#you put a curse on me and i am nothing but just a pebble to you

[eruverse]

Indonesia isn’t necessarily possessive of Netherlands but he is pretty possessive of his feelings for the man. All his fondness and disgust, love and hate, and he doesn’t necessarily like others being nosy or questioning them, because these ARE exclusive. This is between him and Ned only. Ok this is projection but I think many if not most ppl here are like that about this one country lol, and it’s not as simple as a hatred aimed at a colonizer from a former colony. IF ONLY it could be as simple as that, lol, and Indonesia has had his fair share of existential crisis and angst over it at the dead of night, etc etc. He’s not an inherently angsty person tho, don’t expect a lot of it from him.

The hatred for a (former) enemy is of course expected, but it’s not just that. Indonesia also hates him for taking over his brain, for lack of better word. He’s not head over heels for the man or anything but he’s like a tumor in his brain, not lethal but very much annoying. And it stays. That’s the most unfortunate thing.

And he sometimes just. Relishes in those feelings, for these are the only moments Netherlands is his, and he is Netherlands’.

[pseudowho]

okay here’s me getting all cocky and confident because you answered my ask once (ily for that seriously i think i screamed and fainted and sobbed and climbed up the walls a little) and once again asking you for….. for crumbs………. so my horny self was sitting and thinking…………… nanami sees you reading absolute filth and porn and you end up in biig trouble.. (i.e him doing that exact thing to you 😭) or perhaps you going up to nanami after reading absolute filth and being all needy with him bcs that straight porn made you a liittle…….. yk… 🌚🌚🌚

anyways i literally love you and ur my favorite writer ever and im gonna stop now before i burst

SMUT [smuht] (noun)

In which Nanami Kento catches you reading dirty literature...and punishes you with a performative reading.

Warnings: The anon who keeps targeting me like this needs a warning label...but otherwise: roleplay, erotic literature (*laughs and laughs in Tumblr*) being read to you while you're systematically destroyed, performative Bad!Nanami, Kento fucks you wearing a mask and leather gloves, Pleasure Dom!Kento who gets lost in the sauce, reader way out of her depth, bondage, the usual spicy goodness, couple of cheeky movie references

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The one she knew only as the Man in the Mask swept over to her, delighting in her capture, having evaded him for so long.

"Ahhh..." he sighed, his breath sweeping over the swell of her breasts, and sending shivers down her spine. "Finally...the little mouse who has wreaked havoc on my dreams for too many lonely nights. How does it feel? To be trapped here with me like this?"

Her heart stalled in her chest, and she gasped, his grazing touch to her belly leaving embers in its wake. The Man in the Mask saw her nipples pebble beneath her shirt, and felt something snap inside him as he loomed over her with a whisper; "I know. I feel it too."

With little warning, he lowered his barely covered mouth to her neck, hungry against her, and--

The door opened, and you leapt out of your skin, dropping your phone to the floor. You sat bolt upright in bed, your other hand coming up guiltily from beneath the covers as Kento leaned into the bedroom to greet you. You interrupted him.

"You're home early," you said, offering an unconvincing smile. Kento looked at you, flatly. He let the statement hang for a moment. His shrewd eyes flicked, taking in the glossy subtleties he saw from you only in foreplay.

"...well I thought you'd be pleased, but I'll just go back then shall I--"

You hesitated, words caught in your throat. Your eyes flickered to your phone. So did Kento's. His eyes narrowed.

"...what are you read--"

"Nothing! It's nothing." You lied, unconvincing. You both hesitated for a moment more, before Kento darted. You cursed at him for being faster than you, and Kento's fingers closed around your phone, sitting beside you on the bed in one swift movement. You smothered a pillow over your face, screaming silently, wanting the duvet to grow great maws and swallow you whole.

Kento read silently for a moment, scrolling, before reading aloud; "...she didn't want to fight anymore, as his fingers slid between her puffy lips...goodness me...his cock strained against the fabric of his clothes, begging for attention...I bet it did..."

You had begun to crawl away down the bed, just a maggot, unworthy of the sun and all its glories.

You felt a hand clasp around your ankle, and you squeaked as Kento dragged you back up the bed, without even taking his eyes off your phone.

"I don't think so, where are you going--"

"--oh god Kento just give me something for the cringe and let me die--"

"--no no no I'm blessed to be a part of my wife's interests--"

"--I am less than human, we need a divorce, I can't look you in the eye ever again--"

Kento scoffed, dark and derisive. "As if I'd let you divorce me. As if you'd even want to...now, where did I put that..."

Kento stood, still holding your phone as he rummaged in his dresser. You laid flat to the bed, trying to wiggle away again, still embarrassingly wet, your mortification laced with undeniable arousal.

"Stay exactly where you are, or I'll damn well make you."

You stopped. You looked up at Kento, unusually meek, as he approached you. He stood by the bed, looming and powerful, a god made flesh. He unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, not bothering to remove his harness. He undid his belt with a clink-clink. He let his tie hang loose...and pulled a black balaclava down to beneath his collar. He finished off with a pair of soft, black leather gloves.

Something imploded inside you; a dial-up noise in your mind. Kento prowled over to you, looming over you and chasing you up the bed, caging you beneath him, and reading through the smut on your phone screen.

"Be honest," Kento read aloud, his honey-brown eyes swirling with something altogether darker and more dangerous, "if you'd wanted to escape me...you could have."

You panted, breathless, your pupils blown into inky black as you lay splayed beneath Kento. You couldn't help but be captivated, lost in his insidious pull. You felt your heartbeat between your legs.

"Did you stay because you dream of me, too?" Kento intoned. You bit the poisoned apple, trembling as you nodded up at him. "Did you stay...because you wondered if hatred was as erotic a passion as love?"

"--Kento, I-- let me go, I--"

"That's the spirit." Laughed Kento, his voice booming through you, the vibrations crackling across every nerve, and you whimpered. Kento grasped your hands together with his own, gloved and powerful, pinning them above your head with the whole weight of his body. He pulled his tie loose with the hand holding your phone.

"I can't let you leave...not now. Fuck...you have no idea what you do to me, do you?" Kento growled. Being the villain seemed so effortless to him. Your safe word had never been further from your mind, your attempts to leave so paltry and insincere. The way Kento looked down at you, waiting to see if you would make him stop, sent shivers down your spine. Kento released his tie, eyes skimming across your phone for confirmation.

"I'd apologise, for trapping you here like this..." Kento intoned, tying your bound wrists to the head of the bed as you squirmed, crying out in anguish, "...but I'll show you...how you've craved my touch, just as I have craved yours." You strained against the bonds, in just the silky chemise you wore for bed, and it didn't take much for your breasts to fall free of the fine little straps.

In truth, Kento had never been harder in his life. Seeing you battle against primal desire beneath him, feeling your half-hearted embarrassed squirms brushing your bare mound against his aching, thick cock...and your nipples, hard as diamonds and covered by a thin veneer of lace. His breaths were heavy, chest heaving as he continued his performative reading.

"Just one taste, and we can return to how it was before." Kento groaned, his mouth suckling at your neck, licking, tasting, biting. You cringed against the assault on your senses, afraid to lose yourself to such diabolical pleasure. Kento pinned your bucking hips down with his own, the tip of his cock trapped beneath his waistband against his belly. "Just once...and we can rest easy at night, knowing how it feels for me to spend myself inside you."

You keened, mewling as Kento rested the phone on the pillow beside your head, and took your nipple into his mouth, ragging it around beneath his tongue with a fractured growl. Your head spun with the weight of him, totally captured, so wildly out of control. The suckling pleasure he gave to your nipples, connected in a fine thread to your clit, making it pulse with vicarious bliss.

"I can't...can't take it anymore...Ken--" You moaned, squeaking as his teeth closed in barely hinged warning around your breast.

"Unless it's to tell me to fuck you, I won't have you mewl like a kitten at me any longer." Kento rumbled against your breast, wet with his spit and the marks he left behind as he took what he was owed. "I hope you can take it. I'm...no small man. If you are ruined, after, I know you will bear the scars with grace, just as you have bore your hatred of me."

You were already so steeped in the hot rush of being pleasured, you did not notice how Kento's eyes glowered, lathering down your body and darting occasionally back to your phone. He continued his pilgrimage down your body. Kento growled in frustration at the chemise blocking him, and he rucked it up, spitting curses as you squeaked, wriggling against him.

"At least fight like you mean it." Kento laughed, and you blushed, eyes squeezed shut, mortified by how obviously faked your resistance was. Kento kissed his way down your belly, settling at your mound. He hovered, silent, giving your desperate clit nought but the breath from his lips.

"Do you want my fingers...or my mouth?" You whimpered again, babbling nonsense, such a rough and ruined heroine. Kento laughed again, dark and delicious, raising his mask just enough to free his mouth. "No words? No matter. You shall have both."

With little warning, Kento sunk his tongue between your folds, ragging his mouth and nose from side to side again to bury himself in the heat of you. You cried out as he growled into your heat, hitting a high note as he sunk two thick, gloved fingers into your fluttering pussy, slamming inside all the way to his knuckles.

Kento swore against your pussy, grunting and moaning as he lapped at your clit and entrance with animalistic rage. Quite canonically to his role, his cock wept against his belly, pre-cum leaking down onto his waistband until the fabric was cloying and sticky, the friction against his tip sending him spiralling. He couldn't help but fuck against the bed as you melted beneath him, writhing against his tongue.

Panting, letting his gloved fingers fuck into you and imagining it was his cock instead, Kento chuckled against your clit, at just how easily he had snapped. He pulled his fingers out of you for a moment, wickedly obsessed by the stark contrast of your creamy white arousal on the black leather.

He could smell you on the balaclava, the fabric over his nose soaking with your essence. Kento felt lightheaded with the blooming, heady scent of you. His cock twitched, aching and neglected, and so close to spilling thick spurts of seed all over its owner.

You risked looking down for just a moment. The eyes of a villain pierced through you, as Kento licked his gloves clean, not breaking eye contact once. You whimpered. He laughed, and curled his fingers back into you, continuing his relentless attack on your poor, aching cunt. Your moans reached a fever pitch, and Kento felt the creep of his own orgasm through his belly as he rutted against the bed with total abandon.

"Sing for me." He groaned, lifting your hips off the bed as he knelt, sucking your clit into his mouth in a devastating final move. You tipped violently over the edge, bucking against his tongue and crying his name, a stream of nonsensical babbles. Kento was quite sure you came harder than the girl in the story.

By the time you came back to earth, being licked in slow, languid movements through your peak, you saw Kento kneeling between your legs, stroking his cock in long, jerking pumps.

"You've reduced me to this." Kento forced, his teeth gritted and his mask back in place over his mouth. "To this...this boy, fucking his own fist just from the taste of you." Kento cursed, his gloved fist wet with pre-cum, cracking his neck from side to side and growling through his lurid tale. You lay, fucked out, bound, a fascinated by how Kento's whiskey-rich voice could fill you with fumes, warm and drunk one minute, but cold and piercing the next. You swung, manoeuvred across his harsh dichotomy.

Kento loomed over you, trapping you beneath him again, blocking the light from your eyes, a bad moon rising. "You did this to me." He hissed, accusatory in his possession of you. "You started this sordid fight. But I'll finish it. No more fisting my cock at night just to the thought of you. No more dreaming about bending you to my will."

You felt Kento's tip press through your entrance, thick and insistent enough that you squirmed up the bed, crying out as he yanked you back, his hands closing around your waist. Kento plaited his fingers in your tied hands, the ghost of affection, and readying himself to slam into your quivering heat. He was falling apart, he could barely contain himself, overcome by the raw power of making you pliable, shaping you to his desires--

Kento whispered in your ear, his voice shaking, gravelly; "And when you submit...know that it was entirely your fault."

You felt your delicate petals forced aside, crying out to be filled to the brim by Kento in one slick thrust. Kento could barely suppress a roar beneath his mask, throwing his head back in ecstasy. His enormous hands cuffed your waist, making it squidge down against your hips every time he dragged your hips, moving your pussy around him like a cock sleeve.

Kento's strength made manhandling you look easy. You lay ruined beneath him, your head lolling against the inside of your own bound arm. The image of him unbuttoned, masked, gloved and still almost fully dressed above you, grunting and groaning as he used your pussy for his own pleasure, burned onto your retinas.

Kento barely moved his own hips, his eyes fixed feverishly on where he dragged your swollen pussy around the length of his cock, twitching and burning inside you. He couldn't contain himself. The hook behind his navel, all scorched steel and selfishness, beseeched him to drag his pleasure from you.

"Fucking-- ruin you-- never be satisfied...by another man again-- keep running from me, and I'll hunt you down...and take you like this every-- fucking-- time--"

As Kento's pleasure roared over him, he punctuated his thrusts against your belly with the written word in action. Making nothing more than jolted, pitiful moans as he fucked repeatedly against your sensitive cervix and soft-spot, you clambered for purchase, sobbing your pleasure as his gloved fingers rolled your clit between them.

Kento came with a string of curses, his thighs cramping beneath him with the force of it. Feeling his seed begin to pump and spurt into you, he dragged you aggressively to another orgasm with his leathered fingers. He had to feel you clench around him, sucking his seed deep inside you. He had just enough forethought to recall his final, toxic line as he gasped, groaning and bucking with the force of his ejaculation.

