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readychilledwine · 1 year ago

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Could i request something where az and reader are mates. They have a huge fight and “break up” and reader leaves the court. She finds out that she is pregnant and writes him a letter. He never shows up so she thinks he doesn’t want the baby. Rhys visit the court she is in and sees her with a child maybe a couple months old. He is mad because she didn’t told him and when he ask her why she keeps his nephew away she tells him that she wrote az but he never answered. Rhys is mad and ask az what is up with him to just leave his pregnant mate. Unbeknownst to him that az was searching for her the whole time. Az tells him that he never got a letter and they find out that maybe elain burned it. It takes some time for them but they find their way back and just fluff azriel dad who teaches his son how to fly.

( you could write more angst between reader and az because of elain or you could use a maid or something who wants az)

Here Without You

Summary - Being a single mother was more painful than you'd ever thought it would be, especially when your son's father was just a court away.

Warnings - Angst, Elain showing those claws, single mom status, a child, PPD and the thoughts that come with it, **edited to add** cheating

A/N - I had one of my friends who is a single mom help me with this one while also imagining my life without baby daddy, and um, yeah. We cried a lot, so hopefully, you all do too.

*message from Liz regarding the ending at the end*

💙Peep my Azriel Masterlist Here💙

You had decided whatever you had done to offend the Mother must have been truly unforgettable and unforgivable as you sank against the wall of your family chambers in the Day Court Palace.

Being a new mother was the hardest thing you had ever and will ever do. You had finally gotten Nox down after 3 hours of fussing and tears, and now you waited. He'd sleep 2 hours if you were lucky, wake up crying, and you'd start the process over.

You had wished for your mate more times than you could count, but that bridge was long gone and burned. He had ensured of that by not coming when you wrote him, by not even bothering to write you a response.

The last fight between you and Azriel had been ugly. Glasses had been thrown, a bottle of wine knocked over in rage, cruel words you would both have to live with ringing in your ears like a scream. 350 years. Gone. Thrown away like garbage. All for Elain.

Selfish, plotting, destructive Elain.

You stood, body swaying with sleep deprivation setting in before sitting at the table where your now cold food set. You were too tired to eat, choosing to instead drink the water you had been desperately craving 4 hour ago.

You had wished you could turn it to wine, drink it with no consequences, and still feed Nox when he woke, but that was not the reality of the world. So, instead, you allowed the room temperature flavorless beverage to slide down your throat before moving like a ghost to the couch. There was no point in getting comfortable in your own bed. You would have to be up soon anyway. It wasn’t as if you had help.

You were alone.

And that wasn't even the most painful part of it.

The most painful part was setting in doubt. The growing disbelief that you weren't capable of this, that Nox deserved more, that you should have dropped him at the cabin you had no doubt Elain had moved into, leaving him with her and Azriel to allow you to-

You cut your brain off, refusing to put those words into a full thought. Refusing to believe that your disappearance or death was better for your son than this.

This had to be enough, you had to be enough, because Gods if it wasn't and you weren't, then what truly was the point in living any longer.

Helion entered your chambers the next morning, eyes falling to where you were sat on the floor, shoulders shaking as sobs tore through you. He placed a large warm hand on your shoulder before taking Nox from your arms. "I know I can not offer much of a break due to his feeding cycle, but when is the last time you ate a hot meal, y/n?"

You shook your head. He was 2 weeks old. You supposed it had been before labor. Since then, it had been moments begging for just a second of deep sleep. Moments begging for the Mother to help you, to guide you. Moments where those prayers went unanswered as if they were just thrown into a void. "I don't remember."

Helion could have killed Azriel for you, for Lucien, for Nox. He almost had when you had winnowed yourself here, collapsing in his arms from the exhaustion magic and a growing babe had caused your body.

You hadn't known when you came to the Day Court, begging your oldest friend for a week of safety and healing that you were pregnant, but the High Lord had scented it the second you appeared.

It left him wondering how the hell Azriel hadn't.

"Let me hire a wet nurse for you," he offered again, knowing you would turn it down since your depressive state had you hyper fixated in this belief that all you were good for now was your breasts, and if you gave that duty away, what purpose did you have? "At least for the next few hours. To give you time to rest?"

You still shook your head, messy, tangled hair trying to sway. "I can't. I can't burden someone else."

Helion turned his head away from you, willing himself not to cry at the emptiness of your voice, at the lifelessness you had become.

"The Night Court and Spring are coming today," he started slowly. "I am the magic selected neutral ground for Tamlin and Rhysand to begin setting a peace treaty and trade routes." He waited for your reaction, almost breaking further as you gave him none. "Do you want to see any of them?"

"Lucien and Tamlin."

Helion felt his heart shatter for Cassian, the male who had been asking about you for months now. "The general-"

"Is Azriel's brother. And probably has taken his side. Attempts to see me are probably to give him some sick sort of satisfaction."

He dropped the subject immediately. Nox was asleep, content in the High Lord's arms. "I have time before they arrive, go nap." Helion ordered it, eyes blazing a soft gold and forcing you into submission.

Your bed had never felt so soft.

Helion was walking with Nox around the Palace, smiling and cooing the little male. He was always content when he was being held, and you were so deeply asleep you hadn't even noticed Helion holding the boy to your chest as he nursed. He walked towards where Lucien and Tamlin were.

His son, his pride and joy, looked just radiant in his Day Court attire. The soft, off-white pleaded fabric draping him showed the new healthy build he had gained since Azriel and Elain's transgressions, a golden snake wrapped his bicep, new golden earrings adorned those many piercings.

Lucien paused, a look of concern etching his face when he saw Nox before shaking his head rapidly.

But it was too late, Helion was already in the room where Rhysand also stood with the Inner Circle. The Lord of Night's face fell as he looked at the Illyrian boy, looking so happy up at Helion as he dozed off.

Cassian had frozen, mid sentence with Nesta. He had tried to take a step, wanting to see the babe he immediately knew was his nephew. His eyes met Helion's pleading with permission to approach. Elain's face had paled. A mix of guilt and fear running across it before she schooled it into a faked look of hurt and sadness.

But it was Azriel's face the broke the High Lord. It was a look he knew all too well.

The look of a father who missed the birth of his child.

The look of a father who didn't know he had a child.

The look of a father mourning lost time.

Lucien moved to Helion, taking Nox before leaving the room quickly. The boy did as he always did when his head found Lucien's warm bare shoulder. He released a heavy breath, snuggling into that familiar scent and warmth. "Your mother did not call for me last night," they all heard his soft voice trailing off, speaking to their nephew softly.

"You will tell me everything I do not know," Rhysand demanded as if he was in his own court. "When the fuck was he born. Why were we not informed of her pregnancy?"

Tamlin looked to Helion, digging the shit further. "Is she in the same room as last time?" The Lord of Day nodded. "I will go see her while you all deal with this."

Helion didn't answer, walking to the centered round table and taking the head seat. "To begin, Rhysand, this is my court. You will not make demands of me in my home." They all sat, aside from Azriel. His gaze was locked on the hallway Lucien and Tamlin had gone down.

If he ran, he could catch them. He could see you. He could-

The slam of hands on a table ripped him from his thoughts, and his head snapped to Helion. The High Lord was blazing, glowing like the sun itself, heat radiating from him. "Sit. Down."

An hour later and Rhysand had the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. "You saw her send each letter?"

Helion rolled his eyes, nodding again. "Every month after every check up and once after the birth."

Rhys pointed to Azriel. "But you never got them?"

"My son wouldn't be in another court if I had," Azriel's voice mirrored yours. Broken, empty, mourning. Mourning what was, what he had missed and would never get back. "You're sure she sent them to me?"

Helion could have snapped his neck. "Who else would have fathered her babe? You are the one who stepped out of the bonds of marriage and mateship. Not her."

Azriel paused, a sudden look of anger gracing his face as he looked up at Elain, shadows curling his ears. Nuala appeared, setting envelopes down in front of Rhysand. "In her room. Under her bed in a locked chest. Along with every communication you had tried to send to y/n, my lord."

Feyre gasped, turning her back to Elain and leaning further into Rhysand, holding Nyx tightly between them. She remembered those first few weeks. The sleepless nights, the pain, the emotional down pour. She would not have survived without Rhysand. Without Nesta and Mor. Without Cassian and you and Azriel. Her sister, the one who had held her as darkness swallowed her mind after her son's birth, had allowed you to endure this alone.

Azriel's hands shook, reaching for that stack. He separated out the letters. 10 for him. 2 for Rhysand and Feyre. 2 for Mor. 2 for Amren. 4 for Cassian and Nesta.

Helion stood. "I will let you all process this. Call for me when you are ready to do negotiations. The sooner you all leave, the better for her."

Rhysand's eyes shot up. "You won't let us explain to her-"

"Does it change the fact that he took Elain to their marriage bed? Does it change that he signed the annulment papers." Silence filled the room. "I believe that's why she left. Correct?" Rhys grit his teeth nodding. "Then all this changes is me, someone she trusts and feels safe with right now, informing her of what happened and allowing her to decide if she wants to reach out again from that point." He made a pointed look at Elain. "Which would not matter since I cannot see you removing the parasite from your court."

Helion walked into your room to Lucien and Nox laying skin to skin, a blanket over them as Tamlin held you, long fingers running through your dark hair. "And?" His son said.

"Your mate hid the letters regarding her pregnancy." Lucien whistled. "She's a snake hiding behind beautiful scales."

Azriel had tracked down your room with his shadows easily. The inner circle had been excused for the negotiations and allowed to explore the city. Cassian had flown Elain home, Mor and Amren winnowing Nesta behind them. Cassian wanted Elain out of his house, and Azriel could not have been more grateful to his brother for having his back.

He entered the room slowly and quietly. You were placing the babe in a crib on the balcony. It was shaded from the sun, shielded to remain the perfect temperature, and yet gave him access to fresh air, to the breeze.

You turned, eyes wide the second you saw Azriel. He moved to you so quickly that you could hardly process it. One second, your feet were on the ground, and the next, arms held you tight against him. Azriel was breathing deeply, memorizing your scent all over again.

He set you down, keeping you close to his chest, and sent a prayer to the Mother. "Elain hid all the letters," he began slowly. "She kept them all in her room. I didn't know. Had I known about you, about him, I would have crawled the very depths of hell to bring you back home to me."

You didn't answer. Tears fell as your body relaxed into him. It wasn't fair. The hold he had on you. The need you still felt in your bones when he touched your skin. You ached for Azriel so deeply it echoed into your bones. You longed for his smell. His voice.

Azriel took your silence as permission to continue. "I made a mistake. I will never be able to make up for it. Elain knew the second you left, I wanted to correct this. I was so blinded by her, by the feeling of being needed like that again, that I forgot how precious your independence was. How beautiful it is."

He couldn't stop himself from kissing the top of your head. "You are all I think about. Morning, noon, and night, it is always and will always be you. I am so sorry for what I have done. I am sorry for hurting you, for ruining us, for hurting the family we should be raising together. There are no words for my remorse."

"Why?" Your voice broke as you asked. "Why wasn't I enough?"

Azriel pulled back to look at you, hand raising to hold your chin and force eye contact. "Y/n, you are not at fault for my actions. You did nothing wrong. There is no partial blame, no what ifs. I fucked up. I made a mistake and it cost both of us everything. You are the victim of my actions, not the catalyst."

He saw you process those words and saw as they sunk in. "You were and are more than I will ever deserve. I want to spend my lifetime making up for it. Becoming a male you are proud of. I want to be the father I never got to have. I want to be the husband and mate you deserve. I know it will take time, and I do not expect your forgiveness today, but if you give me a chance, I will go to my grave worshipping the ground you two walk."

"Do you want to meet our son?" He broke at the question, feeling the bond opening back on your end. "This doesn't mean we're back together. It means we need to coparent for him while we work on things." He nodded rapidly, following you to the bassinet.

It felt like the world was coming full circle. You knew it would take time, that you two had many things to discuss first. This was a needed good start, though. Your pain eased slightly as you pulled back the curtains to the crib and whispered, "Azriel, this is Nox, your son."

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

**I have received some pretty nasty anon asks, some unconstructive comments, and a good amount of general negativity regarding this fic. If you are unhappy with the ending and want to know why I made the choices I made as the author, click #discussingherewithoutyou. Unconstructive comments will be receiving the same copy and paste answer from here forward.

My time and content are free. If you do not like them, scroll.

General Taglist:

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

#acotar #acotar x reader #send asks #send anons #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x yn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #discussingherewithoutyou

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svgarseason · 27 days ago

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𖹭 cw: mildly suggestive, fluff

══════════════𖹭 MINORS DNI 𖹭═════════════

PT 1 ⋆ PT 2 ⋆ PT 3 ⋆ PT 4 ⋆ PT 5 ⋆ PT 6 ⋆ PT 7

English professor Nanami knew you were having relationship issues. Your boyfriend called him from a blocked number and told him to stay away from you. He made many not so eloquent accusations and threats before Professor Nanami calmly invited the man to put him in a position where he would be forced to defend himself.

Professor Nanami sincerely wishes that he would. Every time he thinks about the disgusting way the man spoke of you, he sees red. You deserve so much better than some insecure prick who steals numbers off your phone and talks about you like you're garbage.

Professor Nanami resists bringing it up with you, he knows you well enough to realize that it would only embarrass you. Although it pains him to see your face a little more drawn and tired for the next couple of days, he knows you are strong. He noticed that you changed your phone background from a picture of you with a man to a picture of you and what appears to be a young sibling. This is heartening. He hopes you have stopped inflicting that loser upon yourself.

Since he can't talk to you about it, he brings you coffee just the way you like it when you forget. He asks you if you've eaten when you don't take your lunch break. He thinks he understands why you are avoiding the cafeteria and the parking lot at this time of day, so he brings you a sandwich and soup from his favorite cafe across the street. It's hard to hold your gaze when you look at him the way you do after he offers it to you.

Even harder than that is looking at you stretched out on your belly asleep on the couch in his office. Hands tucked under your cheek, lips parted, bare legs peeking from beneath the blanket just below the curve of your ass, hair falling over the edge. It caught him off gaurd, that's why his heart lurches and his skin crawls with sparks of heat. That's why he has to step back into the hallway and take a deep breath, try to think of something unpleasant to combat the heat blooming low in his guts. That's what he tells himself, although he's not sure there's much of a point in maintaining the self delusion anymore. You are waking up when he steps back inside.

Professor Nanami 's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts before he even confirms with you that you've been sleeping on campus. It isn't safe. You must not be parking in the parking lot, they close that. You must park down the street. The building is locked at night. Gates are locked. What if you had some sort of medical emergency? No. You can't sleep here. He knows immediately that you've misunderstood him when he sees the way your face falls.

"You can stay with me," he hears himself say the words, drowning out the voice of reason telling him it's wildly inappropriate, that it can only end badly. Perhaps there is still a point in deluding himself, because he needs to be the one to fix this. "I have a spare bedroom. Just until you figure things out. You don't have to explain anything," he is saying but you are already nodding and smiling. Then you are off the couch in a blur of motion, which is a relief because the last thing he needs right now is to get a good look at you in you little tank and shorts. You are hugging him tight around the waist, cheek pressed into his chest, thanking him.

Professor Nanami pats you on the back, fighting for his life not to slip his hands around your waist and let his fingers map out the skin beneath your top. With herculean effort,he peels himself away from the warm crush of your body, the maddening scent of you. He is quick to take a seat at his desk, coat in his lap hiding the evidence his true feelings until you leave to shower and dress, cursing his perversion. Hard from a simple hug. How will he tolerate you living in his house?

𖹭 a/n: just want to say thanks for reading. Really appreciate you guys interacting. I'll be done with this series after a few more parts, so feel free to send me requests (:

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blindmagdalena · 3 months ago

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Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter seven)

18+ 7k. homelander x f!reader. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, abuse, forced relationship, slow burn, heavy dubcon, fingering, clothed/unclothed, dry humping. gif credit | fic directory | AO3

As promised, Homelander allows you an opportunity to say goodbye to the life you knew. After which, he does what he must to prove that you belong with—and to—him.

Days spent with Homelander are simultaneously long and yet strangely fluid, hours blending seamlessly into one another. Every day that he comes home, you endure the flip into what you’ve privately begun to refer to as “performance mode,” in which you’re playing the role of doting girlfriend.

So long as you maintain the idea that it’s a performance, you don’t have to think too much about how good the heat of his body feels against yours. You don’t have to question the ease with which you’ve taken to toying with his hair while the two of you watch television, or why you don’t mind it so much when he rests his head in your lap.

There was a day he came home early and caught you absently dancing in the living room while you tidied. That alone was embarrassing, but it was mundane enough of a thing to be brushed aside, to forget. Except that he wouldn’t. He’d fixated on it like a dog with a bone, and you’d had to endure his relentless teasing about it for the rest of the day.

“You act like you’ve never seen anyone dance before,” you’d said.

“I haven’t,” he said. “Not here.”

Your role here has many names: girlfriend, cook, therapist, maid, lover, and reinventor. It’s about more than just romance. It's a complete transformation of his empty, lonely world.

It’s what you must do to survive.

You learn quickly that he’s a creature of habit, favoring the same routine each day. He gets out of bed at the same time every day, showers for the same amount of time, and asks for the same breakfast that he does not eat.

It drives you crazy to cook a breakfast only to find yourself emptying it into the garbage not an hour later, but the drastic and often unpredictable fluctuations in Homelander’s moods have made you reluctant to question or criticize him.

Besides, what do you care if he eats your food?

Caring is a creature with sharp teeth. It sinks its fangs into the deepest part of you and opens you up to deeper infection. Caring can hurt more than a punch, more than broken bones, more than anything that bleeds. Caring doesn’t break you clean. It’s a bone that doesn’t set, a cut that doesn’t close. Caring is to be vulnerable, to live as an open wound, and one thing you’re entirely certain of is that Homelander cannot be trusted with your vulnerability.

Yet you could not bring yourself to turn away from him. Not after he snapped at you, not after he screwed his eyes shut, not even as he began folding in on himself like a dying star readying to implode. Even though every primal instinct in you told you to run, your feet remained rooted.

You took him into your arms for the same reason you smother a flame rather than blow on it. In doing so, part of you has caught fire, embers continuing to burn.

The way he kissed you lingers on your lips like a ghost. His touches haunt every part of your tingling body, your fingertips numb with adrenaline as you pick up the containers from the coffee table. You can still feel the trail his hot mouth seared down your throat, branding your skin with the memory of his hunger.

He hadn’t embraced you so much as he’d clung to you, his hands testing every inch of the reality of you. He disappeared somewhere so deep in his own mind that it had shocked him stiff when you held him.

A panic attack…?

Strong hands settling on your hips break you out of your daze. Looking over your shoulder, you see Homelander’s smiling face. His eyes are bright and clear, his cheeks no longer streaked with tears. If you didn’t know better–know how easily and abruptly he can switch gears–you’d think you had hallucinated the entire thing.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, recognizing that expectant look on his face. Whatever he said, you didn’t hear it. “I was just thinking. What did you say?”

He huffs a little laugh. “Geeze, talk about a space cadet. C’mon, let’s get you airborne!”

Though your stomach flips, you nod.

I’ll take you flying again. You’ll be conscious this time around.

As soon as you have the containers of food safely tucked into a bag, he wastes no time scooping you up into his arms. The ease with which he lifts you is jarring; it’s less like being picked up by a person, and more like being strapped into a rollercoaster. There’s no sense of give in his strength, and all at once you’re shunted back to the memory of the night you were abducted.

