay, omi?”

he held the door for you as you stepped inside. the question lingered in the air for a while. the door closed, sound reverberating throughout the walls of your shared apartment.

then, kiyoomi turned to face you, tall form looming over yours as he looked at you with his onyx gaze—the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the side of his handsome face.

“kiss me.” blunt as always. his voice was velvety, sending icy shivers down your spine.

you didn’t have to be told twice. pushing yourself up using the balls of your feet, your digit gently slid the ivory mask down, tucking it under his chin before sealing the distance between your lips.

kiyoomi didn’t hesitate to prod his tongue into your mouth the second both your lips made contact, a low groan rumbling from his chest as you eagerly lapped at his tongue. despite his nonchalance, kisses with kiyoomi were rarely chaste—they were passionate, full of heat, and heavily involved his sinful tongue whether you liked it or not.

it always felt like a carnal beast inside him had awoken. safe to say, kiyoomi’s kisses never failed to leave you a little dizzy from the lack of oxygen but you weren’t complaining.

before you knew it, his desperation turned into greed, and the messy trail of discarded articles of clothing leading to the shared bedroom was proof of that.

your naked body lay atop the ivory sheets, front resting against the mattress. kiyoomi positioned himself over your thighs, each leg on either side of them as he slapped the fat of your ass with his heavy cock—his free hand resting on your hip, angling it upwards.

he gave your nape an open-mouthed kiss, bed slightly creaking beneath the shift of his weight before slowly inching his raw cock into your sopping entrance. a unison of contented sighs fell from both your lips as the tip of kiyoomi’s cock parted your velvety walls, eagerly sucking him in with every inch.

“so eager for me.” a shaky whisper from the man above you, clearly hanging onto every last bit of his sanity at the feel of your tight, warm cunt.

you could only whine in response, fingers digging into the plushness below. kiyoomi interlaced his fingers with your own, his palm flush against the back of your hands as he bottomed out—onyx eyes briefly rolling to the back of his head at the blissful sensation.

the very reason why you and kiyoomi had a shared love for the position was because of how fucking deep he went that it was almost sinful.

if only you could see how pretty kiyoomi looked, face angled towards the ceiling, adam’s apple bobbing as pleasure engulfed every fibre of his being. it also didn’t help how your cunt squeezed around him ever so slightly as each second passed.

with a subtle wiggle of your hips, kiyoomi pressed his weight forward—knocking some air out of you—bare chest flush against your naked back before pulling his hips back, and hastily snapping it into your ass. this earned a muffled whine from you, face flat on the mattress as the feeling of ecstasy coursed throughout your body.

kiyoomi’s hands tightened against your own before setting a swift rhythm of his hips that had your eyes rolling back, and tears of pleasure quickly forming.

strings of heavy pants, and muffled whines slowly filled the damp atmosphere of your shared bedroom—sounds of merciless skin slapping, and sinful, wet squelches were like music to your ears.

“o-omi! s’ deep. oh my god.” you let out a stifled gasp, earning a low grunt from your boyfriend.

kiyoomi’s hot breath fanned against the sweaty skin of your nape, a gentle tickle with every pleasure driven pant that escaped his lips. god, he could be buried inside you forever and he wouldn’t even complain a single bit.

the tip of his cock repeatedly kissed your g-spot with each relentless thrust of his hips, inching you closer to your impending orgasm. kiyoomi knew this too, with the way your sentences turned incoherent, your whines becoming airy, and cunt squeezing the shit out of him but not once did his hips falter—despite the tight fit.

kiyoomi could feel your bare body turning taut under his own, stiffening as the knot in your stomach grew tighter, and tighter.

“cum with me.” he panted against your ear, teeth grazing against the skin before gently biting down on it.

that was all you needed.

with one long whine of his name, the knot deep in your stomach snapped, shocks of pleasure kissing all over your sensitive body as you creamed around kiyoomi’s cock. the colour of your knuckles mirrored the ivory sheets beneath as your fingers curled around them, gripping them for your dear life as your boyfriend rode out your orgasm.

kiyoomi let out a strangled moan of your name before biting down on your shoulder, hard. he sheathed his cock all the way inside, base flush against your ass as ropes of hot, thick cum painted your velvety walls. kiyoomi pressed his hips further into you before fucking his cum deeper, earning a gargled whine from you.

he soothed the sensitive skin he bit earlier by tonguing at it, and placing chaste kisses,

“tease me again like that, and this is what happens.” kiyoomi panted, resting his sweaty forehead on your shoulder blade. you mustered a soulless chuckle,

“i don’t mind that at all.”

[targaryen-dynasty]

DRAGON DREAMS.

Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Monthly nightmares have already plagued you way before your wedding, even though your grandfather has always addressed them as dragon dreams rather than nightmares. But you and your husband both know you’re not gifted with such abilities.

WARNINGS: canon typical incest/targcest (uncle/niece), nightmares, slight angst, fluff

WORDS: 625

NOTES: this was requested by @marthawrites. Hope you still like it! 💕

It’s impossible for you to run.

Your feet are firmly planted on the ground, not moving regardless of you tugging and pulling at them to lift them and escape the brown dragon in front of you. Even your voice catches in your throat, unable to scream when the large mouth of Sheepstealer snaps towards you, the sharp teeth appearing even more intimidating with the light of the moon reflecting from them.

You stir awake, beads of sweat forming along your hairline and in the valley between your breasts. A hand on your mouth is meant to stifle your screams and sobs, not wanting to wake up your husband. Your breathing is heavy, and it takes you a few moments to adjust to the darkness of your chambers as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

Still half asleep, Aemond rolls onto his side and snakes his arm around your waist to pull you into his embrace, your head resting against his chest as his nose nuzzles into your hair.

“Bad dream?” It’s more a statement than a question, because your husband knows the answer. Monthly nightmares have already plagued you way before your wedding, even though your grandfather has always addressed them as dragon dreams rather than nightmares.

But you and Aemond know you’re not gifted with such abilities, it’s just that your mind has a lot to process with the rising tension between both sides of your family.

His presence always works wonders, the warmth radiating off his body and his scent slowing your panicked breathing and the turmoil inside of your mind, allowing you to melt into him.

While Aemond’s hand cups the back of your neck, his fingers apply just a bit of pressure to your stiff muscles in order to release the pent up tension, and you find yourself being able to speak again.

“I—It‘s…,” you stammer, your breathing still causing you to stutter through a sentence. “Sheep…Sheepstealer,” you sigh, “he… he...”

A gentle nod reassures you to continue as you crane your neck to look up at him.

“We wanted to fly to Dragonstone,” you sniff, panic settling in your bones again at just remembering what has happened. “Vhagar was already high up in the sky, when… and when I wanted to mount him, h… he…”

Aemond brings his hand to the back of your head and holds you against his body to calm you down. “He ate you?” he finishes the sentence for you, and you just nod hurriedly, mumbling a ‘yes‘ against his chest.

Most people, including your parents, perceive Aemond as cold and ignorant, and the gods know he can be like that. You have thought that too for the longest time, or rather from the moment he has lost his eye to the moment your courtship has been made official, but you have learned to see the genuine intent behind the things he does, hear the subtle changes in his voice, and suddenly he was just as attentive as any other man around, if not even a bit more.

Aemond kisses the crown of your head before speaking, “Your bond is strong, my love, and you know he would never do that.” And he is right. Even before you’ve bonded with Sheepstealer, the dragon never showed any ill-will toward you. He always was curious, despite the many failed attempts of claiming him other people had tried before.

“Avy jorrāelan,” you mumble. I love you.

“Avy jorrāelan,” comes the reply.