You could barely hear him through the fog of pleasure, faint in the distance; "If you have the nerve...to crawl back to me...full and swollen-- know we can be enemies in matrimony, as well as battle."

The room was hushed and dark, the gloom broken only by your mingled, heavy breaths, and the earthy smell of sex. You reached up pulling Kento's balaclava up and pressing a breathless little kiss at the corner of his mouth.

"...but...we still have to get a divorce. I just-- couldn't live with you knowing what I read--"

Kento laughed, his shoulders aching from the weight of the villain, slipping away with his gloves and mask.

[will-o--the-wisp]

smut under the cut // MDNI

alhaitham+kaveh × reader smut drable

cw: dubcon (reader is paying rent), under negotiated everything (so undernegotiated there hasn't even been a negotiation), nipple play, masturbation, marking, biting, anal play, pwp, tba.

I wrote this a 2 am be merciful ty.

Fuck, is this how low he is fallen? Slowly undressing in his bed as his roommates burn holes into his skin with their unblinking stares? Curse Dori and her sweet words. 

She knew (Name) was desperate for an interesting theme that would allow him to get an outstanding grade in his thesis. She knew he was from the amurta darshan, so a promise of a new species of fungi was enough to make him fork out a hefty sum of mora. 

That meant that, when it was time to pay his rent at the beginning of the next month, he had to resort to begging Alhaitham for a little extension on the time. The stoic man surprisingly agreed, but he had one condition. To put on a little show for him. And Kaveh. 

The cold air of the room is making his nipples pebble as it hits them, making a little shiver go down his spine. He unbuttons his pants, wiggling a bit to put his weight in his upper back and lifts his legs to get the clothing off. This allows the men seated at the foot of his bed to appreciate the beautiful curve of his thighs and his cute bulge pressing on the front of his briefs. 

(Name) throws the pants off somewhere in the room and sits up, his back against the header off the bed. He swallows nervously, unsure on what to do, gaze lowering and blush rising to his cheeks as the situation truly sets in. 

“C'mon (Name)” He jumps as a hand settles on his thigh. Kaveh's hand. “Show us how you make yourself feel good” His dick twitches against his will at the smooth words. When did Kaveh turn from a mumbling boyfailure to this? 

He takes a deep breath, his skin feeling on fire where the soft skin of Kaveh’s hand meets his thigh, but it does encourage him to act. He starts to softly palm himself through his boxers, starting with soft touches but growing bolder as his dick hardens. 

He's sweating by the time he is fully hard, the imprint of his cock visible through the thin cloth. Kaveh is kneading on the meat of his thigh which adds to the stimulation and Alhaitham, the ever quiet man, is just observing the scene with his eyes a deep pool of unbridled hunger. 

When he decides he has teased himself enough, (Name) gets one shaky hand in his boxers and gets them low enough so he can stroke his dick comfortably, but he's interrupted before he can get right to it. 

“No” Alhaitham huffs uttering his first words since this whole situation began. Kaveh glares at him for stopping the show, but his enthusiasm comes back at the next words. “I want them off” 

“Do you get off to humiliation?” (Name) quips, his sking getting hotter as he glares at Alhaitham “Is that why you want me nude with you both fully clothed?” 

“Be a good boy and do it” Alhaitham responds, his tone leaving no room for arguments. The stern voice sends another shiver down (Names) spine and makes his dick jump, which mortifies him. 

He gets his boxers off and turns to his night stand. He opens the drawer, rummaging for a quick second before finding a plastic lube container. 

He goes to settle down in bed again, but finds himself being pulled into Kaveh's lap. “You don't mind me looking from this angle right?” Kaveh asks right by his ear, arms encircling his waist. He slowly shakes his head, the heat in the air of the room slowly growing thicker and thicker. 

He pops off the cap of the little container getting a bit of lube into his hand. He goes to put it back down in the nightstand once its job is done, but Alhaitham is quicker and grabs it off his hand. (Name) shoots a questioning job at him, but gets nothing in return. 

He ignores the weirdness as his hand wraps around his dick, the wetness of his precum mixing with the lube in his hand. His head drops back into Kaveh's firm shoulder as his eyes close, a small whimper coming off his lips. 

“You're doing good” Kaveh praises, and one of the arms around his midsection moves, deft architect fingers caressing one of his nipples. (Name) falters in his rhythm, he didn't expect to be touched tonight, just to do his thing for the other two men, but he doesn't want Kaveh to stop. It feels good. 

He strokes a bit faster, testing for the rhythm that feels the best, quick breaths and small moans filling the room. He's so focused on his pleasure that he doesn't hear Alhaitham uncap the bottle again, spreading the thick substance around his fingers. 

(Name) opens his eyes when he feels the scribe's figure move to loom over him. He feels a bit disoriented, his head foggy from the stimulation from both his hand and Kaveh's touch, but stops once fingers circle slowly around his hole.

“Keep at it” Alhaitham orders as he keeps circling, spreading the lube around his entrance. The orders are clear in the haze of his brain, so his hand returns to its work. 

Alhaitham starts with just one finger, it slowly carving up a path inside of him. The sensation of another person's finger inside of him is exquisite when paired up with all the other methods of stimulation he's having the pleasure to endure. 

Kaveh feels bolder with Alhaitham's cooperation, both of his hands moving to pinch and pull on his sensitive nipples until they are cute and rosy. “You're doing so well for us dear.” he says, and (Name) doesn't have to see him for him to know that there's a smile plastered on his face. 

He picks up the pace a bit, the glide of his hand up and down his cock making a slick sound travel around the room. He whimpers and moans, back arching against Kaveh's firm chest as Alhaitham decides to start moving his finger in and out in tandem with his movements. 

“Fuck” He whimpers loudly as Alhaitham finger hits some good spots inside of him. He looks down through bleary eyes and pleads, his hips wriggling to meet Alhaitham’s finger. “One more finger? Please?” His voice is small and pathetic, but far too irresistible. 

“As you wish” Alhaitham says nonchalantly, but by the way his free hand lifts to grip his thigh harshly, he's anything but unnafected. 

He takes the second finger like a champ, his hand jerking himself off quicker. Alhaitham follows suit with amping the intensity, thrusting his fingers rapidly in and out of his hole. Kaveh has moved on to leaving hickies down the column of (Name)'s neck. 

“fuckfuckfuck” It comes to a head in a second, the pleasure feeling all too much when Alhaitham's fingers curl inside him, sending true zaps of gooey heat all throughout his body.  “I’m gonna…”

He doesn't get to finish his thought before he's coming. Kaveh bites down harshly on his neck in the middle of his phrase and that's all it takes for him to finally tumble over the edge. 

It's the best orgasm he's ever had, mind numbing pleasure coursing through his system. He rides the fingers inside him through the peak, moaning loudly as all shame is forgotten. 

Once it's over, his body relaxes suddenly, laying on Kaveh as if he was boneless. He feels dead tired, but his dick still jumps when Alhaitham slowly removes his fingers. 

“You did well” Alhaitham says, tone neutral as ever, but the praise is, by far, the most surprising thing to happen that night. 

Kaveh kisses the crown of his head as he lets out a little laugh, playing with the cum in (Name)’s stomach with a finger. “Can we do this again sometime?” 

(Name) thinks that yes, they will. 

masterlist

want to request something?

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 125

In place of August Thirteenth, Promptapalooza 6/

Geralt has a contract but won't tell Jaskier anything about it. Nothing. "Geralt, come on! Is it big? Is it small? Does it have fangs? Is it venomous?" "Jaskier, just stop asking." "But how am I meant to be safe enough to gather inspiration if you won't even tell me what to look out for?" "Because you'll be staying here. Away from the hunt." "Wh- What?" It's been years since Geralt refused Jaskier's involvement in a hunt. "It's too dangerous." Jaskier stares at him a moment before just sighing and nodding. "You'd think he'd tell you of the dangers if he didn't want you to go for your own safety." Jaskier thinks, though it doesn't sound like his own voice. "Can't you tell me something about the creature if I can't come with?" "No, Jaskier." "He doesn't want to talk to you." Jaskier shakes the thought out of his head. "Just play for the bargoers again if you need something to do. I'll be back before sunup." And without further ado, Geralt grabs his supplies and stomps out. "They hated your last set, though, didn't they? You've put so much effort into pursuing this dream of yours, just to get vegetables and stale bread thrown at you. Only to get cursed off stages. Is that what you wanted? When you became a bard? When you left home? Did you risk your life to leave just to be stuck with an audience that doesn't want to listen?" Jaskier shakes his head. Stop. Stop thinking about this. "Not even Geralt listens to you. Your only friend. The only person who manages to deal with you doesn't even want to hear you." Jaskier starts tidying their inn room in a panic. He needs to get his mind off the sudden turn for the worst his thoughts are partaking in. Usually only things got this bad after a bad fight with Geralt. Then Geralt would apologize and- "But did he ever really mean it? Or does he just do it to placate you? The little overemotional bard weighing him down, dragging him back, ruining his li-" "BOOK. I- I need to read a book." Jaskier fumbles for something to read to try and get something new in his attention, but he can't even make out a sentence. The thoughts are getting louder. "Is there even a contract or did he just finally leave you behind? Jaskier's vision blurs and suddenly he realizes it's tears. He rubs his face vigorously to get rid of them. He'd hate for Geralt to come back and find him bawling. "That's when he'd leave you for sure. Pitiful excuse for a companion, crying because of his own thoughts. Geralt would be so annoyed. You're nothing but a burden to him. He hates you." Jaskier grabs his lute and hurriedly begins strumming the worst tune he's ever made in his life, because he just needs something louder than the thoughts. He just needs to hear something but the thoughts. "He'll never love you back. You stay, and you keep hoping, but he'll never love you." Jaskier drops his lute and covers his ears, starting to sob in earnest. "He's been gone too long. He ditched you. He took Roach and he left you. The pebble in his shoe. The constant irritation. You're nothing to him. You're a speck of mud dirtying his life. He begs the gods every night to be rid of you. Everyone begs the gods to be rid of you. Everyone wishes you'd just shrivel up and die. The useless bard." "Stop- Stopstopstop-" "All anyone wants is to fuck you, but is it because you're desirable or is it because you're just that easy? Like a damned cat in heat. They always leave you come morning, anyways. Even the ones you begged to stay. Even the ones you wanted something more with. Nobody wants you to stay. Nobody likes your voice, your supposed 'talents', nobody likes your looks, nobody likes your personality, nobody likes your soul, nobody wants your love, you're a crumbling stone about to bring down a whole tower. And every other stone will hate you for it. They'll hate you. They'll fucking HATE you. They all HATE you. Geralt HATES you. He hates you. He hates you. He hates you." "JASKIER!" Jaskier blinks his eyes open

and sees Geralt kneeling in front of him, holding Jaskier's face in his big, calloused hands. "Jaskier, stop listening to it!"

Geralt had gone after a creature that infects people's minds, speaks horrible things into their thoughts until the person is driven crazy. He couldn't risk bringing Jaskier to be infected by it. And he couldn't risk telling Jaskier, because Jaskier would be paranoid of it infecting Geralt and he'd come along anyways, and the monster would sense Jaskier's fear, it'd burrow into him in a milisecond. Geralt's never been angrier for being right, before. He just thought Jaskier was safe here. But he came back and saw the undeniable symptoms of the monster. Pure black tears coming down Jaskier's cheeks as he sobs and begs an unseen force to 'shut up'. Geralt will kill this damned creature, and make it sorry for distressing his bard. And then he'll spend the night holding his bard close, and whispring every reassurance and praise he can think of.

[wassertoffatom]

Request Thingie~ 19 with Paladin Danse?

Our Own Problems (Paladin Danse x F!Reader)

Main Master List || Prompt Master List

Author's Note: Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing for Danse! Also thank you @sparklingthedas for beta reading this!!! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: language, spoilers for Blind Betrayal, whomp whomp Danse is sad, reader is sad, everyone is sad

Word Count: 505

The sun barely peeks over the horizon, casting a gradual decline of midnight blue into burnt orange, signaling the beginning of a new day. A lone figure sits at the edge of the river, mindlessly tossing pebbles of various sizes into the water, observing the way the water ripples, mirroring his own life. What was once a still stream has now turned into a violent river.

“Thought I’d find you here,” a voice comments, groggy with sleep as the person stifles a yawn, standing above the man. “How are you doing?”

“How do you think I’m doing?” Danse questions bitterly, internally chastising himself. He doesn’t mean to come off as angry, especially not to you, but sometimes his words are quicker than his thoughts. “I’m not doing well.” It’s not an apology, but he’s hoping that you’d understand. You sit next to him, bringing your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs, resting your head on top. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” The sun continues to creep up along the horizon, beginning to cast light on some of the vegetation around you, but you and him are still clad in shadows.

“What could you possibly do that would help me? Everything I have ever known has been ripped right away from me.”

-POV Switch-

You pause for a minute, staring out into the fading blackness, trying to formulate your opinions. Would this be a good time to admit your feelings? Or at least on the path to them? “You can help us continue to build. Take your mind off of things. It helps me get my mind off of Shaun,” you admit but he doesn’t stir, causing you to curse his stoicalness. Just once you would like to see him show emotions. Here goes nothing. “You can stay here, with me.”