It had felt the same way then, too. His arms coiled around you like steel, his chest a brick wall at your back. He’d held you then as gently as he holds you now. No matter how hard you thrashed, there was no give.

No escape.

Your heart beats hard against your chest, apprehension tightening around your throat like a collar being pulled tight.

When will it stop feeling like this when he touches me?

The derangement of the thought strikes your addled mind belatedly. Never, you remind yourself. His touch should never evoke anything but the fear he’s earned

A sudden rush of cool air from the door opening hits your face, the shift in pressure briefly paralyzing your lungs, halting your shallow breaths. You turn your face from it, nestling instead into the thick, textured fabric of his suit while you fight to catch your breath.

Somewhere over the furious drumming of your heart, you hear him laugh, feel the rumble of his chest against your cheek.

He adjusts you higher up, bringing your face to the crook of his neck. You’re more secure in his grasp this way, and admittedly, you’re grateful for it.

“Relax,” he purrs in your ear. “I won’t let you go.”

Yes, he’s made that abundantly clear.

In an effort to gain some modicum of control, you slip your fingers into the front of his suit collar, gripping the fabric tight. It’s stiffer than you expected it to be, but it at least serves as a good handhold that way. His pulse can be felt in his throat, the beat of it fluttering against the backs of your fingers. It’s quicker than you expected it to be.

You wonder what in the world he has to be nervous about.

“Just give me a warning before you take off, okay?” you ask, focusing on steadying your breathing.

“Before I take off?”

There’s a particular playful lilt to his tone that makes you uneasy.

“Yes.”

“Hm. Can we pretend I did that thirty seconds ago?”

You rear back to look at him, and before you can think better of it, you turn to look down. Your vision tunnels, the edges of it blurring as your eyes fight to adjust to the sudden distance between you and the earth.

The reality of it sets in. It was one thing to understand his capacity for flight in theory, what it would be like to fly with him, but nothing could have prepared you for this. There’s nothing stabilizing you but him, the plummet below a nauseating hundred storey drop. Against your every wish, your stomach starts to churn violently.

Tucking back against him, eyes screwed tightly shut, you mumble, “I’m gonna throw up.”

Homelander sucks in a breath through his teeth. “That’s really gonna ruin someone’s day down there.”

“Shhh’up,” you slur, white-knuckling his collar with one hand, the other clutching the bag of food to your chest. “I changed my mind, take me back, take me back. Can we please just take the elevator and drive? I really don’t want to–”

“Hey, hey, relax,” he coos, tilting backwards, bringing more of your weight against his body. The movement only makes you feel sicker. ”Closing your eyes only makes it worse. Y’gatta adjust.”

You shake your head and swear you can feel water sloshing back and forth in your skull. “Take me back, please take me back.”

Warm lips press against your forehead, his breath wafting over your scalp.

“It’ll pass,” he says with the certainty of experience. “It’s worth it. Trust me.”

Trust him? The audacity of the ask is enough to make you temporarily forget your peril and look up at him through narrowed glassy eyes.

“Why in the world would I trust you?” you ask through your teeth, emboldened by your incredulity despite the way the tension in your body makes your muscles tremble faintly.

His grin doesn’t falter as he asks in turn, “What’s your alternative?”

Your lips part on an incredulous breath, disbelieving that he would be so blatant about it.

In the three days you’ve spent with Homelander, there have been both ambiguous and unambiguous moments of cruelty. Moments where you were certain he was rubbing your captivity in your face, mocking you.

Other times he seems so desperately lost you can almost understand the way he clings to you. Times where his cruelty comes not from an understanding of what will hurt you, but a complete inability to comprehend that you’re a living, breathing person with your own complicated innerworkings.

“You’re unreal,” you say, mystified by the enigma he presents.

“And you’re flying,” he says in your same tone, those ocean blue eyes glinting with self-satisfaction.

You take in a breath to retort, but pause. Though your grip on his collar remains tight, you’re no longer shaking. For a moment there, you’d honestly forgotten where you were. Leaning against him like this, with more of your weight supported on his wrought iron frame, you don’t feel quite so much like you’re precariously dangling.

Though your heart is still racing, and your mouth's as dry as sand, you don’t feel immediately ready to eject your lunch anymore.

“Don’t look down this time,” he tells you, towards the horizon. “Look out.”

Hesitantly, you turn your head to follow his gaze.

The view is surreal.

The afternoon sky is a clear and vibrant blue that the maze of steel buildings below reflect, giving the entire city an oceanic hue. Hundreds upon hundreds of windows lit with warm lights dot the way like fireflies in a field.

In the distance, the sun has fallen low enough that it casts a golden glow across the water. It refracts the light in endless shimmering waves. The spectacle of it is enough to make you forget that this isn’t some fantastical world, that you live here.

Never could you have fathomed seeing the world like this with your own eyes.

“Fuck me,” you murmur, slightly dazed.

Homelander barks a laugh. “What, now?”

Ignoring him, you tentatively let your gaze drift lower. From this distance, all you can see of the lives below you are faint black dots, the flow of them reminiscent of an ant colony. The same loud bustling streets that you used to walk every day are silent from this vantage point, giving the city an uncharacteristic sense of calm. It’s the world–your world–as you’ve never seen it before.

“See?” You feel the heat of the word against your temple as much as you hear it, his lips brushing along your hairline. “I told you it was worth it.”

You tear your attention from the cityscape and bring it back to Homelander.

While you’ve always distantly acknowledged that he’s attractive, he’s undeniably beautiful like this. Bathed in the glow of golden hour, his skin looks Midas touched, and the blue of his eyes is even more vibrant, the light giving them an almost crystalline appearance.

All over again you’re struck by the fact that, whether you want him or not, he’s inexplicably yours. Your captor, your roommate, your warden, your boyfriend, your gilded cage. You’re only where you are now–soaring above the city beyond the confines of that penthouse–because you found it in yourself to be all the things he wants you to be. The more you give, the more you get.

Play your part. Reap the reward.

This is survival.

“You were right. It’s beautiful,” you say, relinquishing your grip on his collar to instead slip your arm around his neck, leaning in to press your cheek to his in a make-shift embrace. You feel his surprise in the slight hitch of tension in his body before he relaxes back into you.

“Can I ask you something? Something about us. Or… about me, I guess,” you say, staring at the world from over his shoulder. Only now has your pulse begun to calm enough that you can properly hear yourself over the rush of your own blood.

His flag of a cape billows in the wind behind him as he flies languidly through the air, giving you something near to focus on.

“Sure you can,” he says, feigning ease that doesn’t quite ring sincere.

He doesn’t like it when you ask too many questions, or start poking holes in the idyllic little fantasy you’ve been living for him.

“Why did you choose me?”

There’s a pause while he mulls over the question, the droning winds around you filling the empty space. Your stomach gives a small flip as he shifts, changing his flight path, making you wonder if you’ve made a mistake, said the wrong thing.

You draw back to meet his gaze, but his expression doesn’t betray any kind of upset.

“I’ll show you,” he says, the words punctuated by a wink, though the gesture doesn’t exude his usual self assured bravado. Based on the tension in his jaw, you get the sense he’s actually masking a buried nervousness.

Within minutes, you’re soaring over a part of the city you recognize with stark familiarity. Seeing your route to work from this angle has a surreal quality to it, like remembering a dream in vivid detail. It’s difficult to fathom that less than a week ago, this was your life.

Drifting to the ledge of a nearby building, he sits on the edge of it, adjusting you on his lap. While the height remains dizzying if you think too much about it, you can’t deny that the warm strength of his arms have given you a firm sense of security.

“I used to come here a lot during my downtime. Between meetings and location work,” he explains, taking in a deep breath.

You do the same, cool air filling your lungs. It’s warm out, but the altitude brings in enough of a chill from the ocean to offset the late afternoon summer heat.

“I got familiar with this spot. The people, their routines,” he says, head lightly bobbing side to side.

“You saw me,” you fill in as understanding dawns.

“Yeah. I saw you,” he echoes, following the walkways below as if he’s tracing your path to work in the same way you are. “Every day.”

“You were really out here every day?” you ask with a lilt of surprise, looking at him. “I never saw you before.”

“People almost never do. You’d be surprised how rarely people ever look up.”

You hum quietly. Already you feel isolated from the world below. Nothing more than an observer. Knowing him as you do now, you can only imagine how outside of it all he really feels.

“Do you ever… go down there? Not as Homelander, but just as yourself.”

“I am Homelander.”

“No, no, I know, but…” You falter, wanting to be delicate. “You were someone else first, weren’t you?”

His gaze turns distant, no longer focusing on the streets below. “No.”

You think again of the young boy in the empty room holding back tears, and your heart grows heavy in your chest. That child–and the man he grew into–had to have had a name once, didn’t he? It’s unfathomable to think he didn’t. Homelander isn’t really a name. It’s a persona, a product patented and sold by Vought.

To have a name is to exist in people’s minds and hearts as a whole person. Whether the name is a gift or a choice, there is soul in a name. More than just an identity, a name is a love language. Be it a given name, nicknames, pet names, to name something is to love it.

Names begin in the heart, form on the tongue, become shaped by lips and cradled by voice. They're an intimacy not only of the body, but of the mind and soul.

Surely he has a name beyond the hero’s title of Homelander.

Project Odessa.

You take in a breath, the question poised on your tongue, but Homelander speaks first.

“I don’t remember when, but you started to stand out. Couldn’t take my eyes off you. I wanted to know more, so… I learned more. And I saw that you were lonely,” he says, but you’ve learned to read between the lines when he tells you things about yourself.

I was lonely.

“You needed someone.”

I needed someone.

“Someone to take care of.”

Someone to take care of me.

“I wanted to save you.”

I wanted you to save me.

“And I did.”

He looks at you then, his expression difficult to parse. There’s a challenge in his gaze, as if he’s daring you to contradict him, but that defiance isn’t enough to cancel out the fragility that always seems to linger when he admits to any sort of genuine feeling.

“I saved you,” he reinforces, voice quieter, firmer.

Sitting hundreds of feet in the air, you’re reminded that this isn’t a normal conversation.

This is a matter of survival.

Play your part. Reap the reward.

“Thank you.”

The tight line of his lips relaxes, spreading into a smile. It radiates the same sort of satisfied pride that he always gets when you show him gratitude for all he’s done for you.

To me, you correct yourself, fighting to keep those lines from blurring. When you look at your life through his eyes, you cannot deny that it looks small. Inconsequential. Lonely. Sad.

None of that changes the fact that it was yours. That it is yours. That he had no right to take it from you when he had every opportunity to ask to be part of it.

The worst part is that, given the choice, you’re starting to feel like you would have said yes.

It’s a conflicted kind of relief when he closes his eyes and presses his lips lightly to yours. The heat of his mouth–the instant memory of his tongue, his teeth, his roaming hands–sends a hot rush through you, but unlike last time the kiss is fleeting and chaste.

“Aaaalrighty,” he says, his voice suddenly full of vigor and performative boom. It’s a wonder he doesn’t give himself a headache with how quickly he’s prone to switching gears. “Let’s get this grubhub goin’.”

He pushes off of the ledge and your stomach lurches the way it would at the start of a rollercoaster, a drop followed by a sudden lift. Your arm tightens around his neck while his smile lingers, clearly pleased by the clinginess this has imposed on you.

You don’t have to tell him where to go. He knows exactly the alley to land in, sinking between buildings to the very back, as not to be observed by the bustling crowd below. You’d grown used to the noise of the crowds, but after several days of quiet, the clamor of New York is borderline deafening. It makes you wince and reflexively press on one ear, plugging it while you adjust.

Regardless of the noise, you feel an instant relief when your feet hit the ground. Homelander’s hands linger on your hip and your elbow, steadying you.

“Well?” he prompts. “You glad we flew?”

“Let’s not get carried away,” you say, huffing a quiet laugh. “I very much almost lost my lunch, but… yeah, I’ll admit it was worth it,” you say, checking on the containers of food packed away.

You’d considered hiding some kind of message amidst the food, but it felt too risky. There was too good of a chance that Homelander would check, and if he did, you wouldn’t have made it this far at all.

For all you know, he did check. You’re still not certain if he really has x-ray vision, or if that’s an invention of Vought’s for the movies. Better safe than sorry.

Maybe you won’t need a hidden message. Maybe you’ll be able to get across to John, without saying a word, that something isn’t right.

“If you wait here, I’ll be–”

“What, I’m not allowed to meet your friends?” he interrupts, hands on his hips.

“Oh, uh.” You blink, holding his gaze uncertainly. “I didn’t… think you’d want to.”

Homelander waves his hand dismissively.

“If he’s important to you, he’s important to me,” he says, slipping an arm around your shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“Besides, next to children, the unhoused are our most vulnerable population,” he says, sounding entirely too much like a politician with a list of talking points. “Anything could happen to him. I can keep a close eye on him for you, make sure he doesn’t get into any unnecessary trouble.”

His smile is too wide, too wolfish, and with a terrible chill you understand the words for the threat that they are.

If John causes problems for him, Homelander will remedy them.

Am I making a mistake?

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “Okay… Sure.”

Despite how heavily Homelander’s words hang over your head, you very nearly take flight yourself with the swell relief that hits you when you see John sitting at the end corner of the alleyway, hands busy with a Rubik’s Cube. He’s an imposing looking man in his late thirties, bearded and tall, but he’s never made you feel unsafe. He’s kind, and most importantly, he’s familiar.

You take in a sharp breath of excitement, his name on the tip of your tongue, but a crimson leather clad hand clamps over your mouth and pulls you back into the shadow of the building. Homelander pins you back against him, one hand keeping you quiet while the other slips around your middle, locking you in place.

Did he change his mind, or was this all just a game from the start? Your wide eyes prickle with tears.

“Ground rules,” he says, voice low in your ear. “We’ve been together for a couple of weeks, but for your own safety, it’s been kept a secret. You quit your dead-end job and traveled to Europe with me, from which we’ve just recently returned. Got it?”

Huffing shallow little breaths from your nose, heart racing, you nod.

“If I see any funny business, I’ll break his neck.”

You close your eyes, every beat of your heart a painful jab. His voice has the same cool hollowness it did when he warned you not to lie to him. It’s him, and yet simultaneously sounds like an entirely different person.

“Nod if you understand.”

A beat, and then you nod.

“Good girl,” he says, his smile audible in his praise. His hand slips away from your mouth and he kisses your temple, straightening out your clothes. His arm slinks around your waist, hand settling heavily on your hip. “Now, let’s get this over with.”

Rattled, you rub the tears from your eyes and take in a steadying breath, trepidation replacing your excitement. Dread pools in your stomach, the tide of it rising with every step, but you still manage to smile once you’re in earshot of your friend.

“Hey, John,” you call gently, lifting a hand to wave when he meets your gaze.

John does a double take, glancing up once, then twice, recognition flipping to confusion, and then rounding back to delight. He smiles broadly from beneath his wiry beard, pushing off of the wall he’d been leaning against.

“I’ll be damned,” he says as he approaches you. “You had me worried! I was beginning to think y–” he stops himself, belatedly noticing Homelander at your side. His eyes widen a fraction, and then his brows furrow.

In his myriad of expressions, you recognize yourself. That first night you woke up, how confused you were by where you were and who you were with. The whole thing felt like a dream, and John looks as though he’s wondering if this is one, too.

As a New Yorker, seeing Homelander–or any member of the Seven–in the flesh typically means one of two things: you’ve stumbled onto a promotional event, or trouble is close at hand.

“Is everything alright?” he settles on asking, the priority of his concern for you instantly warming your chattering heart.

“More than alright,” Homelander answers when you take too long, flashing a winning smile. He gives your hip a squeeze, prompting you.

You clear your throat, lifting the bag off of your shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, yes, I’ve just–I’ve been away,” you say, already tripping over the lies catching in your throat.

If I see any funny business, I’ll break his neck.

Thanks to you, John’s life rides on this conversation, and he has no clue. You kick yourself internally, desperate to get your shit together for both your sakes.

“It was really impromptu, but, uhm, I didn’t want you to worry, and I have news, so I–” you flash Homelander a look, as if to say let me sell this, and he reluctantly withdraws his arm. “I asked Homelander if he’d come along, because I honestly didn’t think you’d believe me,” you say, forcing out a little laugh.

John hesitantly takes the bag when you offer it, but he’s looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, his eyes occasionally darting over to Homelander, who continues to stand akimbo behind you. “Believe you…?”

“That I’m dating Homelander,” you say, pulling your lips back in what you can only hope is a convincing smile, and not just a manic show of teeth.

“Oh,” he says, looking no less puzzled.

The whole situation is bizarre beyond words. That you would come to him, an acquaintance that you’ve known only through habit, through the quick conversations you’ve had in the transitional spaces between work and home, seems insane. That you would care that he knows or that he believes you’re dating New York’s premium hero.

Of course he won’t see that you’re a hostage. Why the hell would he?

You feel out of your mind the same way you did sitting on that stupid couch, punching in website after website after website. It’s futile. You’re outside, you’re right in front of another person, someone who would be just as horrified as you are to know the truth, and yet you can’t say a damn thing.

This will always be true. Whether you’re standing in front of a stranger, an acquaintance, or your dearest loved ones, your truth will put them in danger.

All because of one lonely little boy.

Your smile holds firm, but your eyes well with tears.

“I quit my job,” you say, fighting back the sob threatening to choke you. “So I won’t see you anymore. But I, uhm–I just wanted to say goodbye. So, goodbye,” you say, moving to turn away before your emotions betray you any further, but John catches you by the shoulder, his touch light and painfully human.

“Hey, you take care of yourself,” he says, looking to be shaking off the shellshock from what you’ve presented. “Y’always seem to be taking care of other people and their problems, so… Take care of you, too. If not for yourself, you’ll do that for me, yeah? For old time’s sake,” he says with a smile, giving the bag a little shake.

You stare at him, the confession of it all sitting heavily on the tip of your tongue.

Help me! you want to shout. I can’t do this alone. I can’t take care of this myself. I need help. It’s too much. I’m scared.

You start to move towards him, and his opposite arm opens, as if ready to embrace you.

“Lucky for her,” Homelander interrupts, hoisting you suddenly into his arms and out of John’s reach, shattering any potential illusions. “She’s got me to take care of her now,” he says, his Hollywood smile stretched instead into a thin sneer.

“Great to meet’cha, pal,” he spits, voice devoid of any actual camaraderie. Tears burn in your eyes as his fingertips dig into you, his grip like a vice, like chains slipping back around your limbs. “Enjoy the food.”

Anything John might have said in response is swallowed up by the rush of air parting around him as Homelander shoots up into the sky, leaving your world in the dust, and any hope you had with it.

The flight back to the penthouse is quiet.

Homelander flies faster than he did on the way out, itching to be back within the safe, predictable confines of home. You’re tense in his hold, but both of your arms are wrapped around his neck, your face tucked in under his jaw, and he takes pleasure in that, at least.

It’s a miracle he didn’t rip that filthy fuckers arm off for the way he grabbed you, for the way he tried to pull you into his arms.

God damn pervert is what he is.

You’re too naive to see it, but he isn’t, and there wasn’t a fucking chance he was going to let the guy cop one last feel before you were spirited away for good. The thought alone is enough to set his teeth on edge, to make him consider paying the son of a bitch a little visit anyways.

He grits his teeth.

No one touches his things.