That Aemond’s grip doesn’t loosen around you makes it easier to find sleep again, and while your soft snores already fill his ears, he nuzzles his nose into your hair to take in your scent, thinking about a way to put this misery to an end.

Aemond taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu @legitalicat @eponaartemisa @peachysunrize @blackswxnn @odairtrqsh @mfedits

[anantaru]

DAY 21 — JEALOUSY

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — alhaitham, thoma, scaramouche, wriothesley

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, jealous & possessive boys, a lil insecure, fear of you leaving them, prone bone, oral (male! receiving), teasing & rough

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

indeed, it was a lot more convenient for alhaitham to pretend like he wasn't jealous right now, painfully so, and the thought of him even getting to this point was somewhat embarrassing to the renowned scribe— especially since you're giving him no reasons to be jealous in the first place.

with shaky fingers, you frame your hands behind his neck as you push him close for a quick kiss, and alhaitham found himself welcoming you with a roughness that manifested into ruthless ruts of his length shattering all sense of rationality in you when you jolt your hips into him, his cock continuously pushing into you possessively before dragging his palm down to grope your tits— his way of handling and pleasing your body was always enough to make you empty headed and crave more friction, even though alhaitham was rougher than usually this time around.

little do you realize that alhaitham couldn't look at your wide, pleading eyes, instead he focused on making you feel good, despite his head being full of constant bothering thoughts and emotions, his own glossed over eyes filled with deep annoyance.

what the man didn't wanted to happen was for you to suddenly believe that his obvious lack of attention and negligence was directed at you, but alas, it gave the impression away, especially when you whine out his name, alhaitham, alhaitham, again and again, but he doesn't even look at you, and it's like a mark burning into your skin when he stops himself at last, his cock still throbbing inside the confines of your walls but alhaitham wasn't moving an inch anymore.

"i-is something wrong?" you mutter, breathing and sniffling through your moans, "did i do something?" your gentle words of compliance  slip past his ears as he suddenly returns your gaze at last, his eyes open wide when the realization hit him. the heat in the air gets drained entirely and the mood falters a little, replaced with subtle touches, low breaths and at last, alhaitham's unwavering focus on you.

"no," he shakes his head immediately, "you did nothing," and here his voice softened, continuing, "you could never, you know that," he looks at you, and in return, you raise your eyebrows at him, utterly irritated, asking him non-verbally to explain himself and his difficult pondering— your cunt still pressed around his girth and it's more pleasurable than painful, yet neither of you was moving an inch, and it doesn't seem like you will for a while.

alas— as you might be utterly aware by now, alhaitham wasn't a man of many words, he preferred the easier route, and his heart was steady for once, thanks to you shaking his thoughts and calming him with nothing but your sensual voice.

and, truthfully, there was a part of him that enjoyed letting his desires out like that, to signalize you his desires despite him drifting off into his thoughts every now and then.

or, that in the end, any other individual fumbling their attempt to get to know you will fail, because as always, alhaitham never has to fear for any lack of loyalty coming from you.

𖧡 — THOMA

the mental picture of not being good enough for you creeped its way over thoma's psyche and body, while this particular thinking was making him much too jealous, too insecure and grumpy, truly, he absolutely loathed the feeling of it, it left a bad taste in his mouth and he hated himself deeply right now.

by now, it felt as though he had memorized every word that his negative emotions spoke to him, and it served as an evident contrast to the lustful temperature littering over your naked bodies as he plays with you, his red tip battering against your sensitive insides with such roughness that your entire body was bouncing back and forth the bed. 

"you're mine," thoma's repeated declarations ooze into you and scratch the deepest depths of your brain, "mine, fuck— and mine," it truly messes with your mind, his thrusts deep and precise making you cry desperately with quick snaps of his hips holding your breath away.

"yes.." you hiccup weakly, "forever... yours," and thoma groans loudly at your sentences, he was so glad that he cannot help himself but smile— even though of course, it didn't entirely melt away the troubling thoughts, they continue to pester him, how not when he was thinking about it all day long.

in spite of that, he wanted to prove himself until you're utterly trapped to the feeling of being overflowed by his throbbing length swelling inside, taking up all the sweet space until you're nothing but full of him— swiftly hiding your dampened face against thoma's neck, stifling your darling cries as he pushes faster, deeper, his painfully hard cock pistoling in and out until you're practically yelling his name in broken spells.

it only takes a couple more thrusts before he spills into you, your clenching walls trying to keep him in as your legs tremble while trapped in a frenzy, fluids mixing and oozing over his erection— and it's sudden, when you run your fingers over his scalp to drag him into you, and it immediately fills him with an emotion akin to joy, "i'm yours, thoma,"

perhaps, that’s all thoma needed to hear— remembering the fact that he was chosen by you, that it was only him who was allowed to touch you, kiss you, taste you.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"are you close? please tell me, please.." a hot breeze ignites the shell of your ear as scaramouche's warm, desperate heaves brush across the deepest parts on your body, each word of his spoken out so sinfully that it somehow showed a different, much more vulnerable side of him. he holds you close to his figure, one hand planted on top of your hips while the other was located on the back of your neck, sinfully pressing your head against the soiled pillows with your mouth gaped open, moaning out the pleasure.

the unforgiving, strong pace of his hips was never losing on strength, the intensity of his blows was maddening, merciless, and you could feel it all, he made sure of, the thick veins prancing around his shaft ripping through your bruised walls, sending a stimulating bolt all the way down to your spine.

"cry for me, come on," he breathes, his voice thick of lust, fuck, he was so worked up, so fucking mad at the fact that his own insecurities were playing cruel tricks on him, and he needed to make you cum right now, so he could release himself right after and bury every last drop of his seed inside of you, until you're overcrowded, your eyes brimming with warm tears due to the sheer impact.

now, kuni's broken inability to talk about his feelings and concerns was difficult to navigate through, but this is where everything changes— because after you whine out his name when his rough fingers slide down between your trembling legs, rolling two digits over your neglected clit as he glides his tongue over his lips before pressing his entire weight on top of you, with his mouth located right against your ear.

"i hate, hate, hate, hate, how they look at you," scaramouche really wanted to be gentle this night, he was really trying his best to not let his emotions run freely, but he just couldn't help himself anymore, so he grinds down harder, feeling everything, fucking you hard and deep and reaching the sweet spots he knew you'd roll your eyes back at.

completely lost in the feeling of you, his dripping erection ridges into your bruised walls as his cock repeatedly stretches you— he needed to feel you, more and more, endlessly craving your insides to tighten around his shaft and milk every last drop of him, until his troubled mind would stop racing into negative directions and perhaps then, he'll finally open up to you and tell you about his deep-rooted insecurities.

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

"hold still for me", wriothesley inhales deeply into his chest, the scent of pheromones and sweat driving him ferocious— he could feel himself twitch underneath your warm palm hungrily smearing his salty pre all over his shaft and it's uncontrolled, stimulating, when you pin a snug kiss on his rosy tip.

he places on hand against the back of your head as you part your mouth to take him, your nostrils filled with his scent that permeated every single part of him and made you push your thighs together in impatience— but it wasn't your turn yet, and you wanted to parade your hot mouth over his throbbing dick a while longer, until wriothesley realizes that you could do this perpetually, his lengthy cock in your mouth so you could give it the attention it deserved, your saliva streaming down and making it shine as the spit dribbles all the way down to his aching balls.

"you know you're the only one for me, right?" he laughs before hissing out in exhilaration when you fondle his balls, adding more strength towards the underside but holding them sensitively, you wouldn't want to hurt him, so you bob your head up and down, swallow his salty pre whilst massaging his balls in your hand, all the while parting your mouth as wide as you could, taking as much into your throat as would fit.