He shakes his head, causing your heart to slowly chip. “That doesn’t really help me.”

Sighing in remorse, you look away from him as tears well up in your eyes. You understand that he’s hurting. You understand that the very morals that he preached about are now in deep, murky, water. But still, he’s not the only person going through stuff. “You make me feel like I’m not good enough.”

“What was that, soldier?” His voice is terse as he looks at you. Even in the dark you can see the raging rapids behind his eyes.

“All I try to do is help you. All I have ever done is try to help you and you’re not grateful. I understand that you’re going through a hard time, but Danse, I am too. My literal son is the head of the fucking Institute, and yet, I still try to put on a smile to help you.” You abruptly stand up, dusting your pants with a huff as his eyes focus on your frame, silent guilt creeping in on him. “Enjoy your thoughts,” with a scoff, you walk away from the former paladin, leaving him all alone again.

Author's Note: So sorry it's super short but I hope you enjoyed it!! Thank you again for the request!

[creative-frequency]

Raphael x Reader: Act I: The Words

Summary: Despite your drunken ravings tonight, you still remain Raphael's most precious client. And he always takes good care of his clients. This is the third flashback oneshot for the main story. Word count: 2963 Notes: Drunk Tav, a devil and some unresolved romantic tension.

My writing masterlist

Why was the Underdark so gods damn… uneven?

You had to squint to see where to put your foot next amidst the rocks. And even then it didn’t go where you aimed to. Your knee and ankle ached with each step and it was easier to just drag the leg after you instead of walking properly-ish. Your prevailing state of intoxication didn’t exactly make moving easier, but alcohol did help in numbing the pain as much as the temporary solitude did this far away from camp.

Stupid bulette. Stupid tadpole. And most importantly stupid you for not preparing well enough for a road trip in the Underdark. Who knew how many days you would have to spend underground. 

There was no one around to take the irritation out on, but… you did possess the means to summon a certain someone to listen to your nescient complaining. Was it smart? Of course not. You would most likely have to pay for the senseless act of stupor, but being less medicated and more drunk than you would’ve liked to be, somehow made the idea sound absolutely perfect! Like poking a sleeping devil in the eye.

You lifted up your hand, glared at the magic ring with burning ire and recited the incantation:

“Dominus! Inferiooor ad ge–, ad me– shit. AD TE. Me flerco–, me… fleurgh, ugh. For fuck’s sake. Flecto inferni.”

Nothing happened, no surprise there, but your brows furrowed furiously as you squinted to look around. No flames or cinders were to be seen.

“Get your ass over here, you stupid devil,” you cursed and kicked a pebble into the darkness. The sounds of it tumbling down echoed in the chasm.

“You would do well to mind your manners.”

“Oh–!”

You fell promptly to your butt on the cold, hard ground and wailed aloud since your injured leg bent painfully.

What stood in front of you was not the handsome man you had expected to see. It was a towering devil; red skin, majestic horns, leathery, gargantuan wings and claws at his fingertips. His eyes were no longer soft brown, but instead they burned with deep saffron, surrounded by inky black.

Raphael the devil had a pained look on his face and he was pinching the bridge of his nose.

You struggled to get up to save some modicum of self-respect in front of your patron, but trying to put weight on the leg made you wince instantly.

“A tumultuous evening, I presume?” Raphael asked, looking at you from dirt-caked hair down to the injured leg.

“What?”

“I see you’ve decided to take the scenic route to rock bottom tonight. Why haven’t you healed yourself, little raven?” he asked and tutted.

“I am doing it right now,” you replied quickly and a ravaging blush rose to your face. You would have rather died than admitted to the devil that you had ventured into the Underdark ill-prepared.

“Then why, pray tell, are you bothering me?” The snarling words revealed a glimpse of sharp canines.

You braced yourself and channelled the earlier irritation back through the stinging pain. There were also the three times you had already had to explain why you wore a ring in your ring finger and why the infernal rune R was carved on it. You still absolutely refused to take the easy way out and just comply with Raphael’s absurd practical joke with the ring. You would never ever pretend to be married just for his amusement.

There. You were irritated enough to tell stupid, handsome Raphael why you were bothering him tonight.

“I have WORDS for you. So. Uh. Listen carefully, Raph.” Your body swayed a little on the cold, hard ground. Trying to focus on Raphael’s burning stare was immeasurably difficult.

His eye twitched, but that was the only visible reaction. Though, he looked immeasurably displeased.

Scraping around the leftovers of your dignity, your back straightened and you started yapping:

“I have given my, MINE only, soul to you, but you – hic! – won’t remove this teeny tiny” – you made a point to show the size of the worm by pinching your thumb and index finger almost together and squinting at the space inbetween – “worm from my head.”

Before you could finish inhaling for the next words, Raphael leaned right to your face (you couldn’t help realising how huge his horns were!) and snarled:

“You haven’t given anything yet. And with that tadpole eating away at your brain, you might not have a soul to offer in the end.”

You gulped and your hand dropped. Your brain was processing rather slowly, but this revelation caused pause. Mind flayers didn’t possess souls. Well, not knowing before your outburst turned out to be just embarrassing.

Raphael pointed a sharp claw in the air and continued:

“Be grateful that I’m willing to uphold our bargain, forasmuch as I’m invested in your success, my due payment relies on it.”

You didn’t know what to say. Suddenly it became apparent that Raphael found this deal far less favourable than you did. All this time you had thought he had arranged the shorter stick for you to pick and that devils didn’t make bargains that weren’t advantageous to them.

“See that this is the last time you bring this up.”

Nodding furiously, but stopping just as quickly because it made your head spin, you said: “Uh-huh, yes, saer.”

You hiccuped and the pitiful sound echoed from the rocks around you.

Raphael straightened up. “Good. Time to go, then.”

You were sure he was going to just leave you to sit on the ground, but with the snap of his fingers, you found yourself at the House of Hope in the familiar dining room – still inelegantly sitting on the marble floor. And you hiccuped again.

Raphael sighed heavily, though you thought you noticed a hint of amusement in there. He walked over to you and before you could protest, leaned over to lift you into his arms as if you weighed nothing.

“This is emrass–, embar-…sing. Just. Let me down!” you yelped, but held on to his shoulders. He was so tall and you were so high up in his arms that it was enough to trigger reasonable fear of heights.

“Glad we agree on something, little raven,” Raphael muttered.

He walked towards a hallway in resolute steps. People dressed in rags scurried away to give the master of the house a wide berth. There was a faint jingle with each step and in your state of inebriation you were almost sure you were just imagining it.

“Where are you taking– hic! Me?”

“To heal.”

You were taken aback.

“Why?”

An almost smug half-smile twisted Raphael’s lips. His mouth too seemed huge in comparison to yours.

“As I’ve told you, I take care of my clients and despite your drunken ravings tonight, you still remain one of my most precious ones.”

Oh. Heat ravaged your face. Did the devil like you?

Door after door passed as the hallway curved. Each breath teased your dulled senses with Raphael’s scent: surprisingly sweet and musky with smoke somewhere in there. It was gradually lulling your consciousness, as you slowly sobered up, into comfort within the devil’s arms.

As he carried you, you settled to stare at his pretty face from such a close distance. You had never seen a cambion this close. The booze was probably shielding you from freaking out. Despite the infernal red shade of his skin and the burning eyes, his facial features were the same. The same dark eyelashes and brown curls at the tips of his hair.

Raphael was pretending as if he didn’t notice you staring, or he just didn't care. But his lips looked soft and you wondered how they would look like travelling the planes of your naked skin. You bit your lower lip, already feeling the heat and pressure gather between your thighs.

Raphael glanced at your face with an unreadable expression. Could devils smell dirty thoughts? Gods, you hoped not. Your cheeks were blazing.

“Tell me, Raph,” you blurted to divert his attention.

His molten eyes narrowed with warning. You failed to notice as you were busy looking anywhere but at his face.

“Is there a practical reason you’re sooo handsome? Hah! A handsome devil, just like–, just like…”

You couldn’t figure out what the devil was like until his icy stare shut you up.

“S-sorry…”

Raphael finally paused in front of a force curtain covering a huge doorway. It was like solid crystal and streaming water, sparkling in the low light of the hallway. You barely got a good look before it simmered and disappeared completely.

Inside revealed to be a large circular room. The inner circle was surrounded by large stone columns, candles littered every surface as the only source of light. In the middle of the room, amidst teal-hued vapours was a pool with two faucets constantly flowing more steaming water into it. Intricate rugs and plush cushions lay on the floor around it. At the back of the room, high archways lead to balconies overlooking the desolate plains of Avernus.

“Ooh, who is this?” an unknown voice drawled, “A new plaything?”

“Out, Haarlep,” Raphael said in a tone that left no room for arguments. The low voice made his chest rumble pleasantly against your body.

Raphael stopped by the pool, precariously close to the edge. When he stilled and the humid air clung to your every breath, his scent lingered. You couldn’t help the few deep breaths to inhale it, to almost taste it on your tongue.

“You smell like cherries,” you muttered to the devil, “So sweet…”

He cocked a brow at you.

“Swim, little raven.”

Raphael dropped you unceremoniously into the pool of restoration. The impact sent a jolt of pain from your knee through your whole body, but before you even hit the bottom, the pain was already alleviating.

Gasping, you emerged to the surface. Raphael was chuckling, arms crossed over his chest.

“You–! Insolent… devil!” you screamed, spitting water from your mouth.

It took mere seconds to realise your body had never felt more comfortable or healthy, at least not during your tadpoled life.

“You’re welcome. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, there are important matters that require my attention.”

“W-what, you’re leaving?”

“Would you rather I joined you in there?” he asked with nonchalance, his horned head tilting with curiosity.

Yes.

Moments ago the wine in your blood would have provided enough liquid courage to ask him to do just that, but now you hesitated, knowing the devil was just teasing you.

“N-no.”

“Adieu, little raven.”

Just like that, he was gone in flames. You were treading the water, still wobbly on your feet, but feeling constantly better and better.

You looked around the room that was likely Raphael’s private boudoir. The lavish and intricate design of the furniture and multiple paintings depicting the devil himself were way too over the top.

“He always did seem like a guy to have a painting of himself above his bed,” you scoffed out loud.

Since no one was there, you warily settled to sit in the pool and brushed your hair with your fingers. Your leg moved without any pain and all the scratches and bruises were gone from your body, as well as the effects of the alcohol. Shame. The water was almost too hot, but you revelled in it. It had been ages since the last proper bath.

Since there was no sign that Raphael would return any time soon, you started to plan for the next steps – despite how gratifying it was to soak in the bath.

A counter by the side of the pool had a neat pile of towels on it, so you slipped out of the water and paused to wonder if you should take off your wet clothes or not. There were no conveniently placed bathrobes or any clothing in sight, but a huge wardrobe loomed at the side of the room.

Surely there was no harm in borrowing a dry shirt, in the least?

You tiptoed to the wardrobe, huffed in relief since it was open and spent only a second to snatch a white, frilly shirt to change into. It smelled like Raphael – a fact you tried really hard to ignore along with the tender feeling that rolled into your chest.

You left your wet camp clothes by the pool and accepted the momentarily discomfort of keeping your wet undergarments on. Surely they would dry soon enough with the warm temperature of the Hells. Changing into a clean, dry shirt felt amazing. You didn’t dare wonder what Raphael thought of your rummaging through his wardrobe, but he wasn’t there to reprimand you. Come to think of it, what a poor host he was, leaving you alone like that.

The way out of the boudoir was once again sealed by a magical curtain, so you took that as an invitation to look around the room by yourself. The upper part of the room was reserved for a huge bed that looked like the most comfortable one you had ever seen. You would’ve sold your soul again to get a break from camping and get a goodnight’s sleep in a proper bed.

Although… Raphael was nowhere to be seen and it was probably already midnight. You were dead tired.

“Don’t mind if I do…” you mumbled to yourself and climbed into the massive bed, diving under the covers. The sheets carried a strong scent of cherries and burnt sandalwood, mixed with rich, alluring musk.

Within minutes, you drifted into sleep and spared no thought to how worried your companions likely were.

—

“Rise and shine, little raven.”

Your toes curled at the deep, soothing voice. It was just like it had sounded in your dream, but the details were hazy red and enveloped in the misty warmth of the pool. A pleasant feeling wavered through your body at the memory.

“Mm. Is it morning already… Raphael!”

You jumped to sit up on the bed, staring at the master of the house in horror.

He stood by the bed, once more in his human guise and a dark smile on his lips. He mused: “Indeed it is. I see you made yourself at home in my absence.”

“You just left me here! What was I supposed to do?” you argued back and hogged the covers closer to your chest.

Raphael chuckled. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

He offered his hand to you, signalling that it was time to leave his bed and get back to reality. After hesitating only for a heartbeat, you took the hand and let him pull you up, almost right into his chest. He steadied you with a hand on your shoulder and an examining look. A lighter version of the smirk persisted.