It sets off something primal in him. A gnawing, feverish compulsion to claim you so thoroughly there could be no doubt that you’re his. He wants to fuck you, to mark you so obviously that no other man will ever touch you like that again.

By the time he lands on the concrete slab of his balcony, you’re shaking up a storm. He maneuvers inside without putting you down, as you’ve made no move to let go of him.

Something isn’t right.

He rubs your back, mimicking the patterns you make when you rub his, pausing when you suddenly make a choked noise that sounds suspiciously close to a sob.

What the hell? He did exactly what you asked him to. You’re supposed to be happy.

He carries you to his bed, a dozen versions of the two of you reflected back in the surrounding mirrors, and sets you down gently. Your arms slide loose from his neck and fall limply to your sides. Bending down, he cups either side of your face and brings your gaze up to meet his, perplexed to find your eyes brimming with tears.

“Hey,” he says softly, swiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb as it falls. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

You shut your eyes and make a sound he can’t make sense of, something between exasperation and agony. Though you try to pull out of his grip, he holds you in place, refusing to let you run from this.

From him.

“No, no. Look at me. I did what you asked,” he says, impatience slowly wringing the gentleness from his voice.

Your eyes are red and glassy, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and over his thumbs.

Christ.

This is a far cry from what he had in mind when he thought earlier about how you’d make it up to him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you sob, taking hold of his wrists. “I just want to go home.”

His expression falls, brows furrowed in confusion, dismay, anger.

“What’re you talking about? You are home. You’re happy here. You have everything, you–I’ve given you everything,” he says, though a voice in the back of his mind reminds him that isn’t true.

He hasn’t given everything. Not yet. He’s been holding back. You both have, and now you’re both suffering.

Enough, he thinks. Hasn't he been deprived long enough?

Haven't you?

You try again to pull away, but this time he pulls you forward, pressing his lips to yours. You make a sound against his mouth that sounds like surprise, but all that matters now is the thrum of your skin against his.

“Doesn’t have to be like this,” he says between kisses, following you as you pull backwards, his knee hitting the bed as he crawls over top of you. He lets his hands roam, learning you in the way he’s been aching to since the day he decided that you would be his, and that he would be yours.

“You have no idea how fucking good I can make you feel.”

Pleasure has always been his greatest comfort. The ability to shut down his brain, to quiet the voices and focus solely on the physical. He needs it, and now more than ever, he can see that you need it, too.

He kisses your jaw, your cheek, kisses the wet streaks from your skin and licks the salt of them from his lips.

“I can make it go away,” he murmurs, undeterred by your hands pushing against his chest. You have a nasty habit of fighting what’s good for you.

“I’ll make you happy if you’d just let me.”

Your clothes put up less resistance than you do, the designer material tearing with ease. He swallows up your gasp with another kiss, slips his tongue into your mouth and grazes your teeth with it, daring you to bite.

Your pulse thunders in his ears, but not even the acridity of the fear coursing through you can hide the sweet heat of arousal seeping from between your thighs.

His own body aches in kind, cock throbbing needily behind his cup. His mind has already started to fog, the sting of rejection soothed by the need he can feel building in every part of your body.

You want him. You do. He can feel it in the drumming of every climbing throb he hears your body give.

“All this teasing, this tension, it can all end. We’re so close to what we both want now, what we both need.” His hand slips lower, forcing your legs apart enough to drag his middle finger over your cunt through the satiny fabric of your panties, savoring the way it makes you shudder.

“I don’t want this,” you say, hardly sounding convinced of it yourself.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me, ” he says, taking his hand away only to bite the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off with his teeth and tossing it aside. He moves it right back to your pussy, pressing in firmly to finally feel the hot, soaked patch of fabric against his bare skin.

“Look who’s all wet.”

“Why are you doing this?” There’s a tremble running through your voice, through your body.

He huffs an incredulous little breath.

“I’m doing this for you. For us. I’m doing this because you don’t know how to let yourself be happy,” he says, drawing back to look at you. You’re beautiful like this. Eyes glassy and vibrant, skin hot under his touch. “All you have to do is let go, and I’ll make all the bad stuff go away.”

You don’t respond, but he knows by the look of you that he’s struck a chord. He kisses you again, and this time, you don’t try to turn away. Instead, both of your hands slip into his hair, and to his elation, you kiss him back.

He moans against your lips, shifting onto his side next to you so that he can better maneuver his hand, bringing his fingers up to slip them into your underwear, letting out a low sound for the feel of your velvety wet cunt under his bare fingers.

“Keep breathing,” he reminds you, acutely attuned to every inch of you, including when your breath catches. “That’s it… Good girl.”

The last thing he needs now is for you to pass out.

He kisses a trail down from your shoulder to your chest, nipping at the swell of your breasts before he kisses an apology into the soft skin, only to suck a mark at that same spot. He spreads your own slick from your cunt to your clit, massaging it between his middle and index finger.

You suck in a ragged breath, you whimper, and in that sound he knows he finally has you hook, line and sinker.

That’s when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror above. You shudder, turning your head away as if ashamed, but he won’t let you hide from this.

“Ah, ah, none of that. No shame in this. It’s a tale as old as time, sweetheart,” he says, pressing his middle finger slowly into the silky clench of your pussy.

“Boy meets girl… Girl falls for boy… Boy fucks her brains out,” he half laughs, half rasps, hooking his leg over yours both to pull your legs wider apart, and to give himself your thigh to grind against.

He angles his thumb to rub your clit while his finger crooks, stroking inside you until he finds that delicate, puffy little bundle of nerves he’s been taught to look for. More than just by the feel of it, he knows he’s found it when your hips jerk suddenly, and you look at him as though he’s just invented the spot.

“I told you,” he rumbles, kissing you slow, wet, hungry, “that I would make you feel good.”

He adds another finger, fucking you with them slowly, his pace building gradually. He imagines how it’ll feel to have his cock where his fingers are, and he nearly comes in his pants at the thought alone, his hips jerking against you.

“Look at yourself,” he sighs, his other hand cupping the back of your neck. “Look at yourself,” he says again, harsher this time, and your eyes snap up to the mirror above you.

You’re a mess, clothes torn apart and splayed under and around you, hickeys forming where he’s abused your skin with his lips. You’re fucking yourself down on his hand entirely of your own accord now, one hand fisted in his hair, the other in the sheets. Your tears have dried and there’s only sweet, mindless pleasure left in your eyes.

He’s never known a pain he couldn’t fuck away. He knew you’d be the same.

“So fucking perfect for me,” he coos, breath hitching on his own mounting pleasure. Your pussy squeezes his fingers, the lewd cacophony of pleasure filling the room the closer you get to the brink.

“Homelander,” you keen, voice fractured and sweet as sugar.

He kisses his name from your lips, licks up the honied taste of it while he fucks you deeper, faster, his pace never once faltering, not even as you begin to thrash against him. He can’t tell if you’re trying to get closer or further, but he holds you tightly in place, gritting his teeth against the pleasure while he shamelessly humps your leg.

Your shallow breaths take on a pitchy sound as you writhe, as if part of you is still fighting him, fighting your pleasure, but in the end, it’s a battle you lose. Your cunt locks up like a vice around his fingers, your orgasm throbbing inside and out, your clit fluttering against his thumb.

You’re robbed of breath, of sound, and of sense as you come, capable of nothing more than a silent cry as pleasure–the pleasure he gave you–wracks your body.

He fucks you through it, relishing the way your quivering cunt squeezes his fingers, greedily pulling him back in on every thrust. It’s too much–you’re too much–and he loses himself to it, giving a ragged gasp as he comes shortly after. His eyes roll back, pulse after pulse of sweet pleasure filling his cup with liquid heat.

“I love you,” he gasps, nearly choking on the words, rocking against your still-trembling form. “I–fffuck, I love you, I love you so much.”

He’s languid but no less ravenous in the way he kisses your chest, your throat, your jaw, your mouth, all while his fingers rock lazily in and out of your cunt. Still coming down from his own high, he doesn’t stop until you’re grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand away, pleading your overstimulation with nothing but soft noises.

He licks his fingers clean, intoxicated by the feel, taste and smell of you. A shiver runs through you, and it’s only then that he realizes he forgot to shut the balcony door behind him.

Too enraptured to move, to risk breaking the spell your bodies have cast over one another, he drapes his cape over your naked body, tucking you in against his chest.

Satisfied that he’s made his point, that you finally understand the gift he’s wanted to give you all along, he wraps both arms around you and nuzzles against the top of your head, pressing a kiss to the crown.

While ending your first tryst sticky and wet in his pants wasn't his ideal scenario, he'll take it. The weight of you in his arms, the taste of you on his lips, more than makes up for it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, the words slurring together slightly. He strokes your back, holding you close as the tremors subside. He gladly takes credit for the way your breaths even out, for the way you sink into his arms, the resistance wrung from your muscles.

All that’s left now is bliss.

“That’s my girl.” And you are, without a shadow of a doubt, his.

( chapter eight )

#i did it!!! 😭#i'm not ENTIRELY sure all the correct ways to tag this chapter but it's a heavy one #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #x reader #yandere x reader #my writing #homelander fanfiction #center stage in a gilded cage

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after-witch · 1 year ago

Text

The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Title: The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Synopsis: You're a District 2 school graduate who comes to the Capitol with her father before the 11th Hunger Games. You don't expect to meet anyone kind, especially not someone named Coriolanus Snow who offers you his arm, his smile, and treats in secret.

Word Count: 5270

notes: yandere, abusive relationship, non-graphic descriptions of torture and death (not against reader); uses a mixture of book and movie canon

The Capitol was not as dazzling as your father described it but then, he had seen it before the war. Though perhaps it was your own bitterness that made you ignore the signs of returning prosperity that sets it above everywhere else.

The repaired elaborate buildings, the fresh pungent smell of plaster and paint. The cars pumping exhaust fumes into the air. The low rumble of garbage trucks that pick up bright green garbage cans, some of which are actually teeming with plastic trash bags. Such waste was unheard of, even in the oh-so-loyal District 2, where only the lowest of the low find themselves starving.

Although not-starving didn’t mean that everything was plentiful.

You, though, were lucky enough to avoid the lima bean heavy diet that some of your classmates (now former--graduation was months ago) lived on. Or were you? The meat that graced your family’s dinner table, the pats of butter on toast, were all courtesy of your father’s immense talent in building creative weapons that allowed the Capitol to stamp out every last bit of rebellion in the Districts. That allowed them to regain control. That allowed them to create the Hunger Games.

Which is why you were in the Capitol now. Oh, not to participate in them. Your father’s status in District 2 had seen to that; it would be a scandal if the name of his beloved daughter were to ever be pulled.

You were there because your father had been given a lucrative contract, one that was sure to cement your family’s wealth for generations: a contract to build high-tech weapons for the Hunger Games themselves.

They would still be killing. But on a much smaller scale, you supposed, than the weapons your father designed during the war.

Still. Blood was blood. And if it had to be spilled, well, there was nothing you could do about it except hope they died quickly. Especially the ones from District 2.

Last year’s Games’ had been awful enough. Your family had watched the Games on a modest television set in the privacy of your living room, sent courtesy of the Capitol.

You wondered if you would ever get the sight of Marcus’ battered, bloated face from your mind; if you would ever unhear the way his body thumped to the ground when that girl had killed him, out of mercy. If you would ever stop imagining what it must have felt like in those last moments.

But it wasn’t all horror. You’d liked Lucy Gray well enough, even though she was from 12. She had a wild way of dressing and the singing--it was practically theatrical, compared to what you’d heard about the previous games.

Maybe that was why your father got this contract: theatrics. Maybe the games would be more dramatic from now on. Maybe they wanted tributes like Lucy Gray, who sang and spit and poisoned her way to Victory. It was strange, really, that there’d been hardly any talk of her since her win.

“Father?” You asked, quietly as you could.

Both of you were standing in the foyer of the grand university in the Capitol. The outside was still a little ravaged, but inside, it was perfectly lovely. Walls lined with books--perhaps some of them were fake--and marble floors and marble busts dotting the sight lines.

“Mm?” He replied, eyes scanning over his clipboard. He flips it, here and there.

“I was just thinking. About last year’s games. About Lucy Gray, and how the Games--”

Your father rounded on you, eyes suddenly serious and blazing.

“Quiet. Weren’t you paying attention on the way here?” Admittedly, you were not. You’d been daydreaming about what you might do now that you were done with school. There was no university in District 2, and your father hadn’t even mentioned a job. “You’re not supposed to mention--”

“Not supposed to mention whom? Ah, ah, ah. Lucy Gray Baird?” called a voice, almost in sing-song.

Your father stood up stiff, and the life seemed to drain from his face.

Both of you look towards the sound of the voice, and now it’s your turn to stiffen. The voice came from a woman standing in the doorway of the very office that your father was waiting to enter. She was wearing an elaborate jacket made of what looked like rainbow snake scales. Her hair was gray and curly. She had, you realized, two different colored eyes.

Your father swallowed, and you could see the apple of it bob up and down. It made you think, abruptly, of suckling pigs.

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, in a voice far too tight to be relaxed. “I apologize for my daughter’s insubordination, I assure you, she meant no--”

Dr. Gaul waved her hands at him and approached you.

“Did you like last year’s games?” She didn’t look angry. No, she looked delighted.

“I…” It was your turn to swallow, your turn to feel that tightness. “It-it was the first time I’ve watched them, ma’am.” You want to ask this woman: do you think I liked watching someone from my District 2 so horribly? Or any District, really? Did I like it?

Her smile grew wider.

“I’m glad. You’ll be watching them every year from now on, I hope. We have big plans.” Her eyebrows raised high. “Big changes. Thanks to men like your father.” She glanced at him and you saw disdain flicker across her gaze.

And then another door opened, and you heard the sound of polished shoes on the marble floor. Dr. Gaul’s attention dropped away from you like you were nothing at all. She turned to meet the sound of these footsteps, and you did too.

It was a young man. Probably your age, you thought, with light blonde hair and eyes that your mother would have described as “baby blue.” He didn’t look at you, or your father. But that was nothing new. You’d only been in the Capitol for 2 days, and you’d already gotten used to being treated as lesser than. Though, at least, you were not so far down on the food chain that you lost your tongue.

“Ah, my protege,” said Dr. Gaul, giving the young man a grin. The smile on her face almost looked warm, which was somehow far more terrifying than her manic smile from earlier. “Ever the earnest student. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying the day off, Mr. Snow?”

The young man, this “Snow,” chuckled and lowered his gaze. “I couldn’t stay away once I heard you were discussing some of the new prototypes for this year’s games.”

He finally looked at your father, and then at you. But only briefly.

“Can I assume that this is…?”

Dr. Gaul nodded.

“Yes. My little designer from District 2. And his daughter.” Her voice dropped a few octaves when she referred to you. She probably didn’t want you here, you thought. You weren’t supposed to come, but your father had begged the Capitol for a pass; it would probably be your only chance to see it, he said, so you may as well take advantage of the chance.

Snow nodded to your father. It was a surprising gesture, almost respectful. But cold, too, like it was done from necessity rather than anything else.

Your father stammered a bit and nodded back, and you felt shame begin to creep into your bones. It wasn’t fair, to be lesser-than. But weren’t others lesser-than you in your own District, where you ate better food and never worried that your name would get picked, that your blood would be spilled?

Everyone

But when Snow turned to you, he smiled. It gave him dimples.

It was the first kind smile anyone in the Capitol gave you.

“My name is Coriolanus Snow. I doubt you’ve heard of me, but if Dr. Gaul’s teachings have anything to say about it, perhaps one day you’ll know me as a Gamemaker.”

You didn’t know what to say. Congratulations, one day you’ll be coordinating Games that kill people? Instead, you gave your name, voice squeakier than you meant it. But it was fitting, you supposed. Here, you were a mouse, hoping you would get a bite of cheese and make it home unpoisoned.

Dr. Gaul’s face seemed to react slowly, as if she couldn’t decide what she thought about his words or your interaction, but a small smile grew on it, eventually. “I do have high hopes for you, Mr. Snow. Now, shall we?”

She gestured for your father to follow, face once again impassive with a sprinkle of disdain, as she led the two of them into her office.

Snow gave you a smile and a nod before he left.

You waved, stupidly.

Your father didn’t even look back.

I’m dead. I’m dead. I might as well be dead.

Your heartbeat kept time with your racing thoughts as you went up and down corridors, begging your shoes to be silent, wishing your breath would catch and stop coming out in terrible pants.

You were lost. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. If someone found you, if the wrong person found you, they would think you were running, trying to get lost in the Capitol; they’d think you were a rebel. They’d shoot you.

Just when you thought you might collapse and die from your own nervous exhaustion, you heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

Your name.

It was only the moment after that you realized it didn’t come from your father’s mouth, but the lips of--what his name--Coriolanus Snow. The young man who was a Gamemaker-in-training, or so your father said. But that’s all he would say. He kept tight about anything that went on behind closed doors.

But this Coriolanus Snow smiled at you, and didn’t look at you like you were some kind of insect he might want to pin on a board, and so when you whirled around to look at him you were smiling.

Ah--for a moment. For just a moment, you saw his muscles tense. You saw the expression on his face falter in worry. Like he thought he was about to miss a step on a staircase, and corrected himself; like he thought you were a wolf and you were only somebody’s dog, off their leash.

But it wasn’t too surprising. You knew most people in the Capitol thought anyone from the Districts wanted to rip out their throats.

Well, the worry was mutual. Except in your case, you were forced to walk around with the living proof of that worry--all those “Avoxes,” they called them. Without tongues, without freedom.

But you swallow all that. Because he smiled at you. Because maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend. Especially right now.

“I’m--I’m lost,” you tell him, giving a shaky smile. “I was waiting for my father, but you see, I got to thinking, and I started to wander around and now I’m… well. I don’t know where I am, actually.”

His smile wasn’t very deep, was it? It was like the gloss of paint on the outside of the Capitol buildings. Pretty to look at, but there must be more underneath.

You expected him to lead you right back to where you’re supposed to be.

Instead, he asked you something.

“What were you thinking about?

You couldn’t tell him. Could you? But something about

“About… the Games.”

You don’t tell him that you were thinking about Lucy Gray and all those snakes, and the way that Dr. Gaul’s outfit that first day made you think of them. Because your father had slapped you across the face when you got back to your lodgings that night, and told you to never, ever bring up Lucy Gray Baird or the 10th Games unless you were directly asked. And you would probably never be asked.

Coriolanus gave a little snort through his nose. You liked it. It was nice to know that even Capitol people could seem a little dorky.

“They aren’t for another 3 months. Are you that eager to see them?”

You didn’t know what expression you made, exactly. It was so instinctive and fast that you didn’t have time to control it.

You only knew that it made him shake his head and offer you a sympathetic look.

“I apologize. That was rude, wasn’t it?”

And then he did a strange thing.

He offered you his arm.

Like you were Capitol, like you were a real person, and not some visiting District wench walking on the coattails of her arms-dealing father.

“Let me walk you back to the waiting area.”

And the stranger thing?

You took it.

You and your father were quickly moved into a small apartment within the university, once it became clear that he would be staying in the Capitol through the duration of the Games. It was best, he said, because ordinary people in the Capitol didn’t really want to see new faces from the Districts mingling around unless their tongue had been cut out first. It made them nervous. The rebel bombings, and all that.

You didn’t mind, because it meant you didn’t have to be flanked by Peacekeepers on the streets.

And, well.