"and there's— fucking hell, no reason to be jealous, baby," you suddenly look up at him through pleading eyes, were you really this obvious with it today? well, granted, you cannot even describe the level of rage you would feel whenever someone would talk about your boyfriend, as if he was single, even though knowing full on well he wasn't— yet the good part? wriothesley might be the last person who'd ever give a damn about those pestering intruders, how you referred to them, and he was barely able to wait until he could bury your mouth to the hilt before spilling sweet nothings into your ears.

"fuck—," he grunts, clenched jaw tensing when he feels it move over your wet tongue tracing over his swollen veins, "fuck, just you wait— just you wait," before he spreads his legs further, so you could fit right in between his strong thighs better, and have enough room while being stuffed full of his cock prodding at the back of your throat.

as was anticipated, wriothesley was slowly turning louder and it's a melodious sound sending a warmth through your body, heightening the temperature on your drenched core slicking up your panties and puncturing it to a sizzling degree— but you're keeping yourself contained, all for him, for his delicious erection  slipping through and expanding, sealing you together as one.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[lovebugism]

smutty requests you say... maybe eddie x reader fooling around secretly, while wayne's home? so like a little exhibitionism kink?

i'm just now realizing i totally misread the prompt so pls forgive me anon, i'll happily write a part 2 to this if u want!! — the first time uncle wayne catches you and eddie in the act™ (established relationship, inspired by this universe, smut 18+ | 1.3k)

“Alright. I’m headed out,” Wayne announces in a gravelly drawl, huffing as he rises from his creaking recliner. His work boots sound heavy on the worn carpet as he trudges towards the front door, closer to a wretched and unavoidable graveyard shift. His old bones are weighed down by a preemptive dread and a homemade meal you cooked with him in mind.

Eddie feels bad for being so happy to see him leave.

“Have fun,” the boy lilts playfully from where he’s sprawled along the couch, smiling wide with his head tilted to his shoulder.

Wayne grumbles vaguely in response.

“Bye, Mr. Munson,” you grin more sincerely than the boy beside you.

The man flashes you a mere hint of a grin, which is a whole lot more than most people get these days. He pulls a worn baseball cap over his balding head and nods once in your direction. “Bye, sweetpea,” he responds in his usual gritty and melodic Southern cadence.

The rusted hinges of the screen door squeal open and shut behind him. A wintery breeze billows in, briefly piercing the heated trailer and biting at Eddie’s burning skin. 

You idle on the other side of the couch, with your eyes drawn to the sitcom playing in static colors ahead of you — unaware of your boy’s building desire and far too distant for his liking. Eddie marvels at your profile, unabashed and boyish, and waits for the perfect moment to strike.

He hears Wayne’s truck door close with a muffled thud. The ignition rattles for a moment, then roars when amber headlights shine suddenly through the sheer curtains. Eddie waits until he hears the tires crunch against the gravel drive before he pounces on you, like unsuspecting prey to a predator of unbridled longing.

You squeal when his mouth locks suddenly with your pulse, warm and wet on your unkissed skin. He wraps you in his arms like he intends to smother you against him. You swear you can feel his heart racing against your shoulder. His tongue darts along the most sensitive spot on your neck, and your head tips back with an airy laugh.

“What?” Eddie mumbles, muffled into your skin.

“Nothing,” you giggle. “Just thought you’d last longer than that.”

“Hm. Feel like I’ve heard that one before.”

“Shut up,” you gripe, but pull him impossibly closer just the same.

You bury your nose in his wild curls, inhaling the sweet scent of his conditioner and the subtle skunky smell of weed. He mouths at your neck with an intentional sloppiness that makes your eyes flutter.

Eddie grumbles a moan against your skin, which you feel in little tingles in the pit of your stomach. “You taste good,” the boy observes mindlessly into your pulse.

“I taste like sweat,” you scoff against his temple. “I still need to shower.”

“What’s the point? You’re just gonna get dirty again.”

Eddie pulls away with a soft smack. His lips are rosy and softly swollen as they curl into a grin. His chocolate eyes swim with mischief as yours narrow into a squint. “You’re such a boy,” you deadpan.

“Just love you,” the boy shrugs. “That’s all.”

You’re grateful when his lips finally meet yours. You’re only able to breathe when he’s kissing you, in a heavy exhale through your nose that fans along his cupid’s bow. He licks into your mouth tasting like a homecooked meal and nicotine and boy. Something foreign and nostalgic and tender. You melt into him accordingly. 

When he urges you to lay back against the couch, you let him. You cradle his face in your hands to keep him close as he props himself on his forearms, careful not to crush you despite his efforts to kiss the breath from your lungs. His weight is a comforting one anyway — body warm and lean and pleasantly heavy on top of yours.

You forget to take another breath until Eddie pulls away. You inhale deeply, lungs grateful for air, as the boy’s mouth treks down your jaw.

He leaves a trail of wet kisses down your neck and collarbone, spit cooling and drying again on your skin. Goosebumps pebble in their wake, while his hand slides down your stomach.

His fingertips creep into the waistline of your pajama pants, perhaps a fruitless distraction from the lovebite he sucks just below your jaw. It’s a burning sensation of his teeth, followed by a warmer, more pleasant one as his tongue smooths over the bite.

“What are you? A vampire?” you giggle, fingers twisting in his hair.

You feel his smile curl into your neck. “Maybe,” he quips.

“I have to go leave eventually. You know that, right? And my roommates will freak if they see a hickey.”

Eddie whines between his kisses. “No, you don’t,” he insists with an audible frown. “Why can’t you just stay here forever?”

“Even if I wanted to, Wayne would still see. And that would be equally as horrifying.”

“He won’t be back until morning,” Eddie argues, punctuated by his teeth scraping your pulse. “It’ll be faded by then. Probably.” He licks over the bite and pulls away, peering down at you with a mischievous leer. “Unless… You want me to stop?” he offers in a sarcastic lilt.

You squirm under his gaze. “No…” you answer sheepishly.

He grins. “Then stop complaining, sweet thing.”

“Eddie,” you scold when the boy ducks down again, continuing his assault on your delicate skin, though you make no further attempt to stop him.

His kisses grow wetter and warmer and more languid as his hand travels down down down. A breathy moan catches in your throat when his calloused palm cups your bare pussy.

The damp, velvet feeling of you makes Eddie’s eyes widen. He didn’t know you’d be naked down there. He might’ve been more careful about it if he had.

“Shit,” he huffs.

“Sorry,” you squeak, face swirled apologetically.

Eddie pulls away again, head spinning as he stares down at you with heavy eyes. “No— Don’t— Don’t apologize for that shit, are you kidding?” he stammers, then laughs at how sorrowful you look. Like this could ever be a bad thing. “It’s hot.”

You smile sheepishly. “I’m just running out of clean clothes. That’s why I had to do the laundry today.”

“Well, next time, I’m just gonna lock the door to the washer,” Eddie retorts playfully. “So then you have to walk around naked.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re such a boy,” you repeat, right before you drag him down by his shoulders to swallow him in another kiss.

You lick into his mouth only to find that his hand had never wavered. He cups you delicately there still, and creeps his middle finger between your satiny folds. 

Your hips buck on instinct. His palm bumps your clit. Your moans entwine in a kiss.

The screen door opens again with another grating screech. You and Eddie part instantly, swollen mouths smacking as your heads turn in sync.

Wayne stills in the doorway, weathered face swirled in horror. Neither of you move for several long moments — like, if you stay still, you’ll turn invisible somehow.

“Really?” Wayne huffs. “On the couch?”

Eddie’s wide eyes dart awkwardly. “What are you doing here?” he wonders breathlessly, still on top of you and still with his hand down your pants.