Once again you realised how the dark honey-tinted brown eyes of his human form were actually really pretty. Heat radiated off his body, maybe an effect of being in Avernus or a devilish side-effect of his. Nonetheless, it felt nice after being stripped away from the warmth of the bed covers.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave looking unkempt like that,” Raphael said in a soft tone that sent pleasant shivers running up your neck and pooled heat into the pit of your belly.

You started to realise you had just slept in the devil’s bed.

Before you could do anything but swallow, Raphael started undoing the buttons of your – no, his – shirt.

“What are you doing?” you gasped and clutched his wrists. His skin was so warm and the faint smile on his lips was nothing if not suggestive.

“Re-doing your buttons, my dear,” he replied with a hum of a chuckle. “You’re welcome to keep the shirt, but at least try to look like you just haven’t spent the night revelling in debauchery and sin.”

“But I was just sleeping!” you acclaimed.

“My point exactly.”

Your face was burning. From the devil’s expression you easily read that the bastard was enjoying this.

Raphael took his time undoing and buttoning the shirt, fingers travelling dangerously close to your chest and over your navel. An accidental brush of fingers there and another here. You just stood still, breathing shallow in a way that surely didn’t go unnoticed by him. You were fighting the unwanted tingling feeling and heat coiling inside you.

His hands lingered at the last button. You made the mistake of looking up at his face and were encountered with a heavy look that sent you reeling. Your pulse quickened. He was so close, you could have just pushed up to your toes and–

No. No way in Hell. Raphael was gorgeous, but you were not about to sully your soul by sinning with a devil. No matter how inviting the smile on his very kissable lips was or how amazing he smelled.

You had to break the spell somehow.

“Raphael?” You hated how tinged with desperation your voice was.

“Yes?”

You looked away as his hands parted from you. It was a little easier to breathe.

“Um. Thank you for your hospitality,” you said in earnest.

He huffed. “You are very much welcome.” He took a step back and a strange sensation that his thoughts mirrored your own carnal but hesitating ones crept into your mind. Raphael continued: “I’ll add it to your tab, little raven. But now it’s time for you to go.”

Your head snapped up.

“Wait, what tab–?”

In a swirl of devouring flames, you found yourself back at camp and a second later all your companions started yelling. Only then you remembered that your camp clothes had been left by the pool and you were not wearing any pants.

[itgirlgyu]

HONEY FOR MY HONEY! huening kai.

ຊ 'huening kai! x fem reader ᝰ GENRE! FLUFF, CRACK!

🎊. S_UMMARY! %🍓 your plans to surprise your boyfriend gets ruined because of two giant buffoons and their biggest vices!

WORD COUNT ﾉ 1637! 𔖭𔖮 warnings include + BEES! 𐬹 ۫ ۪ beomgyu a lying, useless partner in crime, soobin as a snitch, and huening being the best boyfriend ever! ꒷꒦

“Yeah but why am I being dragged into this mess?”

Beomgyu may not be right about a lot things; like his ludicrous bullheadedness about the weather being just fine even though the grumble of the darkened clouds could easily deafen anyone, or the the time he thought a dog, who visibly had a tag that said it would be dangerous to approach it, and beomgyu still marching right ahead to to pet the,"adorable puppy," as he called it, and nearly getting his ass bitten.

But this time, you're afraid that he just might be right.

"Because you were the only one available," you told him casually, albeit some roots of guilt that had started to sprout on your head, had already started to die down when you reasoned with yourself—I mean he was your friend, you could definitely expect a favor, or two from him.

Beomgyu put on the veil that was provided by the Bee Harvest you two were visiting to get your boyfriend's birthday present—and that completed his entire ensemble, mirroring yours.

You threw him a quick thumbs before twirling around to venture out into the wilderness—to risk your feeble, lovesick self to acquire the best gift for the love of your life.

"You know," Beomgyu began, his thought shortly interrupted by a pebble he had tripped over. After gathering himself up promptly, Beomgyu quickly dusted himself off with the help of some colorful string of curse words flying out of his dulcet lips, " You could literally dig a plushie out of a garbage can to give him, and Kai would still be happy."

Your eyes instinctively rolled to the back of your head as the frigid perceptive of love from your beloved friend, and current partner in crime, hit your ears. You were aware that Beomgyu was a well known hypocrite, so dwelling on every little word that comes out of his motormouth would be akin to putting your feet on an axe willingly.

"What's the point of complaining now?" you sighed, following the honey harvester who would teach you how to extract the honey yourself, " We're already here."

"And I want to give my honey real honey!" You turned back dramatically, finding Beomgyu standing a little distance from you, with his hands on his hips as though he was waiting for you to finish your grand speech on love.

"You done?" He inquired. Even if his expressions were shielded from you by the veil hat, the judgment that seeped out of his body language, and his words—well soaked in a bitter concoction of annoyance, and anger really coming through strongly.

"Yep!" You answer immediately, " But you came so—"

"Yeah or else Yeonjun Hyung said he'd kick me out of the lease," Beomgyu grumbled, stomping past you to follow the instructor to the destination.

"You're the best Beomgyu!" You cheered on from behind before skipping ahead to match the long strides he took in his fit of rage, and helplessness.

It only took half an hour.

Half an hour to realize that maybe Beomgyu was right; that he had a point. That Beomgyu too, could make two right points in a singular day— that being, what he would even do to help you?

The simple answer was a resounding nothing; in actuality he'd may even increase the workload for you, and for that you only have yourself to blame now as you sit beside the man who was in a feverish state after seeing the bees swarming the beehive, pressing a bottle of cold water to his dampen forehead to ease the fever he had developed out of fear.

"I swear I am brave," Beomgyu muttered under his breath, " I even ate bugs as a kid—"

"Yeah that's enough beomgyu," You swiftly put an end to his loony babbling before he could further embarrass himself in front of the beautiful lady who had helped you take him inside the workshop and had provided him with urgent care.

"Please don't mind my friend," You apologized on his stead, pressing the cold bottle to his lips, sealing it shut, "He's just squeamish about bugs," Beomgyu shoots a glare at you an instant, his neck audibly cracking at his rapid force. But you ignore his searing gaze in favor of mingling with the pretty lady in front of you.

The lady assured Beomgyu one last time that he wasn't the first one to get freaked out at the sight of all those bees together, and it's a completely normal reaction to have, before excusing herself to let him rest for a while, much to Beomgyu's dismay.

"You just hate me don't you?" Beomgyu shoots you a glare, "First bringing me here-"

"You were the only jobless one that could drive me here without raising any suspicion."

"And then making me look bad in front of that nice nurse!"

"I just spoke the truth!" You defended yourself, allowing yourself to lay back on the chair you had placed yourself in beside the single bed, " You did faint!"

"Couldn't you have made it sound cooler?!"

"And lie?"

"Precisely!" Beomgyu who had forgotten that he had gotten dizzy, and fell backwards on the ground hitting the back of his head pretty hard, had suddenly the determination of an olympian representing his country as he, with a lot of "ouchies" and winces in similar note, sat on on the bed facing kai's girlfriend, and currently his formidable foe.

"Lie about what?"

"Beomgyu not fainting at the sight of bees." You replied rapidly with a scoff prior to the tone of the voice registering in your head, and realizing who it belonged to.

You whipped your head around to see none other than your very own boyfriend—the one who you were hiding from as you planned to surprise him with the thoughtful organic gift—kai, while holding a basket full of strawberries.

"Kai?" You yelled in shock, but it came out more like a question as you narrowed your eyes behind your glasses trying to assess the possibility of your boyfriend being real, and not an entity of your subconscious appearing before you.

You also noticed a large figure of the man behind Kai,who was trying his best to appear invisible, and it all became all too real as the math started to make sense in your head, all of a sudden.

One plus two indeed meant that Soobin had failed to keep his big mouth shut, and snitched on you.

"Before you get mad I can explain," Soobin spluttered, emerging out of Kai's shadow. His hands flailed around as he tried to get you to listen to him before you start to berate him for something which he admits he had done; but Soobin swears he had a reason.

"Your reason is that was around here and so you wanted to ruin his girlfriend's surprise for him?"

Soobin winced—his nose scrunched up as he listened to you,the taste of his own actions appearing too bitter for him when you summarized it for him

"Well then Beomgyu texted me that he got injured."

"He was exaggerating," Kai laughed as he sat beside beomgyu, pinching the blanket between his index finger and thumb, reminding you of his attendance; it made your blood boil to have your sweet little surprise being trampled by two giant buffoons.

"And your surprise is still intact my love," Kai exclaimed, turning his body to look at you. His hands glided on the bed to approach yours, but you quickly hid them inside your crossed arms—eyes boring into his as you silently grilled him to come clean.

"I swear!" Kai lied once again, throwing his hands up in the air in his defense, "actually it's my surprise that got spoiled."

"Poor Kai," Soobin, the loose lipped traitor, sighed from the sideways.

He quickly shut himself up when you shot him the umpteenth number of glares, and excused himself to the bathroom, as you turned your attention to your boyfriend, and his apparent spoiled surprise.

"What surprise?" You inquired, your body still leaning away from his touch, as you situated yourself on the other side of the bed.

Beomgyu had his head hidden by the blanket, and refused to come out of it to even breathe right after Kai appeared with Soobin because of his weak, unsavory moment of helplessness when he was being treated by the woman of his dreams: Beomgyu's own words.

"Wait!" Kai's sparkled as he clapped his hands," That means you don't know!"

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your lips curling upwards in a distasteful scorn.

"I knew it, you were lying."

"Was not!" Kai exclaimed, his head swinging back as though he had just been accused of perjury, the opaque sparkles swimming in his waterline.

"I wanted you to surprise you with my hand picked strawberries!" He held up the straw basket, filled with delectable strawberries before your eyes, before setting it between the two of you.

"Really?" you asked, the distasteful anger in your heart simmering away little by little at his endearingly childish antics, "Why surprise me though?"

Your fingers finding themselves picking up a sweet looking strawberry, tearing it through your teeth as the dulcet juices of the fruit, mixed with your lover's effort touched the tip of your tongue.

"Because I love you."

"You knew didn't you? Soobin told you, didn't he?"

Kai pressed his lips on a thin line as a color mimicking the shade of the strawberries he had picked bloomed onto the apple of his cheeks, his hands brushing the back of his head, nodding meekly.

" I will kill him later," You said, picking up the basket and replacing it with yourself—inching closer to him and placing your chins on his chest, looking up at him.

"Right now let me bask in your cuteness."

author's note / low key a comeback?

PERM TAGLIST— @full-sunnies @impureperhaps @wonioml @1921choi

©ITGIRLGYU 2023,, feedbacks are appreciated!

[starlightsuffered]

Boobs Are More Important than Classes

Pairing - Regulus Black/Fem!Reader

Warnings - smut, bikini-wearing, fingering, motor boating, titty fucking, cum on tits

Regulus knew he had classes, but he'd seen his girlfriend headed off to the prefects' bathroom. He wanted a few moments of alone time with her before he was whisked away into school work again. It seemed like he was always doing school work these days.

He said the password to the door and slipped inside. He wondered if she was in a stall? Then he saw her. She was putting on a strappy, barely there, bathing suit. He was staring with his mouth wide open. His eyes were glued to her breasts, where two small triangles were the only thing covering her.

"What is this?" He asked, and watched her jump. Her breasts jiggled from the movement, and he licked his lips.

"Regulus, you scared the shit out of me," she said, hand on her heaving chest.

"What are you wearing?"

"Oh this, my bikini, I was going to go swimming in the lake."

"A bikini?" He questioned, moving toward her slowly.

"A muggle bathing suit. There's nothing like it in the wizarding world?" She asked, running her fingers through her hair.

"I can honestly say I've never seen anything like this before," he breathed. "Also, you're 1000% not leaving this bathroom with that on."

"Why?" She asked, crinkling her nose.

"Because, with how hard I am from just looking at you, I know you'll be getting all sorts of attention from others."

Finally, he was near enough to pull her to him. He pressed his lips against hers hungrily. She responded positively to his kiss. Her mouth moved on his for a few moments before pulling back.

"Baby, you've got classes," she said.

"Boobs are more important than classes," he said, and then paled. "I mean, YOU are more important than classes."

She threw her head back in a laugh. He was glad she wasn't offended, but his cheeks were heating.

"I love how you're so smart, but when your horny it's like you're working with one brain cell," she said.

"Does that mean you're up for it?" He asked boldly, trying to recover.

"Alright Black, I'm game," she grinned and pulled him back into a kiss. Their tongues danced together as Regulus massaged handfuls of her breasts. He appreciated her moan as he reached down to press pressure on her clit through her bottoms. Soon, he put his hand inside them. He cursed at the wetness he found there.

Soon, he was pressing two fingers into her. He pumped them in and out while curling them. She was panting, and he gratefully watched her tits rise and fall.

He undid the back of her bikini, and it fell off her. He stopped his fingers' movements for a moment and bent down. He placed his face between her breasts and moved it back and forth rapidly. He was panting with lust when he stopped.

"I want you to suffocate me," he groaned up at her. She had been biting her lip as she watched him. He stood again, moving his fingers faster. His head dipped so he could suck on her pebbled nipples.

"Fuck Regulus," she moaned, pulling at his curls.

"You close?" He asked, pulling off her tit for a moment.

"Yeah," she whimpered. He lifted his thumb so he could put pressure on her clit.