You got to see Coriolanus more often. Sometimes he greeted you, sometimes he didn’t. He did it less often when Dr. Gaul was there, unless she was talking to your father and it gave him an opportunity.

He asked you things, too, when he caught you walking back to your father’s little apartment. Like what you did back home. What you liked to do. Whether you went to school, and what you planned to do now that you have graduated.

This morning, he caught you drawing while you waited in a chair outside Dr. Gaul’s office. Sometimes you waited there--you would admit to no one that it was to catch a glimpse of the kindest person you’d met in the Capitol--and other times you stayed in your temporary home.

“What are you drawing?” He asked. But he had a way of speaking that you’d quickly clocked into. He can make a demand sound like a polite little question. Oh, he wasn’t mean about it, but it reminded you of the way your father talked to his underlings back in District 2. On his home turf, he was far smoother than he was here, where his voice stammered and sweat beaded on his neck.

So you handed it over, even though, to your greatest embarrassment, you’d drawn… him.

“Why me?” He had a smile on his lips. His smiles were nice. Kind. The kindest you’d seen since you came here. But they always felt like that fresh coat of paint; like you didn’t know what he really meant by them, and that was how he liked it.

“You’re… important,” is all you could come up with. You felt small, then. He would dismiss and probably never want to talk to you again. What a stupid answer from a stupid girl.

But he just smiled. It was like paint peeling a little. You could see underneath that he liked what you said, although you weren’t exactly sure why. And his expression tightened up so quickly, protecting what you’d seen, that you weren’t entirely sure if it was real or not.

“I’m just a humble student at this university. Not so important. Not yet.”

You were really going to die, now. This wasn’t some panicked imagination gone wrong, some flight of fancy that took a wrong turn.

A pair of stony-faced Peacekeepers had walked up to where you sat in the waiting area near Dr. Gaul’s office and ordered you to come with them.

You asked to talk to your father. They said no. You asked where you were going. They yanked you up.

And now they were leading you down hallways that you’d never seen before, where there weren’t even Avoxes roaming the halls with brooms and dustpans.

They didn’t even answer, just spun around and walked back the way they came. You pushed the door open reluctantly--what the hell was going to be on the other side?--and it was--it was--

It was Coriolanus. Standing there in a nice suit, eyes downcast on a book. Until the door creaked and he looked up.

“What--why did you bring me here? Did I do something wrong?” The thought went through you, that perhaps this had all been a test, to see if you were loyal to the Capitol and he’d found you wanting.

“No,” he said, simply enough. He set the book down and gestured for you to step inside. You did, because what else were you going to do, in some strange room in a Capitol University where you’d been forcibly brought by Peacekeepers.

Snow studied your face. Your eyes darted around, from him, to the room, to the door.

“I wanted to see you,” he said, a little softer. “In private.”

“Me?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But… why?”

He smiled. “Come now, you’re a smart girl, even if you aren’t in university.”

You really didn’t know. Not at first. But then you watched the way his expression softened, and you remembered it, or glimpses of it, that he’d given you before. When he complimented your drawing. When he said your name. When he escorted you back from the maze of hallways. And his smiles, all his smiles, although you were never sure how much they meant coming from home.

He took a step closer. You didn’t dare step back. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back, but it didn’t matter, either way.

He pressed his lips to yours and took your first kiss, in a secluded little study in the heart of the Capitol University.

Your days became routine, although the routine was strictly forbidden and could have probably gotten you executed or at best, gotten you a one-way ticket to a tasteless existence.

You wake up. You stay in your apartment. You wait for the Peacekeepers. You get summoned here and there, always private rooms, secret rooms, rooms out of the way. You meet Snow--Coriolanus, he said, call him that--and you talk (well, mostly him) and kiss and sometimes a little bit more. He gives you gifts. Trinkets, necklaces that you can only wear under your shirt. Food, flaky pastries made with mountains of sugar, sandwiches made with cream and cucumber.

But how much longer could it go on? The Games were going to start soon. As soon as they were over, you were going back to your District. There would be no more meetings, no more kisses. No more wondering how far he wanted to go or why he liked you or even if he even liked you as anything more than someone to keep him busy.

You didn’t dare talk about the Games, but you did talk about this. In the kindest way you knew how for such a sensitive subject.

“I’ll miss you,” you told Coriolanus after one meeting, when you’re both sitting on a sofa and he’s got your fingers tightly wound in his. He squeezed them tight.

“Miss me?”

“After the Games,” you clarified. “We’re being sent home right after.”

He squeezed your fingers until it hurt a little. Then he looked up at you. To see if you would say something? Or did he not know how strong he was?

“Oh, that. I can arrange for you to stay.”

Your chest began to feel sick.

“Stay? In the Capitol?” You were torn about Coriolanus, but you didn’t want to stay here. You couldn’t.

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “You wouldn’t be the first person from the District granted such an extreme privilege. I’m sure I could--”

“But I don’t know if I want to stay.”

His gaze narrowed and you felt your stomach clench. He looked at the necklace you’d pulled out as soon as the door was shut, at your lips where a dollop of strawberry cream still rested.

“I treat you so well, and you don’t know if you want to stay with me?”

His voice was calm, and that scared you. It would have been better if he flew off the handle.

Instead, he simply stood up and gently sent you out the door, and called the Peacekeepers to bring you back to your apartment.

Every night for the last week, you have cried yourself to sleep. Because every day for the last week, Coriolanus Snow has not sent for you. Not even once.

What if he told someone? What if you got sent back early, and your father was shamed? What if they broke his contract? Or--worse, worse, worse. There were so many worse things than merely being sent back to District 2.

And then he sent for you, and it was the longest walk of your life, though it was no farther than any of the times you’ve been escorted to your secret meetings.

This time, when you pushed open the door, Coriolanus was not alone.

There was an Avox in the room.

It was someone from District 2.

You didn’t know her. Not personally. But you saw her, before. She worked in one of the munitions factories and you watched her walk to work from your classroom window sometimes. Then she stopped showing up, and you thought perhaps she got married.

That delusion was shattered the moment you saw her, eyes downcast to the floor, wearing a simple gray tunic.

It’s not until Coriolanus tells you to hurry up and come in that you’re able to move. Even then, you weren’t sure how your body did it; how your arms managed to gain the mobility to shut the door, to twist the lock; how your legs moved, one foot in front of the other, until you were standing stiffly in front of him.

The Avox--you wish you knew her name, but she couldn’t give it to you now, even if you asked--moved seamlessly to a table set up nearby. There was tea and sweets. The sort of thing that you and Coriolanus had been enjoying together for the past few weeks. The sort of thing that you were sure would sit sour in your stomach, now.

The cup shook in your hands when she handed it to you, and your tears dripped right into the tea.

Coriolanus glanced at the Avox and waved his hand. She left obediently. She would never tell the secret she witnessed in his room, that much was certain.

And then he looked back at you.

“Don’t cry,” he said. Soft but firm. A command, not a coo. “You shouldn’t cry here, in the Capitol. You should be grateful to be here. You should be grateful that I’ve arranged all this for you.”

“I am,” you whispered.

“Then show me that you are.”

And you did.

You said what he wanted and looked to him to show you how he wanted you to act, and did just that. You didn’t argue, even to lightly banter. You kissed him and nodded along when he told you about how things would be after the Games, when he had arranged for you to stay.

All you had to do was keep him happy until the Games were over, and then you could go home.

Bitterly, all of this made you realize just how much of your father is in you; he knew how to appease the Capitol. You could do the same with Coriolanus Snow. At least until the Games were over. Just keep him happy until the Games were done and the blood was spilled, and you would go home.

They wouldn’t let him keep you here after the games. You were sure of that. You’d overheard some of Dr. Gaul’s assistants murmuring how glad they would be to send the District profiteers like your father home once the Games were over. And you? You’re just his useless daughter, an appendage he brought like an unwelcome suitcase. Why would you be allowed to stay?

The Games were over. The winner was from District 1.

You were going home any day now. Just as soon as your father finished tinkering with the designs, gave his notes on improvements that might be made for next year.

The thought gave you a delightful bounce in your step. It was like having a pat of sweet butter in your shoe on a day when you needed good luck-- District 2 superstition, although the strict rationing meant most people didn’t have even a pat to slip into their shoes anymore.

The sweetness didn’t even disappear when the Peacekeepers showed up to bring you to Snow. It was going to be a bittersweet farewell, you were sure. He might be angry. But you would kiss him and tell him that there was nothing he could do, and how sorry you were not to be able to stay, but that was how things had to be.

Except they didn’t bring you down a maze of corridors that led to a secluded room.

They brought you right into Dr. Gaul’s office.

Breakfast threatened to evacuate your stomach with every step. Not just because of nerves, but because of what you saw. Rows of experiments in glass tubes; some of them move. You walk by a room with a half-open door that showed someone strapped to a gurney, face contorted in a silent scream as they fought against restraints. You almost did lose breakfast, then.

But somehow you made it to the desk of Dr. Gaul without a dribble of vomit to show for it.

The Peacekeepers left with no fanfare and you stood there, ramrod straight. Did she know? Was she going to tell you that you were going to be strapped to one of those gurneys, now?

“I’m keenly aware,” she said, keeping her hands primly folded, “on how much you’ve enthralled my star pupil.”

Toast. That’s what will come up first, you thought . The toast.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” Your voice was so thin and tinny that you didn’t even believe yourself.

And then the prim facade cracked, and Dr. Gaul threw her head back and grinned.

“You really think I don’t know everything that goes on within these walls? I know every time one of my lab assistants runs into the bathroom to throw up after a particularly nasty experiment. I know every time one of our university professors sneaks into a closet to down a vial of morphling with a student. And I certainly know when my newest protege is having an adorable little District girl brought to him for… canoodling.”

You weren’t even embarrassed. No. You just felt terrified to the bone. You only hoped that you’d be killed, shot against a wall, instead of made into an Avox. Let there be some mercy in this world.

”He’s asked to keep you, you know.” Her voice was low, almost a drawl. She tapped her fingers on her desk rhythmically.

“My Coriolanus Snow wants a bird of his own.” Her smile turned darker. “Not a songbird, though. Oh, no. I think he’s had enough of those.”

Her gaze bored into yours, each color magnified by her intense expression. “I think if I let him have his pretty caged bird, he’ll be happy. He’s more productive if he’s happy.” She smiled. “I like productivity. It keeps the Games more interesting.”

She looked you over one more time, and then waved you away.

“I’ve granted his request. You’ll be staying here indefinitely, courtesy of one Mr. Snow. Your father has already been told.”

You were wrong.

It was not the toast that came up first, but the sweet butter you’d patted on top.

You still had your tongue, but you felt as though it was useless, stuck to the roof of your mouth, as Coriolanus fussed over your outfit. Or rather, as he directed an Avox to fuss over it for you. He could afford his own personal servant, now, he told you. He’d almost flinched after he said now, and you didn’t dare press him on it. Had he not been able to afford one before?

“We can’t walk arm-in-arm in public,” he said, walking around you, making sure the outfit was just-right. “But you can stand by me if I stop and direct you forward.” He reached over and fixed one of your buttons. “Don’t speak to anyone unless I’ve told you to, or they speak to you first. Always address someone older as ‘sir,’ or ‘ma’am.” He pointed at your hair, and the Avox began to fuss with it, eventually covering it in a colorful wrap that Coriolanus said was popular right now. “Address someone our age by the last name and Mr. or Ms.”

When he was satisfied with your appearance, he sent the Avox away. You liked it better that way, it was one last reminder of the horrors in the Capitol, even for someone “privileged” like you. You’d only been without your father for 3 days, but you felt like your nerves were continually on fire. You wanted to go home. You wanted your family. You wanted out of this place.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

For now, you were still living in the small university apartment the Capitol had given your father. Coriolanus insisted on it, until he could figure out how to move you into his own sprawling apartment that he shared with his cousin, Tigris (who, at least, genuinely sounded lovely) and his grandmother, Grandma’am. She was the sticking point, or so you were told, with a thin smile. She hated Districts, and she ought to, he said. They killed her son. His father.

She would hate you, too. Even if Coriolanus wanted you enough to make you stay with him; wanted you enough to keep you. But for how long? And would he change his mind, if you couldn’t fit in?

He said your name, and you snapped yourself out of your thoughts. He held you by your shoulders. Gently. Like one would an unruly child that hadn’t yet learned that there were such things as salad forks and dinner forks, as polite conversation and etiquette.

You got the feeling you wouldn’t have long to learn all of those things and more, to make him happy.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re District. You’re here because the Capitol has recognized that your loyalty can benefit us in some way. Be grateful.”

“I am,” you said, reflectively.

“Be happy..”

“I am,” you said again, your chest hitching.

He smiled at you. Was it real or not real?

You smiled back, regardless. And he liked that, evidently, because he leaned forward and kissed you. Then he scrutinized your face and wiped at your lips with his thumb--the kiss had smeared your lipstick.

“Good.”

He gestured towards the open doorway. This time, he didn’t take your arm. There would be too many people lingering in the university hallways, all making their way to the soiree held to celebrate the end of this year’s Games and discuss what improvements might be made for the next year.

You dutifully walked behind him, just like he said. And you would do exactly what he said in all respects. You would stay quiet unless you were spoken to, you would certainly never bring up anything confrontational or controversial, and you would make a good impression. You would be a loyal, grateful District citizen who was given the opportunity of a lifetime thanks to the graciousness of Coriolanus Snow.

Of course you would.

Your life depended on it.

#yandere coriolanus snow #yandere hunger games #yandere #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes #/slaps trunk #this baby can fit so many references to the books & movie in it.#... well not SO MANY #but enough

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livelaughlovesubs · 9 months ago

Text

Incubus fyodor 1

Dom!priest!reader x sub!incubus!fyodor

Warning: pegging, CNC, against a wall, in a church lol, also taking virginity??

Sometimes I use strap, most of the time dick or whatever. Then anyone can feel included? Idk?

This was requested by 🍮 anon, like a loooong time ago. Gonna repost it now :> (was too lazy to do so but now that you are back-)

Fyodor was just wandering around, looking for his next victim. It was boring to keep staying at one place, he always craved something grandiose and better. One day he ended up at a church after going around town, he detested those places due to his nature. But then he saw you through the windows, a diligent priest working for god. Proud, hard working and kind. What a sight, you must have never known the pleasures of the flesh. Oh how he pitied you, guess he will just ‘enlighten’ you then~

The incubus was wandering inside the building, looking everywhere for you. Until he found you in the chancel, the sacred place. Perfect, let's see how sacred it will be after he defies god’s little helper. Protecting one’s innocence? How laughable.

Fyodor walked inside, wrapping his hands around you and holding you from behind. Hands running all over your torso, grinning in delight as he said, “come on, let's have a little fun~ I can fulfil all your fantasies...” before he could even react to it, you took hold of his hands, turning around and twisting them in the process. “aAHH-”he yelped, falling backwards and taking a few steps back, his body hitting the wall. Your hand pinning his wrists over his head, knee pressed against the wall in between his legs. He felt you apply pressure to his crotch.

The boy gritted his teeth, showing his fangs. "Are you a demon?" You asked nonchalantly, while he struggled against your strength. Fuck, why were you so strong? “Yea and? What, gonna exorcise me? Haha.” “An incubi probably, by the way you were touching me.” You came to that conclusion, not an ounce of emotion present in your voice.

Continuing on as if you didn't hear him, thinking for a second. “I suppose you wanted to feast on me?” He stared at you with a skeptical look, why did you seem so interested? Before he got the chance to ask you, you commented, “I'm sorry that you were born this way, having to rely on such sinful acts to survive.. what a pitiful being.” “What, oh no you are the pitiful thing here, I bet you don't know what pleasure is, all because of some prideful faith. Want me to teach you?” Fyodor said cheekily, grinning as he looked up at you, his knees bend slightly due to the position.

“Don't get me wrong, I don't detest your kind. God has taught us to accept anyone. In fact, i’d be willing to help you, so that you don't need to bother other innocent souls. It's the duty of a priest.” He didn't understand what you were hinting at, for him you were talking garbage. “You aren’t going to seal me or anything?” The demon was genuinely confused, you want to help him? Why? “No need to fear anything, I'm sure you have experience in this field after all.” Next thing he knew you turned him around, his back arching like a crescent moon. “What are you…” suddenly you pulled his pants down, exposing his plum butt. “Huh?! wha-" poor him, that incubus was super confused now, this can't be what he thinks it is right?

Seems like his worries came true, it was what he feared, he knew when he felt your tip press against him. “Hu-huh? Wait a second..! I-I thought you were...” “I've learned many ways to deal with succubus or incubus, don't worry I'm quite experienced too.” Then you entered him, yearning a surprised moan from the male. “Ahh..!” Fingers desperately gripping the wall, looking for anything he can clench onto, eyes looking back and trying to understand the situation. He was getting… topped? By a priest nonetheless??

Him? Up until now he has only ever been on top. What experience, this is his first! Fyodor felt another push from you, the strap slowly driving into him. “You are so tight... ah, what's your name?” “Why do you care, pull it out!” “I'm sorry, I can't do that.” “Why?!” “Because I have to subdue you first, to make you submit.” Your voice was serious as you said that, pushing more of your dick inside him. “UgHh! Slo-slow down...gentle, gentle! Ah, hu-hurts..” the boy whined now, crying softly as his dick twitched in excitement. “Oh? It is your first? Maybe you aren’t as dirty as I thought.” Still using the same emotionless voice as before, you kept unintentionally leave snarky remarks behind. All while your free hand collected the slick around his rim, covering the toy with it.

“So wet already, more than many others of your kind.” Were you mocking him? He wanted to insult you, if only the dick wasn't making his mind go blank. “Ahh...you, I won't-mhm! Fo-forgive you.” “I don't need your forgiveness, only gods.” You said, before starting to move and trust into him. Then you explained, “in order to excuse this sin I had to commit due to your existence, we will have to work hard to beg for forgiveness.” “AhHh! Ah-aHh.ah. Oh-uhh..uhm! Nghh..!” Each trust was paired with whimpers or a moan. Cute squeaking sounds escaped him, face and shoulders flushed red and figure covered in sweat now. His filthy fluids were running down those slim and shaky legs, eyes rolling into the back of his head. What was he doing, didn't he plan on fucking you at first? So how was he getting dicked down now. It was still too hard to comprehend. Yet it felt so good.. it was melting his brain, he has never felt anything this amazing before.

“Such inappropriate noises you are letting out, i guess you are enjoying yourself?” The hand which you used to collect his slick was now on his hips, holding him in place since he kept trying to wriggle his way out, trying to escape those blissful sensations. “Ah..wait..ah-Uhm! This is..no-no good..stop aHh!” He whispered, shortly after tears started rolling down his blushing face. You only picked up your pace, going faster and rutting into him roughly, sometimes you'd brush against his prostate which made him cry out even more. “Ah-aAhhH! OOHh! I'm c-close.. m’gonna cu-cum.” Fyodor breathed out, his entire being quivering in pleasure. This was heaven. Don’t get him wrong, he knew nothing of heaven but this is how he'd imagine paradise to be like. He was filled with pure ecstasy, it was damn addicting and he doesn't think he will ever get over it.