“Forgot my damn wallet.” Wayne keeps his gaze averted as he trudges to the tiny, square dining table by the window. He tucks the leather billfold into the pocket of his navy jumpsuit and promptly returns the way he came.

You and Eddie spare a wordless look of horror between you in the meanwhile.

“Do it in a bed next time, alright?” Wayne advises from the doorway with his back facing you. The rusted door creaks open and, just before it shuts behind him, you hear him shout. “And use protection!”

[inkskinned]

nobody ever gets the mugshot of gluttony right. these days you think it has nothing to do with bodyweight. what a good trick: that gluttony could take a shape. no, there was never any fault in finishing a meal or in taking second helpings. it was always in taking from others that there was an issue - the oil baron's fingers steepled over dead bodies and stolen lands. gluttony - twin of greed, although most think greed and envy are the siblings - gluttony is pleased with the experience of gaining, is thrilled just-by-having. greed is the one that stays hungry, that has to move forever like a shark. gluttony likes it - "a glutton for punishment" is one who is seeking the harm, who loves the rush.

gluttony is a mother using her daughter's body for a diet testing ground, sharpening the bone angles. gluttony is saying why, well not! to the seventh and eighth mansion or yacht. it is not just wanting the six white horses, it is making sure that the horses came from your stables. it is not just bathing in milk - it is bathing in milk while others are starving.

oh, it's true that some sins still blaze in their bright floral prints. wrath in a white woman yelling at a person of color for even daring to be in her neighborhood. the red, incipient rage of a neck tightened at even the thought we would take the guns away. wrath has laurels, and she is good at her job, and works hard.

but sloth wasn't ever the sleepy morning of depression, the hours spent begging a clouded body to please move goddamn it; the protestant work ethic claiming even rest is somehow demonic. it was never chronic fatigue. sloth was subtle, a grey mist. she is watching you get bullied and she is deciding it is none of her business. she crosses the picket line because - what! it's just chicken, isn't it? she is closing her eyes and turning her head when the next anti-gay legislation passes. someone else will handle it. not the tense freeze of anxiety or a lack of preparation - she knows you're hurting and would rather you stay quiet about it. she tells other people i just don't see what the big deal is.

sloth is a father that doesn't do the dishes. sloth is your boyfriend's innocent shrug you're just better at household shit. sloth isn't the missed opportunity - it is the purposeful desire to just get-someone-else-to-do-it.

greed and envy are doing body shots in the back of a private jet. they are the way they always have been, but are lovers in the age of the internet. greed just finished union busting, is rolling a bitcoin over his knuckles, is about to start another MLM. envy is in a broadbrimmed hat, showing off her instagram life, grinning about how if you want it, work for it.

okay, it's true. you have a soft spot for lust, gathering dust in a corner. so tame in comparison to the others. but how funny lust is always painted as being a woman in tight clothes. you've met actually lustful women - the ones that purposefully climb into your partner's lap, the ones that say lesbians are gross but ask bisexual women into bed with their husbands. a lustful woman is not donned in lace and garters and red: that's how men think lust looks, painting their own sins into frame. this way, the sin displaces as fog and hovers above her: a woman in a dress is lust; what the man experiences is just the natural consequence.

here is the thing: lust is doing just fine, save your pity. lust is running more circles than any of them. lust is shutting down safe sexwork sites while also making teenagers in knee-high socks sex sensations. lust is CEO of an advertising network where women never pass 25 years old. all the bras lust makes are pretty to look at but, when worn, legitimately hurt. lust has a podcast, his fur coat looped around his shoulders, sells the idea that only certain people have value, that sex raises some and destroys others. lust is tilting his head and asking what did you expect when you dress like that? lust shuns you, sneers that everything you want is disgusting and taboo - right until he can figure out how to capitalize off of it. lust has the midas ability: everything he touches becomes an object.

people usually say wrath is the scary one. you agree with FMA here, though: the real dangerous one is pride, and the shit-eating grin. the white cloaks and the nationalism and the inability to apologize. it is every partner who threw a book at your head because you don't respect him. it is every mother who said my son doesn't deserve to have his life ruined over allegations. it is the teacher that fails you because you talked back.

you worry you have this one. you feel guilty when you need help but don't ask for it. prideful. ashamed when you complete something and feel good about it. too proud for your own good. but pride is not the reward of hard work or accomplishment: pride is a twitter feed. it is the thing that has to mask i didn't do anything with look at me.

pride is your father's raised hand, his raised voice. how he was never there when you needed him, but he is still "head of house." he ruins dinner and blames it on you: you're an embarrassment to this family. this is the glass you walk around, the cuts in your feet. how he says this isn't how i raised you and you have to bite back the retort: that's because you didn't actually fucking raise me.

[itstheghostofmypast]

A Goodfella's Moondance

Mafia AU Choi San x Reader

Summary: He waited for her to waltz into his arms, and she did. He felt her jitter and shiver under his touch, much like how he did the same on her love. He had found someone to love and cherish, someone who kept his fragile morality in check, someone who he could call a lover, a wife, a weakness.

Genre: Hurt Comfort

Rating: PG- 13

Word Count: 2.4 K

Est. Read Time: 12 min

Warnings: Blood, kidnapping, murder, guns.

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Song: Moondance by Micheal Bublé

“Do you feel better?” His soft whisper gently pulled her back to consciousness, back to the comfort of the warm, soft, cotton that they were cocooned within, succumbing to the sleep that lay heavy in their bones.

“Mhmmm…” 

Ever so slowly, her body turned to the other side, her back that was once pressed against his warm chest, grazing the subtle cotton of one of the many blankets he had heaped upon them in his frenzy of bringing her some form of comfort, trying to suppress the jitters that rocked through her even though she said she was fine. Hands pressed against his chest, vibrating with each beat of his ever loving heart, her head tilted up on her pillow, meeting his tender gaze, eying the small smile that only she got to see, that too behind closed doors.

“Good.”

With that hanging above them, the man wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him, forcing her to become one with him, though he could tell by the way her arms had looped around his slender waist, his action was more than welcome. 

Little did he know this side of his, this gentleness, this care, this attentiveness was what had her losing her grasp on the bitter reality of the world, perhaps that's why last night she was unable to figure out how the guy asking her for directions was actually going to kidnap her. 

One moment a man approaches her while she sat at the bus stop, after her lover had texted her how he would be unable to pick her up from the hospital tonight, also canceling their date because of some ‘Urgent Business.’ The next thing she knew was how she woke up in the trunk of the man who had approached her at the bus stop, asking her the directions to the hospital as he had to go see is sick wife- sue her for being a caring person, nurse or not, it's not like she wasn't going to help him. 

The fallacy of rationality lies within situations such as these, while he had taught her a variety of methods of escaping, a contractual instruction enforced by Park Seonghwa himself, in the heat of the moment she had forgotten it all, her core memory allowing her to do no more than to whimper out his name, “San.”

It wasn't till she had felt the car stop that her anxiety morphed into aggression kicking against the roof of the truck, while she tried to move her tied hands, removing the blindfold to look around, only to freeze when the trunk opened, staring up at the man in horror.

“Well, aren't you in a lot of trouble, missy.” The fox featured man smiled at her, one that had her let out a relieved sigh, though she tried to ignore the splatted red across his face, dripping down his chin and onto his crisp white shirt, which was evident when he helped her out, pulling her closer to have her sit on the closed trunk, “You okay?”

She could only nod at the fact that, physically, perhaps she was, but she wouldn't be so sure about her mental status, never had this happened before and truly, for the first time in her life had she felt afraid and alone, a feeling her husband had long rid off from her mind, body and soul.