"Regulus," she cried out, and he felt her walls clamp around his fingers. He contentedly, suckled on her breasts as he worked her through her orgasm.

Finally, he pulled his fingers from her. They were drenched in her juices. He sucked them clean as his eyes locked with hers.

"Oh, baby, I have an idea you'll love," she said, as she watched him.

"Hmmm?" He questioned.

"Take off your robes."

He did as she requested. After waving the wand in his pocket, he was bare. She licked her lips slowly, she always got turned on by his magical abilities.

"Sit down," she said, eyeing his hard length with lust in her eyes. He sat down on the silver and green chair. She knelt in front of him and squeezed her breasts together.

"Fuck my tits Reg," she said in a sultry tone. He groaned loudly at the premise. He pumped his cock once, trying to spread his precum over it so it would glide more easily. Now, he guided it up and between her breasts. He leaned back on his elbows, before beginning to thrust.

"Holy fuck, what a good idea," he gasped as he watched himself move, squeezed by her perfect boobs. He continued to rut upwards, his head falling back in pleasure.

"That's a good boy Reg," she cooed, and her tone seemed to enhance the feelings he was receiving. Her breasts were glistening with his precum. He bit his lip in pleasure, not sure how much longer he'd last.

"Can I cum on them? Oh please, can I cum on them?" He begged.

"Yeah baby, coat my tits," she urged. With her words, he shattered. His white, sticky, cum was shooting from his cock. It landed all over her breasts. Some of the droplets dripped down onto her hands. Finally, when he'd stopped shooting, she stopped holding her breasts together. He moaned as he saw his essence slide down her tits. A droplet of his cum dangled from her left nipple tantalizingly.

"Bloody Hell," he panted. "I need to skip class more often."

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi! I love your writing! Especially your Mairon. Can I request a Mairon x wife Reader (female Maia of Yavanna) where she insists that spending the day outside with her away from his forge will cure his burnout on his current project. He doesn’t like the idea at first, but is quickly impressed with the new skills she shows him. So impressed that it leads to smut in the garden. Thank you!

"The beauty in imperfections"

Pairing: Mairon x Fem. Reader (Maia | Established relationship | Second person POV | Location - Almaren)

Themes: Soft | Smut (Lemon-ish)

Warnings: Kissing | Public sex | Hand job (Male receiving) | Fingering | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Word count: 1.7k words

Summary: Things heat up between you and Mairon while resting in a starlit meadow.

Rating:🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

For rules and tag form, read here.

"You toil too much, husband."

Mairon poured over many pieces of parchment, all of which were filled with drawings. He welled up with loathing whenever he glanced at them.

"Master Aulë tasked me with the creation of a diadem worthy of Varda herself," he replied, turning to face you, his voice and eyes dulled by exhaustion. "It must be perfect...none of these are perfect."

Ah, yes. Mairon and his quest for order and perfection. It was both a blessing and a curse, one that threatened to cripple him most of the time. You looked at him, your eyes filling with worry.

"You have confined yourself to the four walls of this forge for too long, husband," you said, taking his hand. "You need a diversion. A change of air will do you good, I think."

Mairon protested with, "But my task... Master Aulë..."

You were quick to cut him off. "Can wait. Come, husband. I am certain your vision can wait."

Mairon opened his mouth to refuse. You simply stood there, hands on your hips, bearing a look that would take no refusal. Mairon glared, the light slowly returning to his golden-orange eyes. You were unmoved. He crossed his arms over his chest. You were unmoved. You tapped the toe of your shoe against the floor. The forge soon filled with the unmistakable tap tap tap of hardened leather against stone. You arched a brow.

Mairon's lips curled at the corners. The tap tap tap grew insistent. Mairon's chest rumbled. You grinned while he struggled to hold back his amusement. Mairon finally laughed long and softly and shook his head.

"Determined little thing, yes?" He paused to walk around the forge. The flames in the furnace had been extinguished, and it was cool to the touch. Tools had been safely put away. All that remained was to shut the doors and windows, and he could leave. "Pray be patient a little longer, and we will leave, you and I."

It was not long before you were leading Mairon down a pebbled path that threaded around a beautiful meadow. The way ahead was lit with bright starlight. It turned the world a glorious silver. Mairon glanced at you, how your hair shone, how your eyes had gone soft and bright and dreamy. He found himself sighing softly.

"Here," you said, and led him under the gnarled branches of an oak tree that had withered with time. You spread your skirts over the soft grass and sat down with your back to the bark. "Come lay here and place your head on my lap."

Mairon made himself comfortable, sighing wistfully when cool air washed over him and you brushed your hand down his hair. He looked at you, wondering how much he would have missed and how long he would have been away from you, toiling on a vision that kept slipping through his fingers.

"Forgive me," he whispered, reaching up to curl his fingers around your hair. "For keeping myself from you for so long. Are you angry?"

"No," you replied truthfully. "For you have your duties just as much as I have mine. But I must confess," you sighed with worry, "watching your tasks consume you alarms me."

"I know," he agreed, "but I cannot help myself. It has to be perfection, nothing less. Is that wrong?"

"Perfection is an illusion, husband." You counseled, and reached to the side to pluck a dandelion in full bloom. "Nothing is truly perfect. Look at this flower. Yavannah created these with her own hands. See how uneven its petals and leaves are, how it is filled with little bumps and lines."

Mairon took the flower and looked over it critically. He found the little bumps and lines, the mismatched petals and leaves.

"And yet it is still beautiful," he admitted, albeit reluctantly. Mairon craved order and perfection; he could not help himself. Still, there was truth to what you said. Nothing was perfect, and even imperfections bring about beauty all of their own. "Perhaps you are right. I will stay away from the forge for a while, and go back to my task with rested eyes."

"Yes," you allowed, and looked around you. The meadow was a riot of blooms, and at that moment, the light from Telperion slowly spread out against the night sky in a brilliant display. The world was even more beautiful for it. Mairon saw it too. There was peace here, and magic. He slowly rose to his feet and dusted himself off, wanting to make the most of the time the two of you had together.

"Walk with me, wife," he implored, taking your hand into his. "Come walk with me."

Walk with him you did. You showed where the roses were, and where the wildflowers bloomed, even the lavender and sage and jasmines. Every flower and vine and tree imaginable was here. Mairon followed you, listening to you while you talked, his eyes on your lips the entire time. They were lips that were meant to be kissed. It had been long, too long in his mind, when the two of you kissed. And he thought he might not find himself in a more wonderous moment like this ever again. He stopped walking. You turned your attention to him, your gaze holding his even as he inched closer. His eyes burned into yours as the two of you stood close—so close that you felt the warmth wash off his fana and make your heart race a beat faster. Mairon wasted no time. He took you into his embrace and lowered his head, his lips barely brushing over yours.

His kiss shrouded your thoughts in a veil of bliss when it slowly deepened. Mairon growled, the sound low in his throat, when you responded passionately and returned his kiss eagerly. Goosebumps prickled all over your skin when his tongue slipped into the warmth of your mouth and the tips of his fingers dug into your dress.

"Husband," you breathed, and drew back. "Someone may find us."

"Eru take the others," he muttered thickly, and led you to a patch of meadow filled with glorious red blooms gilded in silver light. He lay down on soft grass and extended his arm. "Come here, wife. We may never get another moment like this again."

You licked your lips and considered his request. To engage in an act so private in a place where anyone could see... it was terrifying, and daring, and so very exciting at the same time. You looked over your shoulder, at the path you took. There was not a soul to be seen. And Mairon was right. The two of you might never come across an enchanting moment like this. You took his hand and lay beside him.

Mairon kissed you, now gently, his skilled hands undoing the lacing of your dress, loosening it, while you found the fastenings on his. He had you on your back before you could even think and he moved over you, caging you to the grass beneath you.

The air smelled so sweet. It was all roses and new leaves and him. You could smell him: all flames and leather and steel and the clean scent of him beneath it all. Your hands were curious in their exploration. You slipped them beneath his robes, running them all over his heated flesh. His breath hitched when you took him into your hands. Mairon trembled, really trembled, his eyes closing, his breathing reducing to ragged little gasps whenever you tightened and released, tightened and released. Just listening to him moan and whisper sweet endearments while hardening in your hands was enough to make you throb and dampen between your thighs.

His hand glided up your leg, going higher and higher before finding your small clothes. There was a sharp rip when he tore apart the wisps in his haste to reach the apex between your thighs. Your back bowed when skilled fingers touched you in a way that was familiar to you, fanning the flames already ablaze in your belly. His kisses muffled your moans. The delicious friction caused by his touch unraveled you.

It was not enough. He drew back and tugged his tunic over his head, his breeches even lower to free his cock. He helped you pull the top of your dress down, dipping his head to taste.

"You taste so sweet," he declared, his tongue leaving a damp trail over the soft expanse of your breasts. You had to bite your tongue. Mairon gripped your chin and tilted it up, compelling you to look at him. He did not want silence. He wanted to hear the sounds of your pleasure. He considered it to be the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. "Moan for me, wife. You know how I enjoy it when you do."

He eagerly dipped his head again. This time his kisses were violent and bruising, turning your fana into a canvas all of its own. Your moans, now wanton and unrestrained, spilled free. Mairon grew drunk on the sounds and shook when your arms slipped around his shoulders and your nails dug in.

"Hurry," you urged. The need to have him inside you was growing stronger by the moment. "Hurry, husband. There. There. Right there."

Mairon slowly sank his cock into your heat and lost himself in your flesh. He felt like such a fool, putting his labors over time with you. Not even the finest of his creations could compare to the time spent with you. His thrusts went from slow to rhythmic to hard and deep and fast, his hips slapping against the insides of your thighs. He trembled when your hands devled into his hair and the tips of your fingers brushed over his scalp, sending wave after wave of unimaginable bliss washing over him. He crushed your mouth with his when your legs scrambled for purchase against his hips.

It was over so soon. When he shuddered and spilled his seed, whispering your name, your fana splintered as your orgasm ripped through you. Mairon moaned when your cunt tightened around his cock. He kept still, his hand over your belly.

"Keep me in," he urged softly. "Do not move."

You forced open your eyes and looked up at him. Jolts of pleasure still licked up your spine. Mairon himself was gilded in the silvery light of the stars. He never looked more beautiful than at that moment. "More," you plead, "Please."

Mairon chuckled. "Then let me take you home. I plan on ruining you, wife."

Tags: @cilil @wandererindreams @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese

[nocturne-shift413]

LONG ASS POEM, from the heart, TELL ME WHAT YOU GUYS THINK ™️ published on Wattpad

As it were,

As it be,

The roots of affliction I see,

Are an inferno,

A pilgrimage all masochists know,

Where the ashes of fallen angels,

Flurry like snow,

And a frigid furnace,

Is the only source of glow,

Being only a stones throw,

Away,

I approach,

Not to be led astray,

As Innumerable feet have paved the way,

And how could footsteps,

Stoop to betray,

To my surprise,

I find,

When I look with my eyes,

An insurmountable mountain of lives,

Bodies piled to the somber skies,

Juxtaposed,

To smoke stacks of proportionate size,

Only in focus,

Do I realize,

This Rick is diverse,

Some silent curse,

Has killed more than any one hearse could hope to carry,

Faces benign and scary,

Smooth and hairy,

Young,

As well as old and wary,

all terry here,

No fear,

Simply vacant stares far and near,

It appears,

Their only purpose, is to burn in this furnace,

What did they do to deserve this,

This place is earthless,

And they are it's fuel,

Next to these cadavers,

Many a radiant jewel,

So, I move to inspect,

As I'm naught but a radiant fool,

Now,

What I find is so cruel,

Lost memories in a shimmering pool,

This,

Is the gruel of the devil,

I become disheveled,

Unsettled,

All these shiny pebbles,

In this pool,

We're loved ones left behind,

Good times they could never rewind,

And sentiments never opined,

This is such an intimate find,

That I feel sick,

So I flee quick,

And bump into,

What must be a terrible trick,

Before me is a lit wick,

And I'm wholly bewitched,

As it's flame twitched,

The shadow it cast pitched from side to side,

This stride was the silhouette of the devil,

Dancing with pride,

Around those who died,

Of course,

I elected to hide,

While this shadow danced around its pride and joy,

I am by no means coy,

So I begin to wonder,

If this is a ploy,

To cloy me away from my apathy,

I had to ascertain,

How this came,

To be,

Where I was exactly,

And if my own demons were used to entrap me,

So I set off for the windswept streets,

Excluding my heartbeats,

The solemn ashes silenced all,

Dimming my acuity,

To that of a sleepy fall day,

Once I made my way,

Back out to the streets,

I was met with the manifestation,

That trauma secretes,

A place where mental perdition greets it's guests,

with fiendish feelings,

City blocks,

Butchered into skin peelings,

A plenitude of bomb blasted ceilings,

Shady dealings,

And horrors congealing,

On buildings burnt to a crisp,

Architectural vessels housing naught but a wisp,

Of smoke,

This is not a joke,

This is what my mind's eye sees,

As I close my eyes,

And my mind's eye bleeds,

Now,

As my minds eye proceeds,

I perceive,

The haunting daydreams of the stricken,

It begins when the winds whip in,

Across this avenue of nothing,

The buffeting,

Carries screams of pain,

Oaths to maintain,

Incredible horror,

As I explore more,

The atmosphere becomes poorer,

For the future of me,

I happen upon a fellow junkie,

And a vision of what must be,

His own sordid past,

Cause as he watches his life turn to trash,

He turns to me,

Shoots up,

And turns to ash,

How could this fadeaway bypass,

His bygone lash,

Of time,

His body, soul, & mind,

Are entwined here forever,

To remind us,

That maybe oblivion is better,

Than heaven or hell,

That maybe the wounds of the past,

don't heal so well,

And there's nothing you can do,

To save yourself from history,

As this occurred to me,

It unnerved me,

So I had to hurry on my way,

This onslaught of decay,

Began to belie,

The backdrop of ' everything's ok ',

Slithering in my veins,

In my aimless trek,

Apparitions of others pains,

And all their past strains,

Display an insane show,

The further I go,

The less I know it seems,

But these dreams,

Are unsuitable scenes,

To be the means to my end,

For as an acrid fog,

Begins to descend,

And puts an end to my sight,

I'm confronted with a door,

Not ornate or poor,

Smooth or scored,

Just a regular door,

An entryway into the evermore,

Of my thoughts,

After turning its knob I see lots,

A tangled web of jots,

Senseless scraps tied into knots,

Buzzing like wasps,

And now I know the cost of my game,

In the recesses of my brain,

I finally notice a family in pain,

Over there,

A beast untamed,

And there,

A darkness,

I simply can't explain,

Indeed,

I also perceive,

A carefree need,

To be me,

And to love,

An interest in the stars up above,

And the redolence of a sweet scented,

Summer shrub,

I see mental illness,

And the mischief that it plays,

Bloody Razor blades,

Shredding skin to count the days.