“You have to beg for forgiveness, and to excuse your pathetic self.” You whispered into his ear. Like a spell he couldn’t disobey, he immediately began pleading with.. whom? God? You? Ugh.. to think he had come this low. “AhhHhAA!! ohHh! For-forgive meHHnghh~..!!” His release came in torrents, coursing through his veins and making his legs go weak. He felt so helpless, so exposed and vulnerable with you. And it was the best feeling he has ever experienced, never in his life did he knew something like this was possible. Those noises were filled with desire and longing, loud and clear as he painted the wall white, “aAhHahhhH~!” A shudder ran down his spine, hole clenching down onto you.

The slick was all the way down to his knees now, and he was still lost in subspace. Guess the climax was pretty intense, rendering him to such a whiny mess. You weren't sure if he could understand you, but you tried it anyway. “So, may I inquire the name of you pitiful thing?” There were no answers, only breathy whines and pants. Eventually he gasped out his name meekly, mumbling, “fyo-fyodor…” After blinking a few times, you leaned down to his ear and uttered in a seductive, as well as sadistic voice. This was the first time he heard your tone change. “I'm going to keep you here, so that you wont cause troubles for others. You don’t mind being my pet fyodor, isn’t that right?” And you let go of him after finishing your sentence. Hands leaving his body. Ahh..another shiver travelled down to his core, how could he ever refuse such an enticing offer? Without your help, his legs finally betrayed his body as he crashed down onto the ground. Sitting there looking all ravaged while a sticky white puddle formed beneath him. Fyodor looked at you over his shoulder while panting heavily, tongue hanging out from his blushing face like a dumb little pet.

Part two

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revelboo · 2 months ago

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what is your worst "hear me out" for transformers? mine is tarantulas like a spider in irl hell no… but a big robot spider thats hot

Probably Tarantulas (I love his Earthspark design) or IDW Waspinator.

I read Windblade for Metroplex lore and it reminded me of this messed up, fatally gullible mech that is everyone’s punching bag and just knows it.

Worker Bee

IDW Waspinator x Reader

• Dragging his broken body, his alt mode scrabbles for purchase in the leaf litter. It’s hard to focus on much besides the pain and finding somewhere safe to hide and heal. He’s not even sure what he did, only that Skywarp had pointed at him right before Megatron went ballistic on him and the two other Decepticons that had been close by. Maybe he had done something wrong. He must have. “Waspinator’s fault,” he rasps, antenna flicking because there’s light up ahead, a building where he’ll be out of the snow just beginning to fall. Leaving the tree line, he drags himself inside, legs scrabbling and knocking over a metal can that clatters as it goes rolling and he collapses on the straw inside. So tired, burrowing in.

• Looking up from your book at the noise, you groan because the raccoons are back and they’ve tipped over the trash can. It’s late and you just want to ignore it and deal with it in the morning, but there might be garbage strewn across the yard by then. Standing, you tug on a coat, grab a flashlight, and a rifle just in case it’s a bear, not cute little trash pandas raiding your garbage. You’d left the barn door open apparently and you find the can turned over, but its contents not scattered everywhere. Maybe the sound scared them off? Setting the gun down, you right the can and turn as something shifts within the hay, rising slowly to tower over you.

• There’s a human with a weapon. Here to hurt him, because everyone does. They always do. It hurts to transform and reach for the human, but his injuries throw him off balance and he crashes down, knocking the little organic sprawling with him. And you’re screaming at him, your fear jangling through him making him curl forward, servos over his head. Waiting for a blow that doesn’t come. “Not hurt Waspinator?”

• Hyperventilating as the monster lifts its big head slightly, you can’t even scream. Voice overlayed with slow buzz, the thing had spoken. It’s gigantic, seizing your ankle when you try to crawl away and dragging you back, looming over you. All you can do is hold up your hands in supplication as those awful mandibles work and those glowing optics stare. “Don’t hurt me.”

• This is new. Someone afraid of him? It should make him feel powerful to be the one feared for once, but it just makes him oddly ill. Sitting up and gingerly touching the wound in his torso sluggishly bleeding energon, he makes a buzzing click of his mandibles. “No hurt,” he says as you scramble to your hands and knees to put some distance between you. “Already hurt,” he adds tiredly, and you hesitate in your retreat. Staring at the energon welling through his servos. You take a hand through your hair, expression twisting.

• All you have to do is run like hell. That thing, Waspinator it had called itself, is hurt too badly to chase you. But there’s something about its defeated tone that makes you feel guilty. This isn’t your problem. Big and scary was already hurt when he crashed in your barn. So why do you go over to the workbench and retrieve a roll of duct tape? He hisses at you, rearing back when you try to touch him and you freeze. “Cut that out,” you snap and his antenna flatten back. Not hurt Waspinator? You’d guessed with the way he’d worded that question that maybe he’s used to being hurt. That he’d fold if you acted aggressive and you were right. It’s unsettling to see a giant, metal death bug cringe like a puppy being scolded. But he doesn’t make a peep as you find the hole in his metal side and gingerly tape the leaking lines, trying to not think too closely on what you’re touching or that your hands are inside him rooting around. “Waspinator, right?” The way he’s just staring down at you with those wide glowing optics just cements in your head that he’s a big, really ugly puppy.

#transformers x reader #waspinator #Waspinator x reader

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lvlybin · 26 days ago

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✶ is it new year's yet?

summary ༝༚༝༚ … ZB1 as your New Year’s Eve kiss

reactions ! ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა ۫ ੭̲ 제비스 x 𝓯!reader ⊹ ( library )

爱 ࿁ ⠀ ˚⠀ warnings … kissing duh, alcohol & drinking, mentions of sex, mentions of social anxiety, they’re at a club in gyuvin’s part, not proofread

✉️ happy one week since new year’s! lol I wanted to post something cute that was new year’s related so I whipped this up really quick. sorry that it’s so late from the actual holiday >_<

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓙iwoong ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

The winter air is sharp as you step out onto the balcony. To keep yourself warm, you wrap your arms around your bare arms, wondering why you hadn’t worn a warmer dress to this New Year’s event. In your defense, you hadn’t planned to stay this long. It was supposed to be one quick drink, saying hello to everyone, and then back to your apartment. But then you’d realized Jiwoong was there.

It’s not like you would admit it to anyone, but you’d stayed for him. The two of you had been growing closer throughout the year and after the short winter break from work, you were desperate to spend a little more time with him. As if the texting hadn’t been enough. “Getting some fresh air?” God, even the sound of his voice was enough to have your heart racing. You glance back to watch him exit onto the balcony as well.

He looked so good in a suit. “It’s stuffy in there,” you say, rubbing your hands over your bare skin as you smile at him. Jiwoong doesn’t hesitate to slip off his suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you can even protest and the scent of his cologne surrounds you. “Thank you,” you whisper and he nods once.

“It looks like it’s about to snow,” he mentions, and, oh for fuck’s sake, he’s talking about the weather. You laugh and he looks over at you with a smile of his own. You suck in a small breath, the cold making your nose sting as he shifts closer to you. Both of you stand next to the glass railing, looking over the bright lights of Seoul as each person waits for midnight to strike. “YN,” Jiwoong says, snapping you out of your daze.

You try to keep yourself from sounding too hopeful, “Yes?” Jiwoong opens his mouth to say something, only for a particularly loud firework to go off in the distance. You jump slightly, in surprise, and Jiwoong moves to settle you by placing his hands on your waist. The touch makes your body warm despite the cold. “Must be midnight.” Another firework, and for a moment, you watch as the glittering gold fizzles out in the dark sky against small snowflakes.

Jiwoong’s eyes flick down to your lips for a fleeting moment before they return to your eyes. “Happy New Year, YN.”

You were tired of waiting. Raising on your toes slightly, you press a soft kiss to his lips, enjoying the look of surprise on his face as you pull away. You like the grin that follows after even more. “Happy New Year, Jiwoong–” You barely get his name out before his lips are back on yours.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗ao ﹙𝔃.﹚ㅤ

“I am never hosting again,” you grumble as you finish wiping down the kitchen counter of your apartment, “Didn’t know our friends were such animals.” Hao’s laugh is loud from his spot in the living room where he’s picking up a few cups. You mentally thank your past self for not letting them stay all night, a few hours was clearly enough for them to do plenty of damage.

“We just got done with finals. They’re just blowing off some steam,” Hao says as he walks into the kitchen holding a garbage bag. You pout as you glance at the bag.

“I can’t believe Matthew broke that lamp, it was one of my favorites.” Hao coos softly at your complaint, setting the bag down. With your arms crossed over your chest, Hao places his hands on your shoulders to press a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll buy you another one.”

“No, you’ve gotten me enough Christmas presents already–”

“Then consider this a New Year's present.” You give Hao a pointed look as he pulls away. His thumb comes up to brush over your bottom lip. “None of that. You can’t stop me from spoiling you.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, “Well there goes my New Year’s resolution.” Hao laughs again and your heart flutters at the sound. His arms wrap around you and he rests his chin on the top of your head. Slowly, the embrace causes the rest of your annoyance from having to clean up your apartment to melt away. He just had that effect on you–making everything feel okay.

Your relationship with Hao was hard to classify. He’d been your best friend ever since you started university, but it didn’t take long before it grew into something more. Something deeper. Now, it was a weird space between dating and not dating. You hated the word situationship, so you refused to call it that. Honestly, you were just waiting for the day when one of you forgets that you haven’t made it official and just starts calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

“It’s midnight,” Hao whispers into the quiet atmosphere of your kitchen. And he’s right, you can hear fireworks going off in the distance. Pulling away from him a little, you glance back over your shoulder at the clock on your stove. Sure enough, it reads midnight. But when you turn back to Hao, you’re met with his lips on yours. It’s just a soft kiss, his lips pressing to yours for a few moments before he pulls away. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “But you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

But you do. Grinning, you use your grip on his shoulders to pull yourself back up to his lips. Your tongue slips into his mouth, swirling with his as Hao’s hands trace two paths down your sides to grip your waist. The two of you are out of breath by the time you separate again. “That was the New Year’s present I wanted.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗anbin ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

Your boyfriend was such a genius. And while you knew he was romantic, this was by far the best surprise he’d ever planned for you. A small sigh escapes you as you settle into the hot tub, pine trees and a thick blanket of snow surrounding the cabin he’d rented for the two of you over the holidays.

“C’mere, baby,” Hanbin’s soft voice meets your ears as you sink further into the hot water, half swimming and half walking over to where he’s sat. The sight of his whisker dimples makes your heart melt as he helps you onto his lap, jets bubbling around you both to soothe your muscles. “Good temperature?”

“It’s perfect,” you reassure. “This is exactly what I needed after skiing all day. God, I love how your mind works.” Hanbin laughs and you absentmindedly trace your thumb over the tattoo that rests between his collarbones.

“Wanting to see my girlfriend in a bikini and having her to myself for a few days is hardly genius.” You shake your head in disagreement. Snow falls lazily around you both, landing in his hair and yours as his ears turn a little red from the cold. Or maybe it was from having you in his lap. Hanbin had never really gotten used to that over the two years you’d been dating.

“Still.” You shift a little in his lap to reach for your glass of wine, taking a small sip before setting it back down. “Best New Year’s Eve ever. Best Christmas ever.”

Hanbin lets out a small Oh as he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you closely to him. “I try. Especially hard for you. And you know…” You hum in acknowledgment. “2025 is gonna be a big year for us.”

“Reallyyy,” you drag the word out a little as excitement rushes through you. You have a feeling you know what he’s referencing, but you won’t say anything about it, knowing he likes to plan things his way. Particularly when it comes to surprises and definitely when it comes to you. Like this little getaway. It had been bliss waking up every day to him and a stunning winter wonderland. Going into the small town for shopping and dinners. Going skiing and ice skating. And now, ringing in the New Year in probably the largest hot tub you’ve ever seen.

The reflection of the blue water ripples across his face as he nods, steam rising off the surface from the temperature difference. “Really,” he breathes as he moves his hand to cup your cheek.

The kiss he pulls you into is soft and loving, like he’s trying to pour all of his affection into you through the one action. Playfully, his teeth nip at your bottom lip as he pulls away. “Happy New Year, baby.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓜atthew ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

The last thing you remember from New Year’s Eve was doing body shots with your roommate. It had been well before midnight when you blacked out. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you’d stayed up late enough for the clock to strike twelve.

Blinking harshly against the pounding behind your eyes, you peek your eyes open. Maybe it was the hangover but your bed felt softer than usual– this wasn’t your room. The walls were a shade darker, the bedding a deep gray, and all of the Pokémon characters and other figurines on the shelves were definitely not yours. You almost let out a small groan at the realization. Sure enough, when you glance down next to you, Matthew’s still passed out in his bed. He’s shirtless, and your heart drops along with your eyes and– Thank god. You’re not naked.

But this isn’t your shirt either. It’s Matthew’s. Which either meant that you’d stolen it last night while you were under the influence, you’d thrown up on the top you’d been wearing (which would be sad, you love that top), or certain activities had occurred the night before. Another rush of panic goes through you and your hangover is long forgotten as you reach to shake Matthew awake. “Matt!” He doesn’t stir for a moment, and you smack his bare shoulder softly. “Matt, wake up.”

He grumbles at that, his eyes peeking open a little and you imagine that he’s feeling the same way you are right now. Hungover and confused. “What?” he mumbles after a moment, his voice rough with sleep. It’s like he doesn’t even register the fact that you’re in his bed. Or maybe he does with the way he rolls over, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your stomach. The action makes you freeze. You were used to him being touchy but this? This was new.

“Why am I wearing your shirt?” Matthew hums at your words, but he doesn’t move.

“You wanted to sleep in it.”

“Please tell me we didn’t–”

“Have sex?” You hear him chuckle softly as he pulls away from your stomach to glance up at you. “Nah.” You let out a breath of relief and his brows furrow. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

You shrug, hands absentmindedly going to brush through his messy hair. “I remember doing body shots. That’s the last thing, though.” Matthew groans as he rolls onto his back.

“C’mere.”

“Sorry?” you say, voice filled with confusion. Your roommate just gestures for you to cuddle into his side. Hesitantly, you scooch over before laying back down, resting your head on his chest as he wraps an arm around you.

“Gonna have to remind you of our New Year’s kiss then,” he says before his lips meet yours.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓣aerae ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

Superstitions were never something you’d believed in before, but you figured this was at least worth a shot. After all, you were going to need some extra luck if you wanted to follow through with your plan to kiss Taerae in approximately two minutes. Glancing at the bowl of grapes in your hands, you slip under Taerae’s kitchen table and begin to eat.

Only four of the twelve grapes are gone when your best friend’s face appears over the edge of the table. “What’re you doing down there?” his gentle voice meets your ears as you swallow.

“Nothing,” you mumble, eating another grape. Taerae gives you a look before he moves to sit under the table with you as well. When he reaches for a grape, you slap his hand away. He lets out a small cry, but you know he’s just being dramatic. You would laugh if you weren’t running out of time to finish these grapes before it was the new year.

“It’s almost midnight,” Taerae says, watching as you continue stuffing your face with the fruit. “Seriously, what’s with the grapes?”

“It’s for luck,” you say between bites. “Eat twelve grapes under the table and you get luck for the twelve months of the new year.” Taerae laughs.

“And what do you need luck for?” Your face warms as you look down at the two grapes left in the bowl.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” One more grape left and as you reach to take it, Taerae beats you to it. “Hey!” you cry softly, setting the bowl down as he chews, fighting back laughter. “Now I have to go get another one–”

His large hands find your cheeks pulling your lips to his. He tastes like the grape he’d just eaten, and you’re sure you do as well. His tongue presses against yours as he coaxes your lips apart, deepening the kiss as the clock strikes midnight. When he pulls away, you subconsciously chase his lips, craving the feeling of his mouth on yours again. Taerae grins a little, giving you another small peck. “Is that what you needed luck for?”

Your face warms, and you’re sure Taerae can feel it from the way his hands hold your blushing cheeks still. “How’d you know?” you ask shyly.

“You’re more obvious than you think.” You laugh as you let your forehead fall to rest on his shoulder, both of you still crammed under the table. Taerae’s back was probably hurting, but he didn’t say anything about it. “And did you really think that I haven’t seen what sitting under the table means?"

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓡icky ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

One of Ricky’s favorite things about his relationship with you was that you were comfortable with staying in just as much as going out. And while you both loved your date nights out, it was usually him dragging you out to the restaurants or museums or wherever else you were going. This time though, you’d done the dragging to a scene that was definitely going to overstimulate you both.

With small apologies, you push past people in the crowd filling the streets of New York’s Times Square, hand firmly in Ricky’s as you pull him along with you. The bright lights hurt his eyes and there were so many people around that the cold air couldn’t even touch his nose. His grip on you tightens a little, too worried about losing you in the busy crowd. Ricky had to remind himself that he was doing this for you. That you’d wanted to see the ball drop since you were little and used to watch it on TV with your family.

“Come on!” you shout softly to him as you find a spot in the crowd to stand and watch. Ricky’s quick to wrap his arms around you from behind, protecting you from the way other people were shoving to try and get a better view of the ball before the New Year’s countdown began. You glance up at him. “You okay?”

“I’m okay as long as you are.” And it was the truth. While Ricky may not be the biggest fan of crowds like this, he would do it for you. The way the shining lights illuminated the excitement on your face was worth any kind of social anxiety he might feel. Besides, having you in his arms like this, smiling up at him made all of those worries go away.

“It’s starting!” you gasp softly as the people around you both begin the countdown. You’re quick to follow along, shouting the words like everyone else, and with a small chuckle, Ricky begins counting down as well. It’s like time slows as he watches your eyes, the glimmer of awe in them as you watch such a simple thing happen. It was adorable. He knew he should be watching the ball like you were, but he couldn’t take his eyes off your face even as the shouts of Happy New Year rang out around the streets. Confetti explodes from the top of buildings, raining down on the crowd and you tilt your head back to watch with a small giggle.

Your eyes meet his and somehow, your smile softens even more. Then, like the other couples surrounding you in the square, Ricky presses his lips against yours.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖yuvin ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

“D’you have a New Year’s kiss yet?” Were the first words you heard from the tall individual. You look up from your drink to the boy who approaches you as you sit at the table your friends had claimed at the club, expecting to tell off some ugly, egotistical douchebag. But the face that meets your eyes is anything but that. Fluffy brown hair falls over his chocolate-colored eyes as he smiles at you. Thank goodness you were sitting. If you were standing, you would’ve collapsed right into his arms at the sight.

“Me?” The boy laughs as he nods.

“Yes, you.” He offers you a hand. “I’m Gyuvin.” You give him your name as you take his hand. Being careful of your shoes, he helps you stand, and– Wow, he’s so tall. The top of your head barely meets his chin as his large hand grips yours.

“You’re offering your New Year’s kiss to a stranger?”

Gyuvin shrugs, grin never leaving his pretty pink lips. “Isn’t there a saying of how you give a kiss to who you want to spend the new year with?” Your eyes flutter and your heart probably does too.

“Yeah–” He cuts you off as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you a little as he carries you towards the dance floor. There are several bodies in the space already, moving to the beat as the seconds to the new year slowly count down. A small laugh leaves you as Gyuvin sets you down.

“Then consider this as me asking you out.”

“Well, you definitely get points for creativity…” you trail off as you wrap your arms around his neck. You have to stand on your toes a little to reach him, but you decide that it’s fine with the way his hands go to your hips. You could get used to this.

“Is that a yes?” You had a feeling you weren’t ever going to learn how to say no to him. So, you nod.