“Good, because San isn't, he's furio-”

The loud bang cut him off, for a split second his eyes flickered to the man who was standing across the car, in front of it, staring at something, or someone on the ground, before moving back to the shivering woman. With a loud sigh he shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shaking shoulders, and called out, “YAH! DID YOU REMOVE YOUR SILENCER?”

The taller man grunted in response, pushing up his glasses, not bothered by the spots of blood staining the glass, in fact the red calmed him down a bit, a reminder of him punishing the bastard who thought this woman was an easy target. 

Wooyoung watched his friend walk over to them, fully aware of how San had removed the silencer on purpose, wanting everyone in the vicinity and the perpetrator to know what happens when you try to come into his personal life.

With a nod he motioned for Wooyoung to sit in the car, disposing the body wasn't part of the plan, Seonghwa had agreed when San had requested to “let me make an example out of him”, so much so that the husband of the woman who was shaking like a leaf currently, had also brought his infamous bat with him, which only reminded his friends of how this was personal was him.

With each gloved hand placed on either side of her on the trunk, he looked down at her, she peaked up at him through her lashes, unsure of what he was going to say or do, perhaps he would be upset with her, disappointed by how she was unable to fend for herself even though he had prepared her for a situation like this, his friends had prepared her for a situation like this. At the end of the day, they were from two different worlds, she would heal people and well he would…what if tonight he finally realised that and-

“I'm sorry.”

Taking off his gloves he placed them beside her before pulling out a pocket knife from his breast pocket, flicking it open as he began to work on the ropes around her wrists. He frowned at the roughness of the threads, mumbling things like, “This may bruise”, “The f*cker didn't need to tighten them so much.”, “Wish I could kill him all over again.”

Once he was done, he tossed the rope aside, gently taking her scratched wrists in his hands, before lifting her wrist up to his lips as he placed a tender kiss on the reddened skin, repeating the motion of love with her other one before looking at her with a somber flare in his eyes, “I'm sorry, I'll be more careful next time.” He should have been more careful, he should have ensured she was safe, it was his job to keep her safe. And he stood there, in blood and tears, seeking her forgiveness, unaware of how the woman was falling even more for her gentle giant of a husband.

“Seonghwa said you can't leave the house without protection anymore.” He mumbled, the bass in his sleep lusted voice making her squeeze him closer, not that he would mind. 

His own hand had begun to aimlessly trail down her spine, only to slide back up to complete the cycle, thinking to himself a moment before he continued, “Hongjoong has assigned a few men…though I'll be around you whenever I'm free. The shipment is late anyway, and he's having Yunho and Mingi deal with it, so I'm all yours for the coming few days.”

“Okay…”

San blinked at her hushed response, it was evident she was elsewhere, or she was still a bit too shaken to respond coherently. Either way, with the gun stashed beneath his pillow and his lover in his arms to protect, he began to formulate a way of protecting her 24/7. Naturally, he couldn't always be there himself nor could his brothers. How much did he trust his men? What if he got her a personal gun or a-

“Sannie?”

His train of thought derailed at her calling, pulling back a bit to glance down at the only reason why he hadn't tipped off the cliff of his primitive instincts, hand pressing flat against her back as he nodded, “Yes, dove?”

“Can you sing for me?”

Could he sing? Of course he could. Did he sing often? No, not really. In fact, she was the newest addition to the only other people who knew his secret, that the right hand man of Ateez, the cold blooded killer trained and raised by Park Seonghwa himself could harmonise with the very same angels that stood at the gates of Heaven, waiting to reject his entrance.  

“What would you like to hear?”

Giving her a small smile he slowly pulled away, sitting up and resting his back against the cushioned headrest of the king sized bed, picking up his glasses from the nightstand and placing them on the bridge of his nose. He turned to glance at her, admiring the way she looked up at him with awe, it was truly a blessing to have an angel such as herself admire a creature like him, willing to bathe in the simmering blood of his brutality, willing to swallow the bitter truth of his existence, willing to embrace the carcass in which once his humanity once flourished. 

“Umm…” slipping the covers off herself she sat up, tugging at the strings of his hoodie that she wore, slowly moving closer and straddling him, looking up at him with a blush ever so subtle, “Moondance?”

A hearty laugh broke past his pout, the bass of his laughter bouncing off the cold walls of the room, blocking out the soft chippers of the early birds outside. If she was being honest, she's sure everyone who was trying to sleep could hear him right now, considering everyone did retire to their rooms after she had come home; have Jongho check her vitals, watch her husband get verbally abused by Hongjoong for being careless, have Seonghwa make her promise to never use public transport again, give Yeosang the entire details of the night so he could ‘take care of the mother company’, eye Yunho who took her husband aside to give him a pep talk after his sulking and be force fed by Mingi who insisted that “You burn more calories being kidnapped than an hour on a treadmill”, all the while having Wooyoung make dinner and yell at them for being noisy- ironic. 

“What's so funny?” She asked, her hands cupping his face before she slipped off his glasses, frowning at the blood splattered on the glass, why didn't he clean this off. And just like that she tilted to her side, reaching over to grab a tissue from the nightstand, feeling him quickly grab her by the waist so she wouldn't fall over.

“Careful there, dove.” He mumbled pulling her back up onto him, watching her try to clean off the dried blood, trying to hold back the urge to crush her with his love, “It's fine- oh.”

“It's not, dirty glasses stress the eyes,” cutting him off she gently slipped the glasses back onto the face of the owner, giving him a smile before getting comfortable on him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she placed her head on the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath, the lingering memories having her latch onto him for comfort. 

San watched her go about as she pleased, much like how she often did, not that he'd ever mind. Once she was settled, nestled against him, he wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his against the headboard as he sighed. It was evident that last night had taken a toll on her, but what he learnt from experience was that eventually you get over it, become numb to the bitter memory, usually with the help of a distraction or a friend or two. It was never his intention for her to feel this way, in fact, from the moment he had left his heart in her hands at the ER, he had decided to keep her safe, even before she chose to accept his invitation of love, he had decided to keep her safe from all the grotesque wonders he had been blessed to bear witness to since his childhood. Though at the very moment he wondered if that was even worth it, if dragging her into his life was worth it, ruining her chances of living a mundane, peaceful-

“Are you this slow when Seonghwa asks you for something too?”

Her snarky remark caught him off guard, trying to get a better look at her but she just giggled and buried her face in his neck, the only form of compensation given to him was the tender press of her lips against his pulse, only to have it increase two folds. 

San's arms squeezed her, earning a contented sigh from his wife, much to his pleasure as he stared out the window, watching the pale winter sun cast a chalky hue among the cloudy scapes of the sky. Taking a deep breath he whispered into the still of their room, 

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance

With the stars up above in your eyes.

A fantabulous night to make romance

'Neath the cover of October skies

Knowing nothing more mattered to him at this point but the woman that clung onto him, her heart beating with his, waltzing through harmony. 

And all the leaves on the trees are falling

To the sound of the breezes that blow

You know I'm tryin' to please to the calling

Of your heartstrings that play soft and low

He felt her hold tighten, mumbling something that he couldn't make out, but the way her body fell lax against him assured him it was some form of positive affirmation. Indeed it was, for before tumbling back into the depths of slumber, swaying in the melody of her husband's voice she had whispered, “Thank you, my love.”

You know the night's magic seems to whisper and hush

You know the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

He wondered if she was as smitten for him as he was for her- it amazed him how she'd tell him that she knew he'd always protect her, when the fact of the matter was that it was indeed her who was protecting him, from the insanity of the world that had bruised and battered him inside and out, from the wrath of Park Seonghwa who wanted to end him for choosing to start an affair with a civilian, as pure and naive as her and from himself, the one that he too feared, knowing that if that Choi San was to resurface, only she could stop him. It was fine though, he was going to protect her from the cold, from nature and man. It's what a dutiful goodfella does, what a dutiful husband does.

Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?

Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love?

Taglist: @edenesth @skteezcursed @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky @bunnyluvr25

@s-h-y-a @ateezwonderland

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART EIGHTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, fire, illness, depictions of death, be warned as always masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Rest didn’t come easy, nor did waking up with agonizing pain flashing through you like a beatdown on repeat with no stop button. Sometime during your rest, you recalled Soap and Gaz returning with the promised pillows, carefully cushioning you in between to ensure you as much comfort as possible, but the memory was fuzzy.

Everything felt a bit surreal, as if you weren’t truly present and the events that unfolded never actually happened. You figured it was your mind attempting to protect you, repressing the pain of the new memories, but it always came back in the form of anguish, your shattered bones shifting beneath the surface of your skin with every subtle movement you dared to make.

There was no use in pretending. It was pure hell, and up until now, you played the role of a strong woman with no fear of walking along a path unknown. You played long enough. The pain was far too much to muster an act of strength.

The room was empty when you woke for the nth time, the barest of sun rays peeking through the small windows and casting the room in a dim glow. The Captain nor the others were nowhere to be found, most likely manning the ship as promised or in their own beds to earn the rest they deserved after seeing a ghost of their past.

Your eyes remained on the ceiling, vision blurring then focusing, in and out. No matter how hard you blinked, the fuzziness wouldn’t relinquish its hold, nor did you have the strength or courage to lift a fist to frantically rub it away.

You hated being alone. After Price left last night, it had felt peaceful—now, it felt torturous, listening to the distant waves clash among each other and having no way of taking your time to breathe in the salty air as they fought against the sides of the ship.

Had he slept last night? Had he rested at all?

You went to open your mouth, to call out for him in hopes of being loud enough, but all that left you was a heavy wheeze, your mouth dry to the bone. You were parched as much as you were weak, and it showed in the way you attempted to inhale a deep breath, only for it to come crashing down on you in the form of an extreme sharp clash to your ribcage.

Everything hurt. The euphoria of your shared kiss with the Captain had long worn off, leaving you sober and miserable.

You were nothing more than a skeleton, or perhaps even an undead from those of the stories you’d heard about as a child. Alive, but not living. That was surely how it felt.

You felt utterly helpless as you laid there, unmoving. Even the lift of your finger felt as if you were lifting the weight of the world. It was all so heavy, your body, mind, and soul.

While you were one to cure the sick, you were never on the other line. There was no one there to coddle you in the way you knew to do with others, nor any treatment that could fix you the way you wanted to be fixed. An immediate recovery was out of sight, and it only grew you more restless, an itch burning beneath your skin.

It was only by a miracle of the universe that just as you were beginning to fight within yourself that the door to the quarters opened, Soap stepping inside with a bowl of something warm, the steam faintly radiating up. He looked surprised to see you awake, making haste in shutting the door and hurrying to the bed.

“Dove,” he chirped, throwing you a smile. You knew immediately he was trying to bring you some light, and for that, you appreciated it. “Yer up early today. Was just bringin’ ye some breakfast to start the day with. Ye hungry?”

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of him, then down to the bowl in his hands. You had no desire to eat, your appetite shot the moment you woke with no relief. Despite the faint grumbling in your stomach, the sight made you nauseous, mouth watering in ways considered unpleasant.

Soap noticed, frowning at your pained expression. He set the bowl down, coming to your aid. “Ye don’t look well. Did ye sleep at all?”

All you mustered was a small hum, lips turning down into your own frown. Your body ached, begging to be stretched from its stiff knots, but you truly felt exhausted. It was taking everything in you to resist moving, fearing more flare ups along your side.

Soap’s hand lifted, carefully resting his knuckles on your forehead. Your skin was clammy and warm, something he took note of, and the skin around your eyes appeared darkened, bags already beginning to form.

“M’sorry for what ye had to deal with,” he apologized sympathetically, brushing a knuckle along your brow bone. “Price has been bustin’ ass to figure out where to take ye. Been out there all night.”

You deflated at that, guilt pulling your heart strings. The last thing you wanted was for them to exhaust themselves for the sake of you, and the helplessness only grew.

“Ach, don’t look so grim, lass. We just want what’s best for ye, can’t have ye all banged up and broken, can we?” he attempted to tease, his smile fading into defeated pout when you gave no reaction. “Does it hurt?”

You let out a heavy sigh through your nose, feeling the tension in your rib cage as you excelled your lung’s usage. You offered a short nod, Soap’s expression only turning more apologetic.

“Can I see?” he asked, and when you threw him a weary look, he corrected himself. “I won’t hurt ye, dove, swear. I’ll be gentle.”

You stared at him long and hard, before ultimately agreeing, lifting a heavy hand to paw away at the sheets. The dress was pulled back over your figure, but with Soap averting his eyes respectfully, you worked with all your strength to tug at the fabric to pull it up enough as you did the night before.

You released a frustrated noise when you were unable to get it past your hips, your arm failing you. You hated how weak you’d grown in only mere hours, feeling as fragile as glass, and you knew it would only grow the longer you remained unattended to from a doctor.

“What’s wrong?” Soap asked, voice slightly muffled from him facing the other way. You huffed.

“I can’t get it,” you mumbled, voice croaky from the dryness in your throat.

“I can help,” he tried, keeping his head turned. “I can see ye wantin’ to say no. I won’t make it weird, dove, but it needs to be checked. Let me?”

Your eyes bore into the side of his face, flickering across the rugged skin and stubble. There was no reason not to allow him to see, granted he already had last night, but alone felt much more vulnerable. Still, this was Soap you were talking about—he wouldn’t dare make you recoil.

You hummed approval, turning away from him to avoid his eye as he shifted towards you. His gaze dropped down to the bare skin of your legs, hand outreaching carefully.

Your warm skin felt even hotter when his fingertips grazed your thigh, trailing its way up to the bunched hem of your dress. He was cautious as he helped you lift it, seeming more focused on his own concern rather than anything lustful.

It made you relax, body slowly admitting defeat as the dress lifted past your ribs, the only thing keeping your decency being the thin sheet he had graciously pulled over your legs to provide you cover. It was as if he sensed your discomfort and was doing everything in his power to guarantee he meant no harm.

Your heart seemed to pick up its pace, pounding against your ribcage and shooting a different type of pain through you. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was. You just knew it hurt.

Once your injury was revealed to him, he couldn’t stifle the pained breath through his nose. His face contorted into one of hurt, as if he mirrored your pain.

“Is it bad?” you asked, voice cracking under the cottonmouth.

“Ach, it’s nothin’,” he attempted, though you could hear the burrowing worry in his tone. “Just a bruise, aye?”

You sucked in a careful breath, feeling your lungs fill then slowly release. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Soap grimaced, fingers lightly brushing along the aggressive bruising on your side. The blackened veins had only grown, spreading into ugly branches. Whatever was hiding within them was the sole reason you were so weak, even just mere hours after inheriting them.

“Would I ever lie to ye?”

“Yeah.”

A small smile broke out on his face, only falling when you whimpered a noise of discomfort as his fingers caressed the skin for too long. His expression morphed into one of deep thinking, eyebrows tugged together and teeth nearly gnawing his bottom lip. You thought he looked a bit silly, but maybe you were being delirious.

“No need to worry ‘bout it, birdie. We’re fixin’ ye up real soon,” he assured, a sign of a promise. Despite it, he didn’t sound so sure.