And my mistrust casting a doubtful gaze,

But where do I dare to direct my boots,

at the roots of my affliction,

Addiction,

Ana entryway crooked in its mission,

Dying To be my mortician,

I picture my apparition,

In high definition,

The people I’d haunt,

Rending a spiritual incision,

I open its door in a wary position,

Stopping to listen,

Before I peer inside,

I've arrived,

At a torture chamber lined with shelves,

Stacked atop them,

All the different hells,

For me,

I push open the door,

And step in quietly,

It's dusty,

I've long ago abandoned,

It's crusty surfaces,

I see sharp objects,

With hurtful purposes,

And I'm sure this is,

My own trauma treasury,

I pick up a blood soaked memory,

And it stares back,

as if to say,

Remember me,

I remark that I do,

And that it hurts to touch you,

It spits back " fool! "

I'm the one you should listen to,

I could have all that I would,

The what is with the should,

If I could,

Just,

Put down,

The needle,

[glitchdollmemoria]

mutual 1: lost my damned tome again, i think i should just become a blacksmith at this rate

mutual 2: yeah milord that "herb" is a "spell component" 😏😶‍🌫️

mutual 3: i just know the court jesters pussy is tight

mutual 4: met this knight at the tavern and he bought me a drink after my gig and so i started kissing on his helmet only for him to take it off and reveal he was a butch lesbian who thought i was a fair maiden but no im just some fucking twink in tights fml fml

mutual 5: the skeletons are back

mutual 6: the king loves the way i jingle 🔔... yet her majesty hears not a chime! 🤭

mutual 7: my horse doesnt know how to read scrolls. my horse doesnt know anything

mutual 8: EXTREMELY disappointed in thayleria the swift :( the piercing tusk of a wild beast would do less harm to us all than her treacherous queerbaiting. might take a break from social magica #gayleria #we fucking trusted you #does our patronage mean nothing to you

mutual 9: lord maladaptivus should be slain

mutual 10: did elf ketamine with aldrunne oakbow and they put me in the hundred year labyrinth because "youre funny when youre confused" literally what the hell is their problem. anyway are there any cronefuckers online? fantastic news dearie

mutual 11: i need to dunk blorb'o from my epics in tar

mutual 12: sorry i havent been active im swamped in parchmentwork #aging scryblr userbase i know

mutual 13: BY THE DIVINES I NEED GNOME GOCK

mutual 14: necromancy is literally fine i dont understand all the fuss?? theyre already dead they dont care if i use them in battle

mutual 15: wyrm day isnt gonna save scryblr you buffoons

mutual 16: holy fucking shit i cant believe some of you actually dont ask the dead for permission before resurrecting them. you are literally the entire reason that necromancy is still illegal in some kingdoms. You Are The Problem. get help.

mutual 17: please remember good revolt etiquette! *quill drawn infographic with the worst advice youve ever seen*

mutual 18: how to undo rat curse

mutual 19: this loser just tried to give my mother a dowry of two hens and a pebble for my hand in marriage,, i,,,, ???

mutual 20: ok but am i the only one who thinks adventurers are hot when theyre all exhausted and grimy and weary and (the royal archers aim directly through my window)

mutual 21: had another prophetic dream. tome in chimera lair

[lacunasbalustrade]

It has been a while since these hands

fell upon the pores of paper,

tattooing a puppet so that it astounds

as it prances down the street.

I strip her naked,

give her the staff that symbolises my vices,

and bid her walk through the crowds.

I fold her clothes into drawers and rip

their seams methodically until

I can make them into faux wigs for other puppets.

I give her feathered wings made of amputated,

hollowed voices,

can you hear their silent fury permeating the world?

This is my craft, darlings,

this is your precious art;

I cannot let a thing exist without dissecting it

and this is a stain upon my hands that the touch of a loved one does not erase.

I don't want to examine things, you know.

I want to let them exist without having to apologise, and whisper sweet nothings to them

as we squat in a white and accepting horizon of nothingness appreciating blank space.

I do not want to hammer props together,

and bring my friends into a darkened theatre,

to gather my puppets and have them perform for others' short laughter,

a lovely resolution indeed to learn

from a story that is not theirs

and that they cannot truly walk into.

I do not want to be a theatrical deception,

I refuse to tell a story that will make you think life is worth living.

I hate how words wrap around my skin like

a lower layer of clothes,

of armour,

I hate that my words have the ability to

move people forward or

backward like pawns on a board.

These words come from the wiseness

and experience of a me who

has not enough stomach

to let a promise stay untold;

constantly afraid of forgetting it.

I wish I could recall my heart so fearlessly

that none of it would be mysterious to me,

and thus avoid having to set tombstones of verbs

and nouns into the ground every time I

want to memorialise someone or

something once important to me.

Couldn't I just let them go,

instead of fossilizing them alone,

mummifying them into a dark and disturbed dusk

that they must now wander without a map?

I have killed people from my side

by sticking their incense into the fire

before they were even gone.

I don't want to write.

I don't want to make.

Yes, I

would rather be a consumer,

what is so odd about it?

I hate my own words which exist in

the darkness of a girl younger than the year

I was born.

I would throw a tantrum like a child if that would drive the words away from me,

scatter them like petals to a breeze

or fish to a pebble dropped in the pond.

Can't I exist without judging

and determining the value of things?

Effortless,

I want an effortless ability to

separate the sheep from the lambs.

Can you replace my words with a healing touch? Because all I can offer you is tomes of sadness

and grimoires of what once happened,

living sacrifices bound in hair and blood.

Ghastly,

alive,

undead;

I can't keep putting my name on the altar as

a gift to you, do you understand?

The smoke dries my eyes out into desiccated coconut that I drop into soup and reuse,

nutrients never leaving the cycle of

seeing and

hearing and

painful speculation with speech.

Find me my heart,

someone I do not have to tell stories to.

Let the warmth of our hands gesturing be enough to sustain us.

I want to listen to you talk for the rest of your life and

say nothing at all,

it is a cruel thing that I must speak

in order for someone to take a look over at me,

on the opposite side of the metro.

Can I not take a vow of silence,

of deep breaths and unwavering faith?

But I am so very weak to the sight of you

sitting there and waiting for me to reach out a hand, so much that even

when there is nothing waiting for my return,

I offer up a slashed wrist without a second thought.

In a room with no lights on,

the cool wall drains all defiance from my slumped back. Where will I be when I can

finally throw this pen off the highest skyscraper and not dive down to follow my

most heavy curse?

I am hungry for my words to follow a

standard that I can smooth out to

be acceptably vague,

not deceptively simple and terribly full of grief.

I have collected standard samples of writing

that I wish to portray,

but I can't force myself into a mould because

the grief wants more than anything to speak.

I try to prune it and weed it yet

it grows back again,

and again,

And again.

I can quell it,

gild it,

but a lily is a lily,

and I cannot pull it from the riverbed,

my love.

I cannot.

I don't want to call him by another name.

It suits him,

yes,

but I do not want to sacrifice him to the page.

Our story is the only one

I'm capable of telling,

but I do not want to give it over

into the arms of someone who

will kill the author and strip

the meat of his story

from its bones.

Yes, I know

my writing only has one purpose;

to lend a medium of canvas to someone else's easel

But let me be selfish,

just

this

once,

and say that I cannot tell this story to a page.

I cannot bear to place him in the arms

of someone else,

who will take him

and love him

In a way that is entirely wrong.

I will not and cannot abandon

these words that harbour his gentle tenacity,

his careful intimacy,

to the circus

for some coin and a little recognition.

I will find some other act,

and make a mediocre living,

and I will not strip him of the acknowledgement

I owe him and he owes me,

us to one another;

that we are the closest any person could be

in perfect clarity.

I do not want to call him by another name,

and reduce him to a legend I

am willing to tell around the fire.

For everyone knows that

the more precious the story,

the closer you hold it to your chest,

and the more tenderly you play your cards.

The story is like your hand,

reserved for a few,

only a select few,

who get to look into your eyes and

hear your account of the whole affair.

Here is the best declaration of love that I can manage; I will not immortalise you in my pages.

I will not sketch your visage onto paper.

I will never write a song about you.

Here is the best way I can think of loving you;

I will never let you roam alone,

cut-and-pasted and become a

fragment of someone else's memory.

Here is my answer and my fault,

I refuse to let you weather the ages without me,

and I think we shall go into the world beyond

this world together so neither of us have

to remain as ghosts.

If we leave this world earlier,

and more separated than I would like,

I want nothing to tie you down there.

I want to meet you on the road to heaven,

and damn

if we had things we never got to do on Earth,

because you are enough,

regardless if we get to be

the couple of teenage dreams and

restful wishes or not

I would make my home a battlefield,

and a war too,

if it was one you were fighting with me.

I cannot let you become a secret that I tell.

It is hard to keep these lips shut.

I want to fly our story on

banners from planes and walk

over the sky in fireworks.

But I will not taint you with that wish.

Here and now,

I snap my puppets in two,

breaking their backbones mercilessly.

Here and now,

I delete the only copy of our painstakingly written draft.

Here and now,

the fabric of our universe returns to you,

a ripped and threadbare fabric teeming with holes

and loose strands healing before your eyes

(I cannot make you a poem)

and I will not,

cannot drag you away from it again.

It cost me all my strength,

the first time round.

I hate writing,

and although it stems from my ghosts,

they do not have to speak for me to be content.

If I do not let you remain vibrant with colours,

if I do not hesitate to shut them up and

let us dance,

what sort of lover would I be?

I make the choice here now to lock my past in a room.

To me, love is

something that changes what's precious.

No, I don't think I am a better person

for ignoring the depth of grief within me,

but I will not let my ghosts out to shriek.

I will love you and with

each day they will grow fainter in their bars,

this is the sacrifice I choose to make

rather than satisfy their hunger.

I would starve myself

to have you,

do you understand?

In keeping you,

I have kept the harbour of my life.

Any oath or path I take up has a price to pay,

but yours is the only one in which I am refunded

in full at the end

(yes, I do not know how things will turn out,

but I could never regret this.

I have regretted nothing since I stepped into you.)

Paper will not wrap itself around my heart again.

I will not protect myself with layers of

words like magic seals,

nor communicate my intentions through

gifts of intrigue you cannot speak the language of. Real and true,

I must tear apart the doors that lead nowhere, storming through hallways in

search of the best route to lead you in so

you don't get lost,

and confuse the direction,

and reach me with the fastest time.

For you,

for you,

I shred my armour.

For you,

for you, I,

I will be speechless.

For you, for you,

I let you fill in your questions in your neat handwriting into my heart

and I let time answer for me with

the hug that only space can give as

it makes way for the two of us to embrace.

For you I gave up the treachery

that I took up to elucidate my own home.

I will build one with my hand in yours instead.

Let us walk unsteadily down our path,

the laundry dripping wet in the basket.

We'll hang it up from a branch,

chortling heard through the trees,

and we will have no explanation required from us.

I will make tea and the steam will fog up

your vision, yet you will see

my silhouette through it.

There needs to be no words when we stretch

out like cats leisurely on pillows next to

our glass windows,

basking in the heat of the sun,

the rays of the mundane afternoon we

fought so hard and long for.

The wounds will not be deep,

they will be shallow gouges,

and I will trace my finger down your

cheek and call them healed.

I will cry,

and you will stand there,

waiting for me as I scream,

never once turning your face away.

I will lick the salt clean from my face,

and you will wipe it from my mouth.

I will still fold my blankets thickly over myself,

but I will not need them anymore.