His body presses closely against yours as midnight draws nearer, almost drawing out the anticipation as all of his firm lines meet your softer ones. Your eyes never leave Gyuvin’s as you both mutter words to each other, already feeling strangely comfortable and at home despite meeting only a few minutes ago. What seals the deal, though, is how deeply he kisses you once the clock hits midnight. Gyuvin’s tongue doesn’t fight your lips open, having enough common sense not to try to make out with you in public (especially since it was your first kiss with him), but that doesn’t stop him from holding you even closer to him somehow.

And, yeah, this was the right decision, you conclude as he pulls away.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖unwook ﹙𝓹.﹚

Giggling softly, you cling to your boyfriend as he carries you like you weigh nothing more than a feather. Gunwook stumbles slightly, and you know it’s from the drinks he’s had. The drinks you’ve both had courtesy to your friend group and the little New Year’s Eve party they were throwing. If you concentrated enough, you could still taste the sparkling bubbles and tangy grapes from the champagne. But you didn’t want to focus on that. You wanted to focus on the boy whose arms were wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Wookie,” you laugh as he tucks his face into your neck, your back meeting the wall behind you with a small Thump. He mutters a gentle sorry against your skin, but you don’t really mind. The alcohol is making you giddy and it’s making Gunwook clingy. When he pulls away to look at you in the darkness of the hallway he’d taken you to, your vision clears slightly. His skin almost looks like it’s glowing, rosebuds of blush blooming on his cheeks and you lift your hands to cup his cheeks. “You’re so soft,” you mumble, squishing his cheeks so his lips stick out a little. Gunwook’s pretty brown eyes crinkle into half-moons as he laughs at your words.

He shifts your weight in his hands to lift you higher and you wrap your legs around his middle. As his large hands knead at the softness of your thighs peeking out from underneath your ridden-up dress, a small shiver goes through you. “I love you,” he whispers, lips finding your cheek. Then your forehead, then your nose, and finally, the corner of your mouth. “I love you sooo much–”

“Love you too, Wookie,” you whisper, letting go of his face to hold onto his broad shoulders. Distantly, you can hear your friends begin the ten-second countdown to the New Year. They aren’t bothering looking for either of you, because they know you’re exactly where you want to be: in the arms of the person you love the most. Gunwook presses his forehead against yours as you wait for the cheers celebrating 2025 to sound. But as soon as the number One is shouted, Gunwook’s lips are on yours. He’s quick to pry your lips apart, meeting your tongue with his as he kisses you deeply. You can feel him smile as the words “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” ring through the house. Yeah. This was the best way to ring in the New Year.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓨ujin ﹙𝓱.﹚ㅤ

“This is so embarrassing,” Yujin grumbles as the two of you continue down the driveway from your house. His parents wanted him back home by 12:15 and considering his house was a good fifteen-minute drive away from the friend's house you had been hanging out at, you were leaving a few minutes before the new year. The only problem? Yujin couldn’t drive.

Not that he couldn't, he just didn’t have his license yet, so you were stuck being his personal Uber. Not that you minded. He did though.

His hand grips yours, keeping them tucked in his coat pocket so you didn’t get too cold. “I swear, as soon as I can, I’m making an appointment so I can drive you around like you deserve.”

You giggle, “What? You don’t like being my passenger princess?” Your boyfriend groans, the breath that leaves him showing in the air from how cold it is outside. “Seriously, Yujin, I don’t mind driving you around.”

“But I do,” his small pout makes your heart melt. You weren’t sure how a person could be so adorable. “Makes me feel… I don’t know, less manly? Like I’m a child.”

“We are children,” you remind him, squeezing his hand in his coat pocket as your head falls to rest on his shoulder. “One of us is just a child that can drive–”

“Gosh, never mind,” he laughs and you smile a little, glad that he doesn’t take your teasing to heart. “It’ll be my New Year’s resolution. Being more of a stereotypical boyfriend.” You raise your eyebrows at that. The both of you are walking slower than you usually do despite it being cold, wanting to prolong your time together.

“And how are you gonna do that, hmm?” He looks at you, cheeks rosy from the chilly air and your eyes flick down to his lips for a moment.

“I’ll buy you more gifts.” You hum at the thought. “And… I’ll be more romantic,” he lists off his ideas as you begin to approach your car, stepping into the snow. It crunches under your feet as you walk toward the street. “But to start…” he trails off, your hands leaving his pocket as he stops in his tracks and you walk on. He pulls on your hands so you stumble back towards him, standing chest to chest. “I’ll do this.”

And then in a move that’s much bolder than you were expecting from your boyfriend, his lips press against yours. It must be midnight, you think to yourself before melting into the kiss, enjoying the feel of the soft movement of his mouth against yours. Your forehead rests against his as you separate to breathe.

Breathlessly, you nod. “Kiss me like that again, and I’ll never bring up you not having a license again.”

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uriekukistan · 6 months ago

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JJK 265: The Role of a Sorcerer

one of the focal points of jjk since the beginning has been the roles and responsibilities of jujutsu sorcerers. it's a question that gets thrown around a lot between different characters: as sorcerers, what is the right way to live? it's a driving force behind many of the major events of the story, and the cause of fragmentation, where different paths could have been taken, but weren't. and in one chapter, yuuji dismantles it all.

as much as i'd love to talk about this when it comes to every character, i picked a few that i think are interesting (to me) and carry a lot of weight throughout the story to discuss, including gojo & geto, megumi, yuuta, and, of course, the man of the hour, yuuji.

Gojo & Geto

the main difference between them right from the start is the way they view their roles as sorcerers, and this fragmentation influences their trajectories going forward, and the trajectory of jjk as a whole.

at the start, geto believes that his role as a sorcerer is to protect non-jujutsu sorcerers. as someone who is strong, he must protect those who are weak, and he must keep those who are also strong in check. he accepts this as his role without much question, and he takes it seriously.

in contrast, gojo thinks that idea is, well, garbage, and he argues with geto about it, calling him self-righteous for thinking that way. where geto focuses his concept of his role on those who are weak, gojo focuses his on those who are strong. his role is simply to be strong. he acts to get stronger and prove that strength.

another place where their opinions diverge in conceptualizing their roles as sorcerers is when it comes to finding meaning in their actions. where gojo doesn't think there needs to be meaning in their actions, geto disagrees.

ultimately, his search for meaning leads to his downfall, as he reaches the conclusion that being a sorcerer is a thankless job, cleaning up after and saving the humans from their uncontrolled cursed energy. he decides that sorcerers are the ones who need protection from humans, because they are subjected to the horrors that humans generate, while those humans live in ignorance.

meanwhile, as gojo matures, he doesn't ditch the idea that strength is what matters as a sorcerer, but he shifts his idea of role to raising a generation of strong sorcerers who can rely on each other. and ultimately, these leads to his downfall too. thoughts on this here under point 1.

regardless, their ideas of their roles are major driving factors of their decisions, and therefore the plot of jjk. their roles are what doom them to their respective fates.

Megumi

megumi has made damn sure we know what he believes his role is. he's a sorcerer, not a hero. he doesn't save people because he has to or because it's the right to do. he saves the people he wants to save. that's all.

he uses his conscience to decide who he wants to save, and that is his decided role.

and this is what dooms him too. his decision to save yuuji is what left him vulnerable to sukuna, and his desire to save tsumiki from the culling games left him open to be manipulated by yorozu, as she pretended to be his sister in order to take advantage of what megumi was willing to do so she could play her own version of the culling games. that shock and hurt is what let sukuna latch onto him so easily, and submerge his soul in the depths of his body.

Yuuta

yuuta decides that his role is to not let others be alone. of course, this is most notable when it comes to gojo, but it's shown throughout jjk0 as well, such as when he refuses to let inumaki go against the curse that geto planted alone.

he also expresses this to yuuji after he fake executes him. he makes sure yuuji knows that he isn't alone in his feelings, and that he's not to blame. empathy is one of yuuta's strongest traits, and he makes it his role.

this is why he is willing to go as far as taking gojo's body, because he knows how gojo has to toss aside his humanity to fight all of these special grade curses (for example, when he used his domain expansions while humans were around despite knowing it would cause damage to them), and he doesn't want him to be alone in his inhumanity.

and while yuuta isn't dead yet, his role has doomed him, because, well...

Yuuji

now we come to yuuji, the sorcerer who shakes this concept to its core in jjk 265.

he's someone who'd decided his role before he even became a sorcerer. he wants to help people, and he wants to guide them to proper deaths.

he also accpets his role as sukuna's vessel, and tries to maintain those two parts of his chosen role simultaneously. however, as we know, he fails to balance being sukuna's vessel and saving people in shibuya (i hesitate to use the word fail because it was not a failure of yuuji's, but i hope you know what i mean).

this causes a shift in his idea of his role, especially once megumi asks for his help in the culling games. he embraces this role as a cog. he will help out fushiguro, he'll help unseal gojo, and then he will die. that is his new role.

quote from yuuji in 265:

until recently, i thought i should simply live to fulfill my role as i understood it. i thought if i died like that, i could at least consider it a proper death. but now, i feel like that's not entirely right. ... just the tiny fragments of memories that make up a person drifting elsewhere give value to a human life. ... people aren't tools. we aren't born with any set roles

yuuji completely rejects the idea that people are defined by theid roles at all, whether they are jujutsu sorcerers or not. he sheds his mindset that he needs to help people, or give them proper deaths, or fulfill a role than die in order to be worth something. instead, he accepts the value of his life as a collection of all the things he's experienced and the people he’s known.

and in doing this, he shakes the world of jujutsu kaisen to its core, and creates another crack in the cycle.

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mindmelter · 1 year ago

Text

New Soldier Skin

Nick found it weird that the doctor was calling him again for a check up, he had done one early that month and they normally don't do twice a month. But he had no choice in the matter, he was just a soldier.

"I'm feeling perfectly fine doctor, there's no need for another check up, also I'm out of duty tomorrow"

"Nonsense, It's very important that we keep track of the health of our soldiers, now stand on the scale over there please. We just want to make sure that you are ready to return to your family, I bet you must be really excited right?"

"Yes I am, Doctor, It's been a long time, can't wait to see my wife and kids back at home" He said getting on the scale.

The doctor's friendly expression changed drastically once Nick was standing on the scale with his back to him, now the doctor had a blank and emotionless expression. The doctor walked to his laptop on his table and pressed a key.

"My wife can't wait to see me back at home, and the kids are really...huh?" The soldier looked down at his feet confused, he could feel the scale vibrating beneath his feet, he tried to take his feet off the scale but he couldn't, his feet were stuck to the scale like a magnetic force was pulling them down "That's weird, I can't pull my feet off the scale, doctor?"

"Thank you for your service, Nick" It was all the Doctor said before pressing another key on the laptop.

"What? What is..." Before Nick could finish, he felt a strong electric shock run up from his feet and spread to the rest of his body, he could feel every cell in his body being hit by the eletrical charge. His body became rigid and he grunted for a few seconds, but then the humming of the scale stopped and he fell to the floor completely hollowed out. His hollow head on the floor with smoke coming out of his orifices.

The Doctor looked unfrazed at the lifeless bodysuit on the floor, actually, he looked even bored with the whole event.

"You can come out now, your new skin is ready" The doctor said and then the door opened and a humanoid alien entered the room. The white humanoid alien was wearing a visibly worn out and torn open human skin, it was very damaged with holes and scratches, and was also missing half the face, under the skin it displayed the alien true form, a white gelatinous goo.

"It was a shame that your last human skin was damaged in battle, you're always so careless with your skins. The General was furious." Said the Doctor.

"I know, I will be more carefull this time" The Alien said looking at the skinsuit lying on the floor, suddenly his true white form started to melt, hollowing out his current damaged skin, his gelatinous form crawled on the floor in the direction of Nick's skin and started to enter through the holes in his head, mouth, eyes, nose, ears, soon the hollow body of Nick started to inflate and gain life, Nick's flat muscles started to get bigger to their full power. The alien was filling every part of Nick with It's slimy form, filling it like a balloon.

After a few seconds he stood up in his new human body, Nick's eyes were completely white with the gelatin alien body underneath, but they quickly started to turn into normal human eyes, now identical to Nick's eyes.

"Do you have any new assignments for me Doctor?"

"No, actually this was his last week of service before his break, you're going back to his family tomorrow"

"Are you serious? It's so boring to pretend to be a husband and a dad, You know I like the action, I want to go into combat!"

"Sorry, but I'm just following orders from the General." The Doctor said grabbing the deteriorated human skin from the floor and looking at it with a disgusted expression. "This was your fourth skin only this year" The doctor then threw the human suit inside a garbage chut on the wall, then he closed it "That's why we chose Nick to be your next skin. The General thinks it's better for you to spend some time out of combat. I know It's not fun to have to pretend to be our skins, but I guess it will be good for you to relax a little, besides you don't have to act exactly like Nick, you just have to not act too much out of character"

"Is being fucked by men too out of character for this hunky skin?" The soldier asked with a devious smile, looking at the doctor with hungry eyes.

"As long as his wife doesn't find out..." The doctor said dropping his pants to the floor, exposing the jockstrap he was wearing.

They both started to make out as Nick groped and squeezed the doctor's big package. Nick dropped to his knees and lowered the Doctor's jockstrap and was in awe to what he saw.

"Wow, your skin is so freaking hung!"

"He used this thing on a lot of women, but I didin't used it in a long time"

"Fill it up, I want to see how big it when completely filled"

The doctor member started to inflate like a modelling balloon in a fraction of seconds.

Nick then started to suck it while he jerked his own hard member. A few minutes later Nick was lying on the doctor's table with his burly legs up being roughly fucked by the doctor's thick cock.

"How is my health, doctor?" Asked Nick with a grin while having his hole stretched by the doctor's big member.

"You're fine... really fine. You are free to go to your new family. Just don't forget to smile and say sentimental words when you see them, like how much you missed them"

______________________

Monthly Report:

Doctor, I'm having a blast in Nick's skin, you were right, I needed a break from all the action, I can have as much action in here with a body like this, I lost count of how many guys fucked me already. Apart acting like a gay slut in the shadows, his wife and kids don't even suspect their beloved husband and daddy is just a skin now. I guess I'm doing a good job as Nick.

End of report.

#bodysuit

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almostempty · 3 months ago

Text

the meet ugly (javier peña x f!reader)

WC: 1.6k | Other fics | Rating: it’s ? fluff? No smut

last one for today, sry for spamming anyone, it was an all-or-nothing scenario in my mind

Summary: your bad day gets worse when a trash bag spills on you. your neighbor javi tries to help but you both get stuck trapped with him and a dumpster.

Note: this was for the meet-cute, but i had to do something nobody asked for aka make it gross ??? it’s my clown blood idk

Tags/warnings: au modern javi lives in your apartment complex, description of cold leftovers from your garbage spilling on you, it’s just flirty peña idk it was an exercise for me to write something short and without smut, i’m assuming that dumpsters locked behind fences are relatable enough for all, no y/n, reader is able-bodied, all mistakes are mine just pretend like you didn't see them, i think that's all ty <3

You groan as you wrestle with the trash bags, their weight pulling on your arms while you trudge down the cracked concrete stairs. The holly bush at the bottom catches on your shorts again, its spiky branches scraping across your leg. Mocking you. You bite back a curse. The day has been a disaster from start to finish, and now you’re hauling half your apartment’s trash to the dumpster, trying not to lose your temper.

Why does this apartment complex even have holly bushes? It’s like someone got paid just to make everything as inconvenient as possible. Whoever designed this must have never experienced the luxury of hauling garbage bags between two overgrown defensive security bushes.

You’re still fuming about it, whoever designed this hellscape of an apartment complex, when you reach the gate for the dumpster. One of the trash bags, full of leftovers you’d rather not think about, digs painfully into your fingers. You adjust your grip, unaware the straining plastic is a ticking time bomb.

You trudge toward the dumpster enclosure, spotting your hot neighbor rounding the corner of his SUV, cigarette between his fingers. Of course, he would be out here to witness your personal walk of garbage shame.

He glances up, and you catch the moment his dark eyes land on you. His gaze sweeps over the bags, then to your face, a smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say anything, but his look is enough to make your face hot.

Damn him.

"Rough day?" he asks as you approach the dumpster, his deep voice laced with amusement.

"You could say that," you mutter, already feeling defensive. He’s really the last person you want to see while you’re sweaty and cranky.

With a huff, you push the gate open and step into the dumpster enclosure, tossing the first couple of bags into the bin. The smell is overwhelming, but you just want to be done with it. You lift the last bag, but just as you hoist it up, the thin plastic rips apart, and cold, week-old pad thai leftovers land on your chest, feet, and everywhere but the dumpster.

You freeze, mortified. Of course.

Before you can even process what just happened, you hear boots scuff against the pavement. Javier’s already hustling over, cigarette still between his fingers, that damn smirk still in place.

"Need a hand?"

"I’ve got it," you snap, despite the fact that you aren’t moving. Unsure what’s going to make the situation any worse.

It’s hard to focus on the mess when he’s standing so close. His presence makes your embarrassment worse. Like, you could climb into the dumpster yourself and wait until the garbage truck picks you up on Thursday and takes you away.

"You sure about that?" He doesn’t move to help—just watches you with a look that’s far too amused for your liking.

"I’m sure," you grumble, tossing the ruined bag into the dumpster. "I don’t need your help." You commit to the mess, peeling cold noodles off of your chest and tossing them into the bin. You frown deeply, fishing out the leftovers that made it down your shirt. The smell and the texture make you nearly gag.

Javier steps closer, chuckling under his breath. "Right. Because you’ve got everything under control."

You glare at him, wiping your hands on your already-ruined shorts. “I think you’re a little late to be a hero. I’m already wearing the leftovers.”

"Never said I was a hero," he replies smoothly, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Just trying to be neighborly."

As you turn to face him, the gate behind him swings shut with a loud clang. He tries to shove it open, but it doesn’t budge. His expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker of realization in his eyes.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “We’re stuck?”

He tugs at the gate one more time before turning back to you, that smirk still in place. "Looks like it."

You stare at him, your frustration mounting. "You aren’t even going to apologize? How are you calm about this?”

Javier shrugs, leaning back against the gate and taking a long drag of his cigarette before acknowledging your question. He’s like the opposite of an anti-smoking campaign. You want to be the cigarette.

"Not my fault the gate’s a piece of shit. And I’m not in a hurry."

"You closed it," you counter, flustered and looking for someone to blame.

But even as you glare at him, you can’t help but notice how infuriatingly attractive he looks, the way his leather jacket pulls tight over his shoulders, the way his dark eyes glint with amusement.

Javier catches your gaze and quirks an eyebrow. "You’re staring."

You roll your eyes, heat flooding your face. "I’m not."

"You are." His voice is low, teasing, and the way he looks at you—like he knows exactly what he’s doing—is making it harder to keep your composure.

You step back, trying to regain control of the situation and you catch him laughing to himself.

“I really don’t see what could be funny about any of this,” you wave your arms, gesturing to your ruined clothes and the small space you’re both trapped in.

“Could be worse ways to spend the evening,” he drawls, taking a step towards you.

You pick another piece of rice noodle out from between your tits. “Yeah, like if the dumpster was on fire?”

You’re too aware of him. Of how his voice gets lower and rougher when he’s this close.

He chuckles, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. "I’ve been in worse places. With worse company."

You swallow hard. The way his eyes flicker over your face, how his smirk never fully fades–it’s maddening. He knows what he’s doing to you. It feels like a sick joke.

"Yeah?" you mutter, your voice sounding breathier than you’d like. "And what makes me such good company?"