You only hummed, sinking further into the fluff of pillows surrounding you, eyes redirected to the ceiling.

“Do ye want to eat? Ghost fixed ye up somethin’ warm, figured it may lift yer spirits,” he tried, reaching for the bowl he set aside. The steam no longer rose, but the smell of it invaded your nose.

You didn’t think anything could make you feel better, and the reality was until you got true aid, you wouldn’t heal. Not with the Devil coursing through your veins.

But the look on Soap’s face was hopeful, and you felt a nagging guilt if you were to deny him. It wasn’t often you got Soap alone, and you knew he had been the one to take the food to you in order to spend time with you. It would be downright barbaric to deny.

That was how you ended up with Soap feeding a spoonful of warm soup into your mouth, burning your turn at first taste with him snickering in apology and you glaring daggers.

He chirped your ear off, rambling about everything yet nothing at the same time. You laid and listened, occasionally throwing in your own piece, albeit shortly. Speaking fully was hard, even when you wanted to, but the soup had done wonders to your throat.

You reminded yourself to thank Ghost later. Even if he wouldn’t accept it.

“Have ye ever loved anythin’, birdie?”

The question was sudden, nothing like the ventures Soap had been going on about in order to occupy your mind. It took you off guard and you shifted your head to look at him, noting his curious expression.

Love was a strong word, and you knew your answer. You had been alone up until this point, and even then, the act of friendship was something you were still on the path of discovering.

“No,” you murmured honestly. “I have never felt that.”

Soap hummed, tapping his finger against his lip. “The Captain was quite jolly this mornin’,” he stated suspiciously. “He was still actin’ like a hound dog, don’t get me wrong. Barkin’ us around like his li’l workin’ mice, but there was somethin’ different. Ye know somethin’ ‘bout that?”

The two of you stared at one another, Soap holding a grin behind his hand, you appearing stumped. He was playing a game, even with you bedridden and suffering. He truly was a boy at heart.

“Acting different like Ghost does with you?” you bit back, Soap’s face dropping. “You are barking up the same tree, Soap.”

“Ach,” he tsked, throwing a hand up. “Ghost always say I’m too nosy for my own good. Thought the little birdie would have somethin’ for me to hear.”

You didn’t know why, but you felt you could entrust your heart with Soap. He never held judgement towards you, even from the beginning when he fought for your right to be treated fairly. He was a boy at heart, but a man when he needed to be.

“I’m afraid I do not,” you dismissed, rolling your head back forward to stare at the ceiling.

“Tch. Liar.”

You fell silent, as did he. You could practically feel him waiting for you to break, knowing it was brimming.

“I do not think what I say will be very good,” you confessed, tone growing soft.

“I have never forsaken ye,” Soap replied cooly, unfazed by your reservedness.

You frowned to yourself, knowing he was right. At the end of the day, Soap had been your supporter, even from afar.

“Is it bad to feel for more than one?” you asked, keeping your gaze glued to the ceiling.

Soap grew surprised, eyebrows raising. It wasn’t what he was expecting you to say, let alone ask him. “Ye said ye have never loved anythin’.”

“Because I have not.”

“Then what’s this yer speakin’ of?”

“Forget it.”

Soap cocked his head, taking in the way you seemed to shut in on yourself. While he was an open book, he’d dealt with plenty of introverted feelings with Ghost. It was nothing he hadn’t seen.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with feelin’ for more than one person,” he assured, eyes flickering over the side of your face. You could feel the heat of seriousness in the stare. “Hell, who cares if ye end up with more than one? More love to go around, aye?”

You took in his words, allowing yourself to feel comforted by it. You didn’t expect Soap to find it strange anyway, but to hear it outwardly put your mind at ease from the torn battle being fought within it.

“I feel for the Captain,” you murmured quietly, as if afraid to say it. “Yet I feel for Gaz. I am trapped.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, encouraging you to continue, yet you had not much to say. Your own words felt like vomit with anything wanting to come out being trapped in your throat. “Is there anybody else included in that picture?”

You knew what he was insinuating, and it made you nauseous. To confess that your heart pushed and pulled towards each of them in a way that had you longing, it was too much to say. You feared for the path you were strung along, though you feared veering off of it more.

“No,” you replied, missing confidence in your answer. You knew you were lying—you were just too frightened to admit it.

Soap blinked, weighing your answer. It felt as if he was hiding disappointment. You wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for the slight drop in his shoulders. “S’not that bad,” he dismissed, trying once more to make you feel better.

It only made you feel worse.

You no longer had a reply, opting for silence instead of conversation. You knew you could trust Soap with the information you’d given him, but there was an underlying feeling of something missing from the conversation, something you weren’t quite ready to address.

Sensing the shift, Soap shot you a smile, clapping his hands on his knees to stand. “I’ll be back later, dove. Ye know to yell if ye need anythin’.”

You highly doubted you’d have the energy to yell, but you nodded nonetheless, frowning at his back as he receded from the room.

You worried you hurt his feelings, but you weren’t sure why they’d be hurt in the first place—your own strange inner workings towards him and the others were nothing bad. He’d said so himself. Yet, the way he left so suddenly had your stomach sinking, thinking that you gave the wrong answer.

You watched the door for the next agonizing hour, blinking away sleep in hopes of catching the next person to come in. When nobody came in, you caved in, disappointed, slipping back into a restless sleep, losing the fight with your own mind and body.

The world was distorted around you, as if peering through a dense lens. You weren’t sure where you were, but all around you was an unsettling darkness surrounding a vast, empty land where nothing there seemed to thrive.

The grass beneath your bare feet was dead and dry, poking into your soles like little needles. The trees, albeit what was left of them, were thin and brittle, branches littering the ground around them. Buildings crumbled in pieces, standing broken and tarnished, the homes of what once lived here now vacant.

The world felt void of anything but disaster, showcasing its ugly teeth and rearing them into you.

You couldn’t recall if you’d ever been here before. There was a sense of familiarity in it, something that struck a chord with you.

The air filled your nostrils, breathing in old ash and faint smoke. It made your throat tighten and your eyes water, the scent shifting the more you consumed it, something more rotten poisoning it.

When you looked around, you realized your loneliness. Nobody was near you—not even Graves. It grew confusion, wondering whether this was one of his nightmares he loved to toy you with, or if this was entirely on your own.

Your body felt weightless, as if the pain you’d been suffering had vanished and you were nothing more than a feather. When you lifted a hand to touch your side, there was no agony. It was like you’d never been injured to begin with.

The world around you was eerily quiet. While it had a nostalgic feel, it had your hairs on the back of your neck standing.

You dared to take a step forward, your feet burrowing into the straw-like grass. The moment your foot touched the ground, everything morphed. Rather than the quiet runes of an old town, your ears nearly bled from screams and cries of hopelessness that filled the air.

Villagers ran frantic, seeking shelter from impending death. Women, men, children, they all were succumbing to their own horrible cruelties. Mother Nature offered no mercy on their souls, taking what she wanted and whatever stood in her way.

The homes were no longer rubble but burning in flames, villagers running for safety, coughing and hacking from the smoke that clouded around them in a dome. You felt the heat singe your skin, warming you from the inside and out.

You stood, horrified, unable to do anything but watch.

You knew why everything seemed so familiar—this was your home. You were watching it fall apart just as you’d done before, but this time, you knew the outcome before it arrived. Everybody around you would be dead once again, and you would be the unlucky survivor.

You attempted to move, but as if your feet were glued to the ground, you remained frozen, locked in a nightmare of watching everything you’d ever known crumble to pieces for a second time.

Why? Why were you being shown this? Why did you have to relive it? You didn’t understand, and the more you fought, the more disoriented you became.