I will have your warmth.

No one said it will stop hurting,

only that I would stop wanting to forget.

And as days after days fall from memory,

I will compare my remembrance with yours.

Together, we will make a game of it,

and it will matter not if we take shortcuts

or cheat because the fadeaway cannot thin

our bond from our sightline,

cannot mist over the horizon we float

through together at our own pace.

And my tears will slowly fossilize into gems

that I wear around my neck,

glistening as proof that we once lived

through such and such times,

yet taken as nonsense by the

new generation who cares shallowly for us.

For you, I will tell no stories.

We can face each other and speak these words,

so there is no need for us to

burden others with them.

This is my proposal to you,

let me be the only story you live through.

This is my proposal to you, let yours

be the only story I keep silent,

the only one I hold to my heart.

I refuse to tell this story.

It is too magnificent to be given freely,

a jealous treasure I will guard.

It is the only thing I will not write about,

the only thing I will shield from my grief

I will not associate my heart with my clinging depression.

They are separate,

and distinctly gifted with different rationale

(my grief to tell me how much

to treasure my joy,

my joy to remind me that there is more

to love than grief.)

My hands will not end up knitting these colours together -

they can stay in their separate compartments so

they do not muddy the colours.

That's why I will not tell your stories.

But I delight in sharing my life within glances to you. I will write about you no more,

and you will live on only within your own existence. You will not become a part of my resume,

and I will not carve you up to please those

who want to see what I crave and create.

I will not cremate you before your arrival and

I will not leave your name up on a mountain.

I will not take you and throw you towards those whom

doubt me as a warning.

I will not share you nor hide you

You will remain your own and I will listen to you

Reaching out across the distance

Without desiring to place a territorial mark on you

I will give you the freedom of striking

the match.

there has been enough grief,

and you will not be soaked or consumed

by what has already taken so much

from me.

I have had enough lost to fill a hundred boxes,

I will not lose you preemptively this time around to

prevent you from breaking my heart.

you will have this choice if I must tear myself apart for it,

I will let you have the upper hand.

I love you enough to keep your secrets safe for you.

I love you enough to kill my reason for you.

This time, you have the steering wheel, and I accept

it if you crash the car.

you have every right, so please,

do not be angry at me for not writing you

into

a story.

I cannot bear it if you do not see why,

why I must not tell the world about you.

You must be the one to tell it.

All I touch is filled with the taste of me, and in

order to have your story be true,

It cannot be easily given.

That is why I must say nothing.

My pen is yours for the taking.

I will tell no one about you,

Only breathe and your hollow absence will be on

my mind always

Anyone can see whom I belong to, but the magic

Is in the refusal to give the game away.

Every inch of my skin is marked with 'sold',

I am entirely yours and

I will not assert myself over you unless it is

Of your doing.

How have you wanted to be loved all these years?

I still am not presumptuous enough to

Believe that I know everything about it, but

I do know this: you needed a broken and

contrite love.

Someone as fiercely burning as you, someone who could

Understand what it was like to set yourself aflame

For the sake of the light to attract

Those whom you wanted.

someone who could tell how you felt,

who would not make you walk down the road of

the person who you had made

yourself pretend to be.

you did not deserve to have to be strong,

and I will not tell of those days you got up

when the floorboards creaked and your

feet dropped out from beneath you.

I will not make you remember how dark your vision

was whilst you were stumbling.

I was not always the right kind of love, and this

Is how I make amends.

A lily is a lily,

And a lotus is a lotus.

Our story is beautiful, but it cannot remain pure

Within the mud.

That's why I will gently wash off all the debris

On you, without pausing to

Let any bystanders see you when you were hurting.

I do not want to expose you at

your most vulnerable.

For you, I set down my relentless pursuit of truth

and learn to love whilst

closing my eyes so their gaze

could not hurt you.

some battles need to be lost for the war to be won,

and your trust is one war I cannot afford to fail.

do not be angry at me for not telling of

your exploits, my love,

I watched each one and how the cost wreaked havoc

On your steady will and trembling hands.

I cannot see you break a stone in half one more time,

Remembering how your bone broke along with it.

do not be upset that I do not glorify your triumphs,

my darling,

you were magnificent but so dangerous.

I was constantly hoping you would get to place your

spear on the ground and your shield in someone else's

hands,

for your calluses should have softened in a way

that would let you place your guard down

and tentatively open your heart on a

scheduled and mundane basis.

you can forget everything else,

but do not forget this of me,

you made a pact with the devil and they became your familiar.

you cannot leave.

Ignore me, avoid me,

reject me, contradict me,

but

do not pretend I never made this agreement with you.

so even though when I go out into the world,

I tell no stories of you,

Exist whenever and wherever I am, and

Accompany me as my voice.

you know me well enough for that.

[ragaatz]

Their sex life is, apologies for the pun, completely fucked. At least, at first. Yder almost classes what she tosses to Astarion as pity fucks, and, in turn, he’s dicking her down to earn security. She’s a married woman, or so it seems. She talks of a husband. She’s got as few morals as he does. If nothing else, it’s good for blackmail. Extortion is an art, much the same as torture, much the same as poetry.

It’s all the same in the end.

But he’s always the one to come traipsing along to her door. He sometimes yowls, he sometimes chirps. In rare moments, he brushes against her, purring. He’s playing an angle, she knows. She’s hardly a quality cut of meat—badly butchered, an apt name-thing to put to herself. But he needs something from it, from fucking her, and, maybe the Lords and Ladies would curse her inside-out for the stupidity, she doesn’t want him to stray far. Who else would share their thoughts, who else’s would mirror hers, if not his?

And, gods dammit, it’s fun. It’s fun. Neither thought they’d see the day. The burgeoning of stupid, silly games. His awful lines, her put-on doe eyes. Her ugly, belting laughter lost in his curls, the spark in his eyes as his dramatic flames are fanned higher and higher, have greedy on her soft hips and fat ass.

How about these little words? Everyone’s favorite. I love you.

Soft and weak as puppies’ jaws, and an utter fabrication. But her gut is warm with wine too-sweet, and her head is cottonwoolen by weed.

“Too soon, yes or no?” she succumbs to her amused laughter, her warmed-through sway. To do otherwise would be an act of submission to the pit of worms crawling creepily up her throat to give their own voice to the matter.

Well, it could be true. If only for tonight.

“Ooh.” She cants her hips an angle closer, resting a leg, pushing a knee closer to him. “I was not possessed of the idea you enjoyed make-pretend and fairy-stories, Lamb. There’s a fondness in you for playing?”

The smolder in his undercut look falters, and, despite himself, he snorts, throwing a lean, curving shrug. “Maybe I do, darling. Nothing wrong with a spot of roleplay, is there? And if that’s another area of inexperience for you, I’d be more than happy to fill you in.”

“Unsubtle as a long day, aren’t you,” she comments, humming. There was not an ounce of fun in the way her husband fucked. He had a goal, more often than not to fell her pregnant (though it had failed many times, until it didn’t), and he had no recourse for humor in the bedroll. Pity, then, that his fine sense of humor was wasted so. “If that is what you wish, that is what will pass. Let me sober, some. Then, we’ll love each other for tonight?”

For a slight second, he seems to continue in his stride, but pulls his reins up short at the very last moment. Oh, he can’t act, his body screams beyond the safety of the script. “Oh—we will?” he starts, head pulled back into a judging, down-the-nose angle. But he dances diagonal back into place, smirking, flashing fangs for her delight. “What am I saying—of course, we will.”

A few words scatter no more grandiose than pebbles between them after, until Astarion, in his growing ease with bodies-in-contact, draws a fingertip behind the opal hanging from her earring.

“Try to arrive at our rendezvous…pink, won’t you, my love? I think it’s very sweet.” It’s hardly a hard ask—her seasons begin to shift with the breath caught bone-jagged in her throat.

+

Full is the mania of her spring—pink and hysterical as the lotuses that drive their eaters mad—just the same as when first she followed dumbly the trail he left her to parse through the woods. Gambit turned half-habit, a fox with the gift of a dumb, willing rabbit.

It was becoming clear that each of them, together, were neither and both. Wolves under the fleece of sheep, sheep that had long lacked the spired shadows of spiked guardian collars. A pair of prey animals, with lusts for blood too well understood.

How lucky it was, then, that they both came with their own dagger-point protections. And luckier still: they’d pacted themselves to a mutual safeguarding.

“Ah, look at that! You did turn pink. Very generous of you.” This will be the third rendezvous, if these continued encounters must be built to suffer a name, and Astarion had ceased the coy cat-and-mouse reveal, little by little. Now he stands alongside the pack they share, and his lone bedroll, unfurled and laden with extra blankets. There’s the scruffy, raggedy one of his—the one he seems to protect dearly and squirrel away from prying eyes—hidden under the corner of what Yder presumes will be his side tonight. “Hope everything is to your liking, I’ve put it together especially for you, my darling.”

Bats away the urge to roll her eyes cat-like (the fey touched prosthetic is still a strange feeling in her socket, one she tries dearly to dwell naught upon), and surveys the tableau he’s constructed for them. It’s rather simple. A small campsite, their shared pack, and not much else, not even a fire. The moon filters through the canopy, dappling the ground and their bodies with pale light, and far away, closer to the river, tree frogs sing trilling notes.

“Mine isn’t a mine for narratives, that arena is more belonging to you,” she says, tamping down the urge to rub her left hand over the scared expanse where once an arm connected to the other side of her body. This entire farce is some ploy, there’s no other way the vampire spawn would look at her once, let alone twice. Badly butchered, her own words supplied by her husband’s voice. “What’s it you’re picturing here?”

The snotty grimace that curls his lip and wrinkles his nose is a reprieve, it makes her laugh, and he tosses a hand around in a wide, half-wild gesture

[tammyhybrid21]

I’m going to put these on their own post just so I can get my thoughts in order first. Starting of course with the Siblings and their Slugcats... if the heights are inconsistent, please I’m aware... One of the curses I think... Anyway so what can I say-- A lot actually, but I don’t want to say everything.

So I’ll just kind of, list it as I take it.

I am a firm believer in short Pebbles, short all of the iterators actually. Which speaking of, they are child sized. Going by that one theory that Slugcats are around 3’-ish. Which I do adore, I love it so much because I-- I like characters who’re small and thus have to deal with the issues that comes from been smol, as well the blessings of that shorter height. I mean seriously, look back at my roleplaying days-- my Main Muse was a 3’1/95cm tall child who got into EVERYTHING, but that’s not the point of this.

This was initially a picture I was drawing just as a reference, but I think I’m just going to use whatever height charts I make for those in the end... so instead this is more like a sheet of Misc headcanons/thoughts.

Straight up at the front, listing off heights. Artificer shares the same thing that sends me about NSH with LTTM’s height difference, 1cm turns into a whole inch of difference. And then Ruffles/Rivulet is smaller and faster. Pebbles meanwhile just smol-- ALSO THE MARKINGS. I have come to a conclusion and Pebbles and Moon’s markings and how they go together and that conclusion is phases of the Moon. I also love the idea that they match clothing wise... and the deeper issues with Pebbles basically only been given hand me downs.

Hand me down citizens, hand me down clothes... Vague ideas he’s built to the west of Moon, so also literally in her shadow when the sun rises...

BUT also on that, I suppose lets go to those little picture snippets huh. So first off, I love the idea of iterators giving out marks/gifts to Slugcats they claim. Artificer is Pebbles’ citizen as much as he’s her “angry pink baby”. With one extra headcanon--

When I first fell into drawing Rain World fanart I also done up this quick sheet. Nothing here is really relevant because it was mostly me just getting some thoughts in order. BUT-- I have a half joking headcanon that Pebbles is colourblind thanks to a mod with unfixed dialogue. Which you can see in my timeline/headcanon scribbles as well. SPECIFICALLY. I play around as if Pebbles has protanopia.

Which ye, he has even more strive for independence from Moon as result. ALSO, As a funny thing, this will be used as an excuse for a fic at some point for him to send Artificer off to NSH and go “You’ll know her when you see her, she’s you coloured!”-- she is empathetically not. Same as her Scarf is not the same colour as Pebbles like he thinks it is in that first picture.

I have... a lot to say regarding that one spoiler picture with Ruffles and campaign specific event. But the issue with that is it would take a lot of words and some explanations that even likely go cross-fandom. I just have one thing I will say right here.

People need to learn how to hear/see unspoken apologies. Apologies through actions and not words... But I’ll save that for when I actually get my thoughts together for all the fandoms it’s relevant to. So maybe... hopefully one day I’ll get to that.

Kind of wish I had more to say about the Slugcats here, but uhhh-- don't really have much, at least not this second. Not beyond the obvious... Although I do have a WIP time-travel fic with Riv and Moon that goes with another half-joke headcanon... will I explain that, no, because that's currently one paragraph of a story that I don't even know will be written more or not.