Javi’s eyes darken, and he takes another step forward, close enough now that you could smell the leather of his jacket, the faint tobacco on his skin if it weren’t for the foul stench of all of half the apartment complex’s trash in the container behind you.

"You’re more fun to argue with."

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “Don’t fuck with me, Javier. I’m already having a day from hell.”

He gives you a pouty look that makes you want to scream. “Why would I be fucking with you?” he asks quietly, almost sounding hurt.

You snort, incredulous. “I’m wearing last week's lunch and the only clothes that weren’t in the laundry. Don’t act like you’re flirting with me.”

He steps closer until there’s barely any space left between you. His voice drops, smooth and dangerous. "What if I am?"

For a moment, you forget where you are.

“What if I think you look good? Even with a garnish?” he asks and pulls a piece of cilantro off of your cheek.

All you can focus on is how close he is, the way he waits like he’s daring you to make a move. There’s no way he’s serious. He rarely says more than a curt hello, even though you walk to your cars in the parking lot at almost the same time every morning as you head out for work. Sometimes, he’ll wave if you pass him on your walk to the corner store.

You only knew his name because of the time he caught you trying to drag a dresser you’d scored at an estate sale up the stairs to your apartment on your own. He’d helped you carry it, despite your protesting, all the way into your bedroom.

“I’d say you’re literally stuck in here with me for the foreseeable future, so of course you’d say that.”

He sighs heavily, muttering under his breath at you, “Tan terca.” And in a move that makes your jaw drop, he turns away from you, stalking towards the fence with a fluid arrogance. Like an oversized cat in a leather jacket, he leaps at the chain link fence like he’s done it a hundred times. He hoists himself up, swinging over the top and dropping onto his feet on the other side.

He’s grinning at you when he unlatches the gate and swings it open, but you snap storming towards him. “How long were you gonna wait to let us out?”

He shrugs, “I thought Randy would’ve been out for a smoke before we had to wait long. Don’t exactly enjoy having to climb over a fence.”

“Right.” You slip out of the gate with a thanks, but when he says your name, you feel like your whole body is drawn towards him.

He eyes you, leaning in just close enough to make your pulse race again. “And if I were to flirt with you now?”

“I’d question your judgment,” you point to yourself, “I’m still in desperate need of a shower.”

His eyes lift, looking just past you, before he grins.

“Oh my god,” you cut him off before he says a word, “were you about to tell me I could use your shower?”

Everything about his mockingly sheepish look says you are right. You shake your head at him in disbelief, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads on your face. It takes all of your strength to walk away but head towards your own apartment.

You make it to the top of the stairs before the sinking feeling hits. You deny it until you check the door for yourself. Of course. After everything that went wrong today, it only makes sense that you would lock yourself out of your own apartment.

You berate yourself all the way to his door. It swings open after the first knock, and he gives you a look that has your cheeks burning. His eyes gleam, and you just know he’s going to enjoy this before his smoky voice even reaches your ears.

“Changed your mind?”

divider @cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

#javier peña #javier peña x you #meet cute fic #javier pena x reader #javier peña narcos #javier pena fanfic #ppcu fanfic #javier pena fanfiction

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chososwifey24-7 · 5 months ago

Text

Rutheless

Yakuza boss sukuna x fem!reader

Cw: Nsfw, 18+, blood, death, kidnapping, swearing, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), pv penetration, mating press, consensual sex, no protection (reader is on birth control), cum eating, rough sukuna, aftercare.

Run. Breathe. Survive.

That's all you could do. The image of the tattooed man entering your house and beating your father to death. The cut on your side from one of his lackeys stung on your side and burned.

Where the hell would you run? Where the hell would you hide? They had seen your face. They had seen the fear, the pain, your face.

You could only assume your father got himself into more debt. Unpayable debt. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you continued to run. Labored breaths escaping you.

Legs giving out. That's all you felt as you fell to the concrete in the alleyway you were escaping through. You scraped your knees and your palm.

Gasping. Your lungs needed air. You needed to breathe! Why the fuck wouldn't your body cooperate?

You heard the footsteps before they saw or heard you. You pulled yourself behind a dumpster, a mouse scurrying across your foot. You wanted to scream, wanted to run, but where would you go? You'd be caught.

You heard their voices up and down the alleyway. They stalked it like predators. They sounded excited, excited to finally catch their prey.

You felt more blood seeping through your shirt. It couldn't be that deep of a gash, but through all the running and escaping, you had no time to put pressure on the wound to stop it from bleeding.

That's when you heard him. The man that had beaten your father to death and enjoyed it.

"Where the fuck did she go? You two were supposed to get her."

His voice was low, gravelly, haunting.

You could feel your chest rise and fall quicker and quicker as you heard the footsteps come closer and closer yet to the garbage can.

"We tried to Mr. Ryomen. That bitch is quick."

The other man laughed at his buddies words. He laughed obviously in agreement to the statement. That's when you heard the click of a gun.

"If you can't do something as simple as catching a damn brat, you aren't useful to me."

You tried to stay calm and quiet. You covered your mouth with both hands. Your phone was still at home. You could call anyone to save you.

"No, no, Mr. Ryomen, we'll find her, we swear."

The man quickly tried to beg for his life. Plead for this Ryomen guy to spare him. That he could do better.

"No need."

You heard Mr. Ryomens voice before you felt his hand ensnared in your hair. Your eyes widened. How the hell did he know you were there?

You tried to scream and kick and punch, but this man was strong. He snapped his finger, and the lackeys of his were on you zip, tying your hands and feet together.

"No, no! Stop!"

You screamed and tried to wriggle from the tattooed man's grasp. The man you know now as Mr. Ryomen.

He simply threw you over his shoulder and a car came around the corner.

"Ah, Uraume, right on time. Perfect."

You were thrown into the backseat of the car before being blindfolded. That's all you remember before being dragged into a basement and left there.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

It had been days. It must have been. They brought you food and water ever once in a while. That's how you tried to track the days tied to a chair.

Unfortunately, things began to blur together. Things became more dull, you knew you couldn't get out of this, so why were you trying?

That's what you thought until Mr. Ryomen came into the basement and cut the zip ties off of you. Your immediate reaction was to try to fight. To throw punches.

He easily grabbed your wrists and held you with a grin. That sickening grin.

"I see you still have some fight left in you. It's surprising, but I came here to talk, not fight."

He simply threw you to the side, your back hitting a cold concrete wall before you fell to your knees coughing.

"You see, your father died because he couldn't pay back his money, and he refused to do anything to even try. So we told him we would take you. Sell you off, maybe. I haven't quite decided yet,"

He began explaining as he stalked towards you slowly and intimidatingly. You couldn't even run away, your back was against the wall, literally.

"But you're so damn pretty I thought, why not just pay me back with your body. Yeah?"

He said as he kneeled in front of you and grabbed your chin roughly.

"Because that sounds more appealing to me."

He licked his lips and leaned in closer to you. His face was so damn close. His lips planted a kiss on your cheek before he grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back.

He chuckled to himself as he watched your tears stream down your face and your eyes closed tight. He took his other hand and wiped a tear from your face and cooed in a mocking tone.

"Oh, there there. There's no need to cry. I'll simply use you until your father's debt is paid back, then I'll send you on your way."

That's when your eyes met his and you bit your lip a bit.

"How much is my father's debt?"

He thought for a moment and then turned back to you with a glint in his teeth. His smile so damn bright, but so scary attention same time.

"I think it was somewhere around 500,000 yen. Quite a bit if you ask me."

Your jaw dropped. How were you supposed to pay that back off soon. The doubt began to creep in. You thought that maybe you could screw him for a few days and get out of here, but 500,000 yen! That was almost impossible to pat back soon.

He saw your facial expression and chuckled.

"3 months. Stay with me and let me do with you as I please for 3 months. After that, I will let you go."

His deal was intriguing, but 4 months, that was a long time. Could you honestly handle him? He wasn't bad looking, but he wasn't the person you'd want to spend the rest of your life with either.

You only had this option, though. You looked up at him in the eyes with determination. You didn't want to be sold off, so you'd chose the lesser of two evils.

"Fine. 3 months. I'm all yours."

The glint in his eyes seemed even more evil than it did the first day he had caught you.

"Alright. Since I can do whatever I want with you, why wait. Let's get your debt repayment started."

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

That's how you fou d yourself on your knees in sukunas room on your knees in front of his aching cock.

It was huge, and he wanted you to fit all of that in your mouth? There was no way. You leaned forward, though. After all you did tell him yes.

Your tongue gently licked the underside of his base, and he groaned deeply. You got to his tip and began to gently suck on it before going down on him a bit more.

"Oh fuck. Keep going."

He said as he tried to push your head down a bit. You were sucking him off, and he was loving it. Your mouth was addicting.

After thrusting into your throat and making you gag, he came.

"Swallow it."

Tears rolled down your face from his roughness, but you listened to him. Swallowing it, you looked at him and stuck out your tongue.

"Oh fuck, good girl. Now, up on the bed, I'm not done with you yet."

You did as he said once again and got up on the bed laying on your back and spreading your legs.

He whistled lowly as he took his fingers and ran them ul and down your folds, collecting your slick before roughly shoving them in you. You let out a scream before he began to finger you.

The pain slowly melted into pleasure and you were a whimpering mess on his finger.

"Ah, Mr. Ryomen, oh, please! I'm gonna cum!"

You screamed out, and before that knot could break, he pulled out his fingers and began to suck them clean.

"Mmm, you taste divine. Ilm have to save that for another day, but right now I want you cumming on my cock."

He strocked himself once, then twice, then lined himself up with your entrance.

You squirmed a bit before he shoved himself into you. Your mouth opened in a silent scream before his lips met yours in a hot teeth and tongue make out.

His thrusts were hard, rocking your entire body and the bed. He pulled away from the kiss and growled lowly as he continued.

"Are you in the pill?"

He asked as he thrusted a bit quicker as he was approaching his high.

"Ah, yes, yes. I'm on the pill."

You manage to get out in between thrusts. After those words left your mouth, he was grabbing your legs and pushing them to your chest in the meanest mating press ever.

Your moans became more high-pitched, and his thrusts picked up to an almost inhumane speed. You both were getting close.

Your hands moved to his shoulder and gripped them tightly. Your vision going white and his thrusts stilling as you both came together. His hit seed filling you and feeling weird.

You laid there for a second coming down from your high, and you couldn't help but admire his tattoos. You lazily took a finger and began to trace over them. He hummed gently and let you.

You groaned as he pulled out of you and left you to run to his bathroom and run a bath.

Soon, he came back to you and picked you up bridal style. Another groan leaving your lips, your lower abdomen hurting a bit.

He slowly set you down in the warm water before getting in behind you and holding you close to him.

Your eyes were fluttering closed as his chest met your back. This felt better than the sex itself. Being taken care of.

His arm wrapped around your chest and pulled you closer to him. He gently bit your ear before whispering to you.

"Get some rest, I'll carry you to bed if you fall asleep because both know this is far from done."

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Tag list

@yandere-stories

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jellicatty · 6 months ago

Text

❝ THE OTHER WOMAN ₊˚ ❞

A tale of an unfortunate woman— cursed with a lonesome life, pouring all of her love to a wretched and unfaithful man.

╰┈➤ contains : sukuna x female reader. cheater! sukuna. toxic relationship. other woman is mean. written in other woman's pov. third pov. sfw-ish. angst.

╰┈➤ note : unedited because this was from my archives + wrote this two years ago lol. this fic is inspired by Lana del Rey's The Other Woman ! I loved the song so I used it for some inspo hini >____<

Oh, other woman, how lonely you must be.

The other woman has time to manicure her nails

The other woman is perfect where her rival fails

And she's never seen with pin curls in her hair, anywhere.

She’s fresh from the boutique; luxury draped around her form. From head to toe, was the old money of the famous businessman— Sukuna Ryomen. Pride swelled on her chest at the sight of measly women with their cheap brands. She felt perfect amongst the sea of the low-cost. Though among piles of garbage, hidden jewelry resides.

Her eyes held the usual disgust and her ego stood tall, yet the doubts at her head fought for their lives. Face to face, was the wife of her beloved. She looked so spent, her beauty slowly fading with the times. They acknowledged each other’s presence as poor Y/n thought of her as a very lovely woman.

The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume

The other woman keeps fresh cut flowers in each room

There are never toys that's scattered everywhere

The flower endured even the harshest of her tenor.

Suddenly, the woman’s sour mood turned sweet, her eyes scanning the bags and bags of expensive jewelry. But all of it didn’t matter to her. The woman in love quickly searched for the concealed letter, her heart fluttering once touching the rough, sealed paper.

And she read it, repeated it, hated it.

It was unfair.

How unfair it was for her to receive only letters. His touch, lonely woman yearned for his touch. Gritting her teeth, the woman let anger control her until red no longer consumed her body.

Amongst the ripped bags, was the other woman who desperately called for his love. But the woman knew he was busy with his own children, tending to them with his pitiful spouse, surrounded by numerous toys and annoying cries of her own devil spawns.

And when her old man comes to call

He finds her waiting like a lonesome queen

'Cause to be by her side

It's such a change from old routine

Most would run away with fear in their eyes once taking a quick look at his monstrous stature. But, her love clouded her mind. Instead of fear, it was adoration— heart erratic at his predator-like stare.

“Sukuna, my darling, how are you-”

“Who told you to speak?”

His words were enough to make her obediently follow. She was such a pet for him; all nice and loyal. To her, no action can be enough of a sign that love was not present. She was too far gone in her own fantasies. Too far gone in imagining his eyes lit up the same way hers do.

Although his eyes do shine, they do so with an obviously evil haze to it. His malicious intent clearly displayed within his cold gaze, and only a fool would ignore them.

But, the other woman is a fool.

A fool for offering herself to a man.

She didn’t question his order any further, only getting straight to undressing herself in front of his dark gaze. Used woman was useful, she served as his distressor, an enjoyment inside his boring life. No children, no toys, no cries, no demands, no complaints, no questions asked.

Between them was no love, only entertainment. Because to be by her side, is a change from his old routine.

Clueless woman thought otherwise.

But the other woman will always cry herself to sleep

The other woman will never have his love to keep

Other woman, why can't you just see?

His love was not yours, it never was.

His steel eyes will never search for yours. No rough hands will grasp your body tonight, for it will only be against his darling’s plush skin. His attention will not be at your seducing red gown or the skin that showed. His focus will only be on his darling’s enhanting dress that showed their uneven curves and cured insecurities.

Is it clearer now? Now, when Y/n's form is tightly pressed against Sukuna's, looking at you with those eyes? While their bodies slowly dance under the dim lights? Oh, she knows. Their gaze at you is unsettling, full of hatred for claiming what’s not yours.

And as the years go by the other woman

Stop dancing on the bridge. There’s no one beside you.

Will spend her life alone

You fell? How pitiful. No imagination can save you now.

Alone

The only cure for loneliness is death, right?

Alone

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryomen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #| 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐘 (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

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likeshipsonthesea · 9 months ago

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you make me

bucktommy ficlet. had a convo about love. had some feelings. gave them to buck. enjoy~

The entire loft is soaked in the hazy blue light of pre-morning. Buck can hear the mechanical thrum of garbage collectors, a handful of singing birds, quiet but steady breathing. His body is sore, from work and then from Tommy, a satisfying reminder of a yesterday well spent. Everything is warm and soft like Saturday morning, even though he's fairly sure it's Tuesday.

The clock on his bedside table tells him it's much too early to get up for a Tuesday, so he turns over to get comfortable and ends up face to face with Tommy's sleep-slacked expression.

Buck watches him in that way that's only creepy if you're not in love. Takes note of his eyelashes resting against the tops of his cheeks, his lips shadowed by the slant of his nose, how the dawning daylight catches on the angles of his face. He wants to touch, but not enough to disturb the serenity of sleep on his boyfriend's face.

Eddie tells him he says that a lot. My boyfriend. "We all know his name," Eddie says, tone harsh but a creeping smirk giving away the joke.

When Buck brought it up with Dr. Copeland, she asked him why he thinks he says it so much, but it was towards the end of their session so they didn't really get into it. Buck thinks it's probably something to do with his self-image problems, or maybe his abandonment issues? Dr. Copeland's better with the answers than he is.

Calling him Tommy is fine, but saying my boyfriend says my meatless lasagna needs more starch just reminds Buck that Tommy's his and, even more novel, Buck is Tommy's.

Buck likes being Tommy's boyfriend.

Tommy's boyfriend knows Tommy's coffee order, and drops it off along with a savory treat for him at the start of a long shift. Tommy's boyfriend always knows exactly where Tommy left his blue-light glasses and grabs them before they head to bed so Tommy can read another chapter of the cheesy historical fiction novel on his tablet. Tommy's boyfriend is the one Tommy goes to after a hard shift, to talk to or hug or just sit in the same room with until the rest of the world is less heavy.

As Tommy's boyfriend, Buck is still all the things he was before--firefighter, brother, friend--but knowing there's someone who trusts him enough to sleep beside him and let him stare at their face like a creeper in the early hours of the morning--there's this unfathomable freedom to it.

It's like--if Tommy loves him, he must be worthy of it. It's a truth and a prophecy, self-fulfilling. It's this ever-turning cycle that bolsters Buck to be the best version of himself, and none of it feels like work because it's all tangled up with joy.

"How long have you been staring at me?"

Buck startles out of his internal monologue to find Tommy's left eye open. The right is buried in his pillow along with the lifted corner of his mouth.

"Probably a little too long," Buck admits, staring fixedly at that corner of Tommy's mouth.

Tommy's lips part to release a sigh before settling into a smile. "Evan. Go back to sleep."

"In a minute."

Tommy shifts closer on the pillow, his nose nudging Buck's, his morning breath awful and his eyes so close Buck thinks their eyelashes might tangle. "You worked a 24-hour shift yesterday. You need to sleep. You can stare at me tomorrow."

"Promise?"

Tommy brushes their lips together. "Promise."

Buck finds Tommy's hand between them and laces their fingers together. "Alright," he says, settling back into the mattress and letting his eyes shut as he brings their hands to his sternum. "Tomorrow."

#bucktommy #kinkley #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck #9-1-1 #my writing #sort of fic #ficlet #look i have a lot of feelings okay #also have no idea how to tag this for the ship names #do i now wanna write a 20k fic where buck contextualizes himself #using/in terms of tommy's love for him?#perhaps #u couldn't prove it tho #also yes it's 3am we don't need to talk about it

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bloodyserratus · 1 year ago

Text

get fucked

pairing: toji x fem!reader x sukuna word count: 4.1k synopsis: toji & sukuna fuck the living daylights out of you... themes/warnings: pwp, smut, MDNI, threesome, piv, degradation, praise, double penetration, oral, fingering...this is pretty explicit. they're both huge... i feel like they're both kind of ooc.

“Miss us?” Toji sneered as he stepped out in front of you, intersecting your path.

“Can’t say I did, Fushiguro,” you smiled sarcastically at him. The dark-haired male towered over you, lips turning down at the corners.

“That’s too bad,” his partner in crime, Sukuna, chuckled as he appeared behind you.

“What do you want?” you sighed.

These two had been bothering you for a couple of weeks now. They were your local, neighborhood delinquents who liked to frequent the restaurant that you worked at. You knew they were in some shady line of work, but had decided to just mind your own business. Aside from some crass flirting and lingering touches at work, they’d never done much to bother you. Today, though, following you on your way home was now escalating to a level that had you concerned.