Your gaze darted everywhere, frantic as you searched. It wasn’t until you realized the small bookkeep of your village that it was the only building left standing, unharmed. The flames hadn’t slithered inside, nor had it succumbed to destruction.

You tried your hardest to understand, to think of any reason why your mind was reliving this horrible memory, but the flames began to slink its way towards you, tickling your feet. Its ember grew, and you cried as the heat embedded into your skin.

You’d hardly visited the bookkeep, only on the occasion your curiosity on a subject got the best of you. It held no significant meaning to you. All the knowledge you earned was from your own research. So why?

You watched the fire dance around the building as if it were untouchable, killing everything in its wake while protecting the bookkeep. It hadn’t even touched its grass, keeping it green and vibrant compared to the soot-covered fields around it.

You desperately searched through your mind for importance. Even as the flames at your feet rose, you tried with all your might, hoping that anything of significance would cease the torturous pain and bring you back to your reality.

They rose and rose, until you could no longer think of anything but your melting skin and scorching body. You burned along with the villagers and could do nothing but accept it until you were swallowed whole, engulfed in your own personal hell.

“She’s a furnace, Cap,” Gaz said wearily, the back of his hand pressed to your forehead. “Whatever Graves did to her, it’s not givin’ us a lot of time.”

The Captain paced his quarters, hand dug into his beard, tugging.

Upon Gaz returning to feed you dinner, he found you clammy and burning, your skin hot to the touch. Your forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, the skin discoloring around your eyes to a meek gray. You were asleep, though God only knows for how long since Soap had left that morning.

“Captain,” Gaz tried once more, watching the man nearly rip his own hair out as he lost himself in his own muddled thoughts.

Price said nothing as if he hadn’t even heard Gaz. He was thinking up anything to stall your illness from whatever disgusting infection Graves mustered up, but he wasn’t a medic. That was your knowledge. He felt utterly useless.

“Price,” Gaz snapped, loud enough to garner the Captain’s attention. “Get a fuckin’ grip. Stress later, come up with a plan now.”

Price halted in his tracks, taking in a deep breath. He took the moment to calm himself, knowing Gaz was right in everything he said. He was a Captain, damn it, yet was falling apart at the sight of one of his own.

“We don’t have time for a professional,” Price stated, stepping up to your bedside where Gaz sat. He peered down at you, observing your sickly skin and pure exhaustion. “We’ll take her to a village doctor, a shrink, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. The nearest place, we take her to.”

Gaz released a sigh, glancing back at your crippled form. Broken ribs seemed to be the lesser worry. It was the ugly veins that only seem to travel further under your skin. They looked worst than they had been the night before, far worse.

“Nobody leaves her alone,” Price continued. “One of us will be here at all times until we make landfall.”

“I’ll stay,” Gaz offered immediately.

Internally, Price wanted to protest. He was Captain, he should take the responsibility, but his responsibility lied with the helm and manning the ship until his body gave out. It was his heart yearning to stay.

“I’ll let Soap and Ghost know,” Price replied. His hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenching uncomfortably. “None of you leave her fuckin’ side. Am I clear?”

Gaz stared at the Captain, noting the tension he held. He glanced back at you, a poor sight to see, and he nodded in agreement.

“No man left behind, aye, Cap?” Gaz tried.

Price grunted, giving him a clap on his shoulder. He gazed down at Gaz with an unreadable expression before shaking it off, storming out of the quarters to inform the others of the plan.

Gaz sat quietly, focusing on you. His heart was pained, seeing you so distressed. He did what he thought may comfort you, grasping your hand in his, rolling a thumb over your knuckles. There was nothing for him to do but get comfortable for the night and ride out the storm that Graves stowed upon them once again, promising to whatever God was listening that he’d fight through hell and back if anything were to happen.

You didn’t wake that day, nor the day after. You relived the nightmare over and over until it was engraved in your head, festering itself deep. It took nearly three days to awake, forcing your eyes open.

Your mouth was dry as cotton, eyes crusted over with endless sleep. Your body felt heavy, as if molded to the cot, and it took all your strength to move your head. You would’ve shrieked in surprise if your throat was hydrated enough.

Price slept beside you, faint moonlight as well as a trusty candle illuminating his peaceful features. He laid on his stomach, arms curled under the pillow and cheek pressed into it. He looked almost boyish like that, the worry exhausted from his face and replaced with a quiet calm.

It was the first you’d woken in the middle of the night to the sight of him. The times you’d spent in his bed before were ones you didn’t wake up to, only waking to an empty cot or falling asleep alone.

You couldn’t help but stare, studying every smooth feature. You almost felt it wasn’t real, that maybe this was a new nightmare forming and was playing tricks on you with a subtle beginning. But when you stared long enough, reality formed and you knew you were awake.

Your body was still hurting, though from being so still in slumber, it was more stiff than anything. You weakly lifted a hand, pawing at the Captain in attempts to rouse him.

As if he’d already been on edge, his eyes shot open, meeting yours. His expression quickly morphed into surprise, then relief.

“Dove,” he breathed, sitting up. He made an uncomfortable grunt from the stiffness in his muscles but was quick to ignore it, laser focused on you. “Are you alright?”

You opened your mouth to speak, an embarrassing squeak coming out. Price noticed instantly, shooting up from the bed.

“Water?” he asked, and when you nodded, he dipped from the room, leaving you alone.

You didn’t wait long, and you would’ve thought Price was running a marathon with the haste he made. He sat beside you, carefully curling his hand on the back of your head to lift it. He placed the cup to your lips, and you nearly moaned in relief once the water hit your tastebuds, flooding them with hydration.

“Better?” he asked, watching you gulp he beverage.

Once finished, you sighed, blinking away the soreness of your eyes. His hand remained on your head as he stared at you, worry lines forming between his brows.

You knew you looked even more hellish than before, but he didn’t seem to pay any mind, only concerned about making sure you were alright. It warmed the coldness in you, melting away the icy wall you’d built from the reoccurring nightmare you suffered.

“We’ll make landfall tomorrow,” Price explained, smoothing his knuckles along your cheekbone with his other hand. The affection caused you to relax. “Get you all better, aye? I know how much it hurts.”

You sluggishly nodded, content with the change of scenery rather than angry flames that burned you to death over, and over, and over. Though it’d only been three days, it felt like years.

“Home,” you murmured, voice still shot from weakness.

Price appeared confused, cocking his head. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone as he spoke. “Home?” he repeated. “What’s on your mind, dove?”

“Need to go home,” you mumbled softly.

“I don’t understand—”

“My village,” you explained, frowning.

Price stared at you, trying to read you. His eyes flickered between yours, displeased with the sickly bags surrounding yours. You looked void of life.

“You want to go home?” he tried, and when you nodded, he hummed. He knew you had no home to go back to, and so did you. It was rubble.

Rather than question your reasoning, he merely took it in stride, nodding in agreement. “We can go home, dove—after you get better. Alright?”

You knew you sounded silly, but the nightmare kept flashing in your head. The bookkeep—something was there, even in the ruins of it. It called to you in your dreams, and it stayed unharmed during mass destruction. There was nothing else for you to believe besides its calling.

Price glanced down at the bare skin of your ribcage where it peeked out from beneath the blanket, your dress still pulled up from when you’d shown Soap. They all made sure you remained decent, never wanting you to feel uncomfortable.

Whatever was plotting beneath your skin in the rooted veins, Price could only hope it wasn’t making you delirious. Hearing you utter words about home had him stuck, but he knew better than to not trust you—it was something he did with his life, now that he had you.

If it was home you wanted to be at, he’d take you. He only prayed you made it long enough to see it.