“Can’t we just pay a visit to our favorite girl?” Toji’s lips curled up at the corners as he raked his eyes over you.

“Favorite girl my ass,” you rolled your eyes and laughed. “Come on,” you glanced at Sukuna, who had crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“What’s with the reaction?” Sukuna cocked his head at you, hiding his surprise.

“At best, I’ll be the next target of your bullying,” you rolled your eyes at the pair of delinquents, “At worst, I’m your plaything of choice for the next month or so. I have interest in neither, so I suggest you consider someone else.”

It should be easy enough. Though their personalities were more or less garbage, they were good looking and well built.

“You’re a smart one,” Sukuna chuckled, advancing on you, “You must be able to guess, though, that part of your appeal is the fight,” he reasoned, sarcastic words curling around your ear. Toji approached from the other direction until you were sandwiched between their chests.

“Tell us, pretty girl,” Toji chuckled, chest vibrating against yours, “Tell us you know that.”

Your breaths were choppy as they both pressed against you, overwhelming you with their size.

“I-,” you panted, chest tightening as they jostled you, hoping to get a rise out of you.

You placed your hands against Toji’s chest and pushed, trying to put some distance between you. It did not work.

“Wha-?!” you blinked in surprise when Toji lifted you up so that your feet were off the ground and pressed back into you, suspending you mid air against Sukuna. They both snickered as you realized your predicament.

“Why me?” you tried to ask, but your voice caught and trailed into a small moan as Toji’s leg slotted itself between your thighs, pressing against your core.

“Hmm,” his eyebrows rose with delight at the sound.

“There it is,” Sukuna snickered as his lips brushed against your neck.

You shuddered as he nibbled his way up the curve of your neck. Your hands shot out and gripped Toji’s biceps when Sukuna nipped sharply at your earlobe. Toji and Sukuna’s eyes met and a dangerous spark passed between them before Sukuna’s hands closed around your waist. To your surprise, they both stepped away and Sukuna placed you back on the ground before they vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.

“What the fuck?” you huffed, straightening yourself out.

…

You groaned and laid your forehead on the desk. You'd been working on holiday scheduling for the next three weeks and after cataloging all of the vacations everyone had submitted for, your brain was fried. You turned to pack up your things and head home and you’d been so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice people had entered your room until you turned back to face the door.

“Look what we found, Toji,” Sukuna grinned down at you.

“Look what we found indeed,” Toji smiled, cocky.

“What do you want?” you asked, body tensing at the sight of them and the memory of last time.

“More like…who do we want,” Toji smiled. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes promised something dark.

“Again…why me?” you asked, putting up a brave front, but you could already feel yourself responding to their presence. Recollections of the way they had overpowered you so easily had graced your dreams, day and night, a few times already.

“Something about you,” Sukuna considered you for a moment, “I want to see it break.”

Your eyebrows raised and despite your rational mind, you clenched at his words.

“I or we?” you couldn’t help but tease, “You guys really can’t do anything yourselves, huh? Always a package deal.”

Sukuna’s eyes flashed at you and you almost took a step back. His eyes were sharp and a strand of hair hung in front of them. You swallowed nervously…

“Have you been thinking about us, pretty girl?” Toji purred while Sukuna locked the room’s door. “You seem less difficult today.”

“Why would I be?” you asked politely, “Thinking about you, that is.”

“Because of the way you were panting, holding back your moans the last time we saw you,” Toji leaned down to whisper in your ear. His lips brushed against the shell and your mouth fell open with surprise. “Like a bitch in heat,” he laughed, condescending as hell.

“Oh get fucked!” you moved to strike him. Mistake.

“That's right,” Toji chuckled as he caught your wrist in his large hand easily. “You’re more of a hellcat than a bitch, aren’t you?”

You tried to pull away, but in all ways you were at a disadvantage. Toji lifted his arm and yours went with it. He was tall enough that this stretched you out uncomfortably and you were balanced on the tips of your toes. Your other hand moved reflexively for balance and it planted itself squarely on Toji Fushiguro’s firm chest. Your hand fisted in his shirt as he jerked you around, playing with you.

“You like this, don’t you?” Sukuna narrowed his eyes as he watched. Your mouth was agape and your eyes had grown slightly glossy at the way Toji disrespected you. He had to credit you…you’d managed to keep your sounds down, but everything else about your body language was so clear…you were turned on.

“Answer him, pretty,” Toji commanded and you looked up at him with begging eyes. “We all know the answer anyways, just want to hear you say it.”

You glared at him. You would never.

“So stubborn,” Toji’s voice was a low rumble against your fist, “Hope you know that I like that,” he grinned at you, backing you onto the desk.

“I wonder,” Sukuna cocked his head suddenly and placed a sharp nail against your neck. Dragged the pointed tip down to your collarbone and you shivered at the pain. “Still won’t admit it?” he goaded you, pressing and the tip bit deeper into your skin, just shy of breaking it.

“Pretty girl,” Toji gripped your chin and lifted it to meet his piercing eyes. “Answer us and we’ll give you what you need.”

As rough Toji liked to be, he wasn’t one to take without some indication of consent. Your eyes searched his and you must’ve seen or realized this because one of the coils in your stomach loosened with some sort of relief.

“...want,” you sighed, body sagging as you finally gave in.

“Oh you good girl, you,” Sukuna was at your back in a flash, hands running up your sides, grabbing and groping freely.

You moaned softly as Toji’s fingers traced along your inner thigh. You squirmed when they met your center and found it hot and wet.

“Dirty girl,” he snickered and rubbed, drawing a strangled cry from you.

“To-Toji,” you groaned, legs parting for him as Sukuna squeezed your tits harshly.

“Sukuna,” you panted when he squeezed your nipples through the fabric of your shirt. You were overwhelmed.

“She is dripping,” Toji laughed, caressing you through your panties. “I knew you’d be perfect,” he remarked smugly.

“Please,” your hips shifted desperately towards him, needing him to take more.

“Please what?” Sukuna cooed in your ear.

“More!” was all you could manage as Toji pushed your panties aside and stroked his fingertips lazily through your folds. The wet sounds brought heat to your face as you whined for him.

“We can give more,” Toji held your gaze, serious for a moment. “But if it’s too much, how will you tell us?”

“Safe word?” you answered, finding it difficult to focus when he grazed your clit repeatedly.

“And what is your safe word, pretty girl?” Toji asked.

“Sp-split Soul,” you stuttered out when your nipples were tweaked gently. Toji’s eyes widened a splinter at your answer.

“Aren’t you making your favorite a bit too obvious?” Sukuna teased upon hearing the name of Toji’s cursed tool, though he didn’t mean much by it.

“Fascinating,” Toji looked you over from head to toe one more time before he slid two fingers inside of you, drawing a loud cry from your lips. His knuckles stroked against you and you clenched around him, panting.

“She’s crying,” Sukuna chuckled, watching your eyes go glassy as Toji finger fucked you deeply. Sukuna’s large hands cupped your breasts and his fingers tweaked your nipples every so often as he nibbled on your neck.

“Wait, I-!” your eyes shot open as an orgasm barreled through you. Your body tensed in their hands and Toji’s fingers continued to curl up into you until the knot uncoiled you threw your head back with a loud wail. Sukuna’s chest was there to support your sagging body as you watched Toji lick your arousal off of his fingers.

“My turn,” Sukuna announced, shifting to take Toji’s place between your legs. His hands stroked down your inner thighs and his nails dragged deliciously along the soft, delicate skin. He watched with sadistic pleasure as it left long, red lines behind.

Toji took a seat behind you and palmed himself through his pants as he watched Sukuna’s handiwork. He throbbed at the marks and he thought about leaving a few marks of his own. His eyes widened with interest when Sukuna turned his hand around and tapped the backs of his knuckles, littered with rings, against your clit.

All of your muscles tensed at the sensation of cold metal against your hot, swollen clit and you let out a sound that was halfway between a squeal and a moan. Sukuna chuckled cruelly and kept up an erratic pattern until your back was arching up off of the table.

“Ha, hah, hah!” your soft pants were all that could be heard as Sukuna edged you mercilessly. “Sukuna, please!” you finally cried when you felt on the brink of insanity. You were surprised at the feral noise that escaped you when he stepped back and away, leveling you with a cruel smirk.

“Desperate little thing,” he chuckled and the way he peered disdainfully down at you shot a jolt of electric energy through you.

“Toji?” you looked towards the other man in the room hopefully. Your pupils dilated when you realized he was thrusting his hips, cock rubbing through the fabric of his pants against his palm. “Toji…,” you moaned, your voice dreamy and almost slackjaw at the visual.

“You sure know how to get what you want, don’t you?” Sukuna laughed heartily, helping you upright.

“May I?” you approached Toji, dropping to your knees before him.

“Polite when you need to be,” Toji rolled his eyes at you and shared a laugh with Sukuna.

You grinned and busied yourself with unearthing his erection. It was thick and heavy and tipped just slightly forward unassisted. You sighed with delight when you saw it, which served as a real shot to Toji’s ego.

“What a good little slut,” Sukuna chuckled, taking a seat. Unlike Toji, he had no desire to exercise restraint and pulled himself out of his pants, stroking eagerly.

Toji hissed when you closed your mouth around him. So wet and warm. The visual of your lips pursed around his shaft as you sucked gently was almost dizzying to him and he found himself gritting his teeth, trying to stay level. You were so singularly focused on lapping at his cock that you jolted with surprise when Sukuna smacked your cheek suddenly.

“Spit,” he demanded, his palm outstretched before you. You blinked up at him in surprise for so long that he slapped you lightly again. “I said spit.”

When he was satisfied, he brought his hand back to his cock, using your saliva as lubrication. You were embarrassed that the realization only served to turn you on more. Toji cleared his throat, grabbing your attention again. You moved to put your mouth back on him and you were surprised when he stopped you.

“Why don’t you sit?” he gestured to his shining erection with an expectant look. He had to hold back a smile at the way your expression grew hungry and dazed at the same time. You peeled off your panties and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. He offered you no help and instead leaned back and watched with lazy eyes as you positioned him at your opening.

“You’re too big,” your eyes flashed to him with mild annoyance. Your knees spread as you tried to lower yourself onto him with little success. Toji kept up his poker face as you clenched and gripped around his engorged tip. Finally after some desperate bucking of your hips, he popped into you, stretching you almost painfully around his girth. “Fuuck,” you whined, lips pursed as your eyes squeezed shut.

“My god she’s fucking tight,” Toji remarked to Sukuna through gritted teeth.

“Good thing you went first then, huh?” Sukuna taunted.

Toji’s lip twitched in response, but he didn’t say anything because you were doing your best to take more of him.

“Oh my god, Toji,” you mumbled mindlessly as you worked your way down, lips stretched taut around his shaft. At the very least, you were soaked and dripping, but his sheer size was still a challenge. You weren’t sure if Sukuna was just trying to get a rise out of Toji, but the possibility of him being even bigger made you feel faint.

“Are you struggling, kitty?” Toji teased, lips curled up into a smirk. “My cock too fat for our little whore?”

“You're big!” you gasped out, with a nod. “It doesn't, it barely fits,” you whined, but not because you wanted to stop. It was because you wanted Toji to drive up into you, punishing and hard.

Toji watched, proud at the way you struggled to split yourself open around you. You struggled and yet you persisted and he found himself admiring that.

“Shall I take over?” Toji cupped your chin and brushed his thumb across your cheek. You nodded eagerly and he flexed his hips up into you and you moaned even louder than before. The way he pushed into you was simply divine. His rhythm was slow and deep as you grew accustomed to it.

“How is it, pretty girl?” Sukuna surprised you when he came up behind you. His hands closed around your hips and he pressed you further down on Toji’s cock, drawing hisses from both of you. “Does he feel good?”

“Asshole,” Toji spat at Sukuna when he pressed against your cervix and you clamped down around him.

You couldn’t even manage an answer as Toji’s cock was stuffed into you deeper than you thought possible. Sukuna was unrelenting and held you in place as Toji’s hips jerked reflexively up into you.

“Fuck!” Toji cursed, his orgasm incoming.

“Come on,” Sukuna taunted. “You’ve been wanting to fill her up for a while now, just do it.”

“Wha-?” you struggled to comprehend Sukuna’s words, but Toji’s cock jerked strongly inside of you and you squeezed back reflexively.

Toji inhaled a few ragged breaths as he came, unloading deep inside of you with Sukuna pinning you down.

“Look at you,” Sukuna snickered cruelly, hand cupping your chin and tilting your head to face him. “Filled with Fushiguro’s cum,” he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

You were surprised at the gesture.

“Do you let just anybody fuck you raw?” Sukuna taunted, leering at you. You narrowed your eyes at him, god he gave you whiplash.

“Do you just go around fucking anybody raw?” you bit back and Toji chuckled.

“Guess Fushiguro was too soft on you, cause this bitch ain't broken yet,” Sukuna barked out a laugh. “My turn,” his eyes glinted at you before he pulled you off of Toji’s lap.

Sukuna forced you to your knees and smacked the heavy head of his cock against your cheek. You glared up at him defiantly.

“Can’t wait to see those eyes water as you glare at me,” he sneered, hooking his thumb into your mouth and yanking it open. You let out a noise of surprise, but it was quickly muffled by his cock being shoved unceremoniously between your lips.

“God that’s a sinful little mouth,” Sukuna groaned when your lips closed around him, enveloping him in your wet warmth. “Shut this mouthy little slut right up,” he snickered as you sucked.

Toji settled in behind you and snaked his arms around you. One looped around your waist and the other reached between your thighs. Your lips squeezed around Sukuna’s head when Toji’s palm landed a slap squarely against your cunt, like a hammer against your clit. Sukuna’s hand shot out around the back of your neck and pulled you forward until he was lodged against the back of your throat. You moaned loudly as both men ground against you, your wet, drooly holes.

“Fuck that’s tight!” Sukuna hissed when you relaxed your throat and let him slip inside. Toji’s hand moved from your waist to cup your throat, feeling the way it bulged to accommodate Sukuna.

“Hah…I can feel him,” he whispered in your ear as his fingers dipped into your pussy, pushing his cum back inside.

You whimpered and clenched at his observation. Your whimper was muffled by Sukuna’s cock, but your clench was easily felt by Toji’s thick fingers. Toji’s lips curled up into a sadistic grin and the hand around your throat tightened and Sukuna’s knees almost buckled.

“Fucking shit!” he glared at Toji after pulling out, leaving you gasping for breath in his firm grip.

Toji’s chest rumbled with laughter, pleased to be able to get the best of Sukuna for a turn. Despite yourself, it pleased you to hear Toji laugh. Something about the both of them using you to toy with each other made you swell with pride.

“Keep playing, Fushiguro,” Sukuna spat venomously, pulling you up by a fistful of hair. He bent you forward over the table and flipped your skirt up, rubbing his cock along your dripping length. “Watch me fuck your cum out of her,” he snarked before sliding into you in one fluid motion.

“Ohh~!” you cried as you stretched around Sukuna. You weren’t sure if he was actually bigger or you were just sensitive, but the feeling had you clawing at the tabletop like a feral cat.

“How’s that feel, baby?” he grunted as he pounded into you harshly. Your hips clipped against the edge of the table painfully with each thrust and his balls slapped wetly against you.

“G-good,” you cried.

“Better than Fushiguro?” he goaded and Toji’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I-,” you hiccuped, “I don’t know,” you answered honestly, tears welling up in your eyes as an orgasm approached. “Su-kuna,” you cried, back arching.

“Answer me, pretty girl,” Sukuna asked again, pupils dilating with satisfaction as he worked a creamy ring of Toji’s cum and your arousal around the base of his shaft. “Who do you prefer?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know! Both!” you cried as your body tensed and you came, thinking of the different ways in which they both used and ravaged your body.

“Did I say you could come?” Sukuna gripped you by the chin and pulled you up against him. He tipped your head back so that you could meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you realized your error quickly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” your eyebrows pinched with worry at what fresh hell he would unleash on you for this.

He surprised you by trailing his wet tongue across your cheek before licking into your open mouth. You clenched as he nipped your lips and then sucked your tongue into his mouth. Toji had already claimed your pussy by filling it with his cum and you understood this as Sukuna’s way of claiming your mouth for his own. You squirmed when he pulled back slightly and held your mouth open for him. His teeth ran across his tongue before he spit into your mouth. You shivered as you accepted his saliva eagerly. It was intimate, filthy, and wanton all at the same time.

“Fushiguro,” Sukuna’s eyes flicked to Toji’s as he picked you up, holding your back against his chest with surprising ease. “Get over here.”

Toji’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand Sukuna’s meeting.

“She said she wants both,” Sukuna chuckled, “Let’s see if she can take both.”

Your eyes widened at his words. You were already tired and sore, but something about these two gave you something to prove. You knew Sukuna didn’t expect you to be able to, which triggered something defiant and stubborn inside of you and you knew you wouldn’t back down.

“I can,” you insisted as Sukuna set you down on the small couch that was tucked against the wall of the room. He laughed at your show of confidence. You’d have to see.

“You gonna let me fuck that pretty ass, baby?” Toji’s voice was raspy from behind. “You so cock hungry that you need both of those holes filled?”

Perversion curled through you and your eyes flashed when you look at him and nodded. Toji was taken aback for a moment. It was true he’d had his eye on you for some time, but he had sorely underestimated you. He shifted behind you while you straddled Sukuna and his cock was screaming to be inside of you. You had dripped so much that he easily coated himself in your fluids. His eyes were transfixed as he pressed the dark head of his cock against your puckered sphincter. You let out a series of warm pants as Sukuna gripped your hips tightly.

“Wait,” you placed your hand on Toji’s abdomen, “Give me a sec?” you breathed hard as you tried to relax. You’d had difficulty accommodating Toji in your pussy, so anal was going to be an even bigger challenge, but you were determined.

“Take your time, pretty,” Toji pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He held still as you pressed your hips back against him, stretching a little more each time around him. Watching the way you stretched yourself around him, from hesitant to eager, was dizzying to Toji in a way that he had not expected.

Sukuna reached up to stroke your face affectionately as you adjusted. He cooed praise up at you, telling you how good you were being for them, how sexy you looked taking both their cocks. Behind you, Toji egged you on with words of his own. How good your pretty hole looked stretched around him, how much more he had left to give you.

Your breaths were ragged as you pushed back, dragging him deeper and deeper into you.

“Almost there,” he encouraged, “To the hilt, baby, show me,” he watched proudly until you had taken him completely.

“Fuck,” you let out a sigh, eyes flickering between the two men. It surprised you to see satisfied smiles on both of their faces. This was short lived because before long, they both thrusting up into you alternately and all coherent thought left your mind.

The room was filled with grunts, pants, and the wet sounds of sex as they both pistoned their cocks into you. You were so full and so sore, but it was the most delicious pain that you had ever experienced.

“Close,” you murmured when you felt the coil in your belly constricting. “May I?” you asked.

“What a fast learner,” Sukuna clicked his tongue, pressing a kiss against your neck. “You’re doing so well…whenever you wish,” he nodded and Toji couldn’t agree more.

They fucked you and kept fucking you through two more orgasms. You briefly wondered if you might pass out, but their climax came mercifully and with heavy twitches and muttered curses, they emptied themselves into you. Their muscles unwound and relaxed post orgasm and you found yourself sandwiched pleasantly between their large bodies. You knew they were both notorious for sleeping around, but you wondered if they’d be up for a repeat. You needed more experience before you could declare a favorite, after all.

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