[movedmovedsoup]

I AM ON MY KNEES RN BRO PLEASE MAKE ANOTHER ROBIN FANFIC 🙏 Preferably one with like angst ykyk. Like where the reader likes Robin but he won’t admit he likes her too. But then in they end up together somehow 🫶

YOU KNOW IT BAE🫶🫶🙏🙏 YOU ASKED AND I DELIVERED🙏🙏

‘likewise’

Robin Arellano x gn! reader! PART 1!

it had always been you three, you, finney, and robin. well before finney had come into the picture, it was just you and robin. robin and you. the two of you were attached at the hip from the very beginning of time. you lived in the same neighborhood as him, just four houses down from his. your mothers were best friends and as children, you two would have play dates. because your father wasn’t exactly present in your life by choice, as a child who couldn’t be left alone when your mother went to work. you stayed the early mornings and late afternoons with either uncle arellano or ms arellano. and of course, with robin included. robin was in every class with you, from kindergarten to now. during elementary, he met a kid named ‘finney blake’ around the fourth grade. and from there on out, getting introduced to him the three of you were a trio. never to be broken or separated. you all never really seemed to clash together, finney being the peacekeeper, robin the protector, and you being a mixture of the both but mostly acting as the voice of reason between the two boys if one or both were in and out of their heads. it was 1978, the semi-end of the school year, splat in the middle of april. it was nothing but rain this month, at the time you were laying on the warm and comfortable bed. reading some novel you kept on pushing back to read for a while now. considering your bed was pushed against the wall you had the perfect view and sound of the rain doing its rhythm of pitter pattering against the sidewalk and window. it had seemed to definitely put you to a calm, curling into the knitted blanket you owned as you felt your eyes getting heavier and heavier with every breath. it was like nothing could seem to disturb the peace you ha-

“thwack!”

immediately you shot right back up from the previously relaxed state of comfort you were in. fear quickly catching inside of your heart as you hurriedly whipped your head around the room to see if anything had fallen. until another thud was heard. it had finally hit you, it was at the window. grumbling curses under your breath, you slid open the window poking your head out only to get hit with a pebble to the corner of your mouth. “oh shit-“ you heard a voice say. immediately looking down the original patience you had immediately turned to irritation. “robin?!” you practically screamed out, hand reaching over to rub the slightly stinging spot of your mouth. right there, down below the window was none other than robin arellano. he gave you a crooked smile knowing he was definitely in for a scolding. “aha…yeah..it’s me..! er…the one ‘nd only..!” he sheepishly called out. as you were about to slam the window shut on him you noticed the red stains around his hands and arms. it didn’t take you long to yell at him to go over to the front door despite his protests for you to somehow magically throw him up to your bedroom, which was on the second floor.

running down the carpeted stairs, fumbling over your feet as you did so, mother was over at work doing some double time which left you alone. either way she didn’t mind robin at all, of course she didn’t. as you swung open the door as expected, the boy in the flesh was leaning on the door frame. balance getting slightly tilted as you swung the door open. looking at him and his open wounds with a scrutinizing look. before letting out a sigh and allowing to roll your eyes at the boy. he knew how much you hated him getting hurt. often flying into a semi-rage and cussing him out like there was no tomorrow whenever he got into a fist fight for some stupid reason, finney often of times having to shut the both of you up. but this time, you were silent, silent as you could be of course. pulling him into the living room he was so familiar with as you locked the door. directing him to sit down on the sofa, you quickly placed a towel down on the furniture as he was sopping wet. grabbing the supplies you needed, you sat across from him with a visible frown. the frown that made his heart sink almost. but of course only as a friend right? friends cared about each other like this right? yeah, yeah they did. “so.” you started off, giving him a sharp glance as you tended to a ugly looking cut on his shoulder. “so.” he mumbled back, mimicking the rolling eyes, only to be cut off by you giving him a harsh shove. as he yelped out in surprise you demanded a explanation to his wounds, of course you know how he got them, you just wanted to hear the conformation from robin himself. “robin you seriously need to quit with this shit! do you not understand?? you go to me because your own mother hates seeing you beat up and two inches close to de-“

“hey-!” he quickly cut you off furrowing his brows, “i wouldn’t say two inches close to death technically moose blacked out mid way so i won.” he explained with a proud smile on his face, but seeing the expression you had on your own made it quickly wash away. with a guilty sigh he lowered his head, reaching his uninjured hand over to your arm, rubbing the side of your shoulder as if to reassure you. he wasn’t sure why he did the things he did, well his actions and the way he acted with you to be exact. whenever the two of you walked home from school he’d always shove you to the, in his words: ‘safer part of the street’ and always judged harshly at the boys you liked or the boys that liked you. or did little actions that brought him comfort, so he did the same actions to you, in hopes it’ll bring you some sort of comfort as well. and much to his luck it always did. he noticed how your shoulders slumped from the tensity you were feeling about him originally, letting the soft spot you had for the boy show. you nodded slowly, trying to wrap your head around the boy’s thought process as per usual, he allowed his hand to move upwards just the smallest bit, tucking away a stray strand of hair you had, giving a slight smile to you in return. a few minutes passed and you were almost finished up with everything he busted. the last thing was the gash on his lip. for some reason you could practically hear your heart quicken as you inched closer to get a better look, and felt relief when your heart didn’t just jump out of your chest as you tilted his head closer with a gentle nudge. when you were younger doing these up and close wounds definitely weren’t as nerve racking and panic inducing as they now are.

it seemed like the both of you felt that way. as robin tried to keep his eyes from looking anywhere else but admiring you. from the lampshade, the tv that wasn’t even turned on, the tacky rug. anything really. he had felt relief for just a moment as you announced you were finished. he let out a breathy laugh, one of nervousness as he could feel his face heat up. as the two of you semi-pulled back from the close range it suddenly went awkward and silent as if you both were waiting for something. in a way, you had come to accept the feelings you had for robin, testing the waters as you slightly shifted yourself forward, closer to him. eyes closing in anticipation. robin on the other hand..he wasn’t exactly..the most open with his feelings. part of him wanted to reel himself away from you while the other wanted to stay put. it only took a few seconds to realize nothing was going on as embarrassment tackled you like a coat. quickly opening your eyes as robin lowered his gaze, shaking his head ever so slightly. “uh…i gotta go y/n..my ma is probably wondering where i am..” he mumbled quietly. not even able to look at you in the eyes as he got up, a flash of feelings just washed over you as you quickly sprung to your feet. following him with furrowed brows. but suddenly, just the look he gave you once he saw you going after him, it just made you stop. letting out a sigh, you nodded and sat back down on the couch, already trying to block him out of your mind as you cleaned up the place. once hearing the door shut, you couldn’t help but to be overcame with emotions. he’s lead you on for a whole year now, with the stolen glances from across the room, how he would carry you place to place whenever you complained the slightest about your legs hurting, grabbing your books and holding them for you without even asking, hell he even took care of you once when you were practically on your death bed sick. even though it was a flimsy job. not to mention every friday you’d go with him to the drive in, it alternated between the two of you choosing movies. those little gestures seemed more than bittersweet now.

he’s been leading you on and on and on and all the sudden you get this? this in return? you could practically feel your heart turn more and more into shambles as you just sat there, on the couch staring blankly across the room. trying to process whatever the hell just happened. it wasn’t long before your lip started to quiver and tears threatened to spill out. you really fucked up now.

that was six months ago.

hello!!! i hope you all enjoyed this little part one of a request !! because i know i did😭 it’s definitely refreshing to write something more on the sadder side. and once again I DONT PROOFREAD! we die like men💪

[sukirichi]

black magic [02]

request. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife) + sukuna’s first time with his wife

cw. slight angst, insecurities, lots of making out, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasm, sukuna worships reader, spitting, cum eating, teasing! sukuna, face-off kamasutra position, soft dom! sukuna, unedited fic, pwp

song inspo. leave the door open (bruno mars)

note. i want a husband sukuna 

part one | part two

Sukuna gently takes your palm into his, soft and warm lips meeting your bruised knuckles that have seen years of hard work in exorcising curses like him. Uncanny that he showed so much affection to his enemy by nature, treating you with such care and tenderness that shouldn’t have been so possible for an evil creature like him. You’re supposed to love it, be grateful for it, yet his sweet gestures only irritate you, even more so when he retires to bed just like that without even so much sparing a glance your way.

You’ve been married for a year now that you’ve had enough of his confusing gestures towards you. One moment, he was showering you with love, regarding you like you were the light of his life before he’s walking away the next moment and pretending you don’t exist.

He was so infuriating. He would kiss you and hold you, but never touch you or be in the same room with you any longer than an hour. Even in bed, he’s always making sure his back is turned to you, peeling your arms off of him each time you attempt to cuddle him on times it got too cold. It hurts and dwells dangerously at the back of your mind – it would’ve been better if he got angry at you and announced he despised you, but he never did – that his hot and cold nature bothered you more than anything else.

You’ve eventually had enough that you just stopped caring. Barging in during his bath time, your nostrils flare upon seeing your husband so relaxed in the tub. Even after a year of marriage, he’s so unaffected and unaware by your need for him.

He really doesn’t care.

“Little one,” Sukuna blinks as he sits up from the tub, strong arms hanging off the edges of the bed. You admit; he really was beautiful and a desirable man that you couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but crave the one thing you knew you weren’t supposed to have. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you not want me?” you suddenly demand, tears already streaming down your face faster than you would like. Hell, you never wanted to cry in the first place. “Am I not desirable enough for you?”

Sukuna chuckles nervously.

Oh, great, now he’s nervous around you?

“What are you going on about?”

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re doing,” you snap, “Every time we go to bed, you always put some distance between us and keep to your side of the bed. You push me away when I try to reach for you and you never touch me or kiss me on the lips. I-I understand this marriage was against your will, but I’m still your wife and I need you, okay?” chest tightening uncomfortably, you place a hand over your poor, aching heart that is further crippled when Sukuna’s face falls. “I just feel like...you’re sickened by me, like you cannot stand to be with me in the same room as me. It makes me feel like...it would’ve been better if I wasn’t here.”

You don’t know what kind of response you’re expecting from him after your outburst, but definitely not him standing up to loom over you. You respectfully avert your eyes from the sinful image of water dripping down his defined body, but it’s too late and he’s too close already that you won’t be surprised if he can hear your heartbeat pumping frantically.

He was large and imposing, truly a terrifying sight right before you especially with his tattoos that trail and wrap all around his muscular thighs, yet you’re not nervous because he could hurt you.

Rather, you’re agitated because he’s so close, so within reach that if you step a little closer, you could easily find the warmth you’ve been dreaming of for so long.

You’re frustrated because you want him though you shouldn’t.

Just then, Sukuna caresses your cheek and pulls the both of you back in the tub with you above him, and him lazily grinning above you. You gasp, abashed, that your clothes were soaked to the brim and it stuck close to your damp skin until it took the shape of your silhouette. Sukuna, on the other hand, is completely unbothered as he eyes your pebbled nipples poking through the thin material of your nightgown and simply drags you forward on his thighs.

“S-Sukuna—”

“You really have no idea, do you?” he whispers lowly, his long claws carefully tracing down the sides of your jaw. “My innocent, little lamb...the reason I distance myself from you is because every waking day that you are right beside me, my self-restraint thins, and I’m not sure I can hold back a little longer from you taming me,” Sukuna’s dark eyes brims with something unreadable as he holds your gaze. The look he wears is beyond intense that he takes your breath away, literally, and you’re left gaping at him silently. “I push you away because I want you more than anything else, but I respect you and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You-you want me?”

“Clearly, little one, you’re inherently unaware of how captivating you are,” Sukuna says as if if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you shiver at his words – or from the cold water, you don’t really know. “Stop looking at me like you want me to kiss you. I may not stop once I get a taste of you. Like I said before – I won’t touch you unless you asked.”

You do remember him saying that from your first time together, but your head goes blank, and no words leave your lips even as you mouth nonsense.

Sukuna taps your lips. “Speak, little one. You need to use your big girl words.”

“Kiss me,” you vociferated in one breath, desperately clutching on your thighs. “Please.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to push you away as his eyes narrow into suspicion, but soon he’s tugging at your collar to bring you down for a heated kiss. Sukuna is tugging your robes down until your collarbones are exposed, his tongue and lips leaving yours to leave marks and love bites all over the patch of skin instead. You tug at his hair as you crane your neck to the side, succumbing to the undeniable pleasure his warmth and greediness consumes you with.

Grinding down on his groin, you notice he’s already hard. Hard for you, and this realization makes you kiss him back hungrily as you whimper above him.

Sukuna is feverishly sucking on your tongue and pawing at your breasts the next instant before the spell is immediately broken just as it happened. For before you could reciprocate the same amount of eagerness he kissed you with, Sukuna is already sliding you off of him until you’re on the other side of the tub, left staring at him wordlessly with his lips red and swollen.

“Not today, little one. I think that’s enough.”

You hear your heart shatter into pieces. Pride; it was about the only thing you had, but it seemed even that had been taken away from you.

“You really don’t want me.”

Your voice cracked as your eyes began to tear up.

“No, love, that’s not what I meant,” he groans into his hands, “Believe me, I’d spent enough nights sweaty and frustrated knowing I can’t ravish you and have those lush thighs around me already,” waiting for him to continue, Sukuna sighs and holds you closer, though he could only caress your knee right now that you’re wary of getting hurt again. “This is your first time, okay? I want to make it special for you – you’re not experiencing bliss with me if it happens impulsively with you barging in my bath.”

Something like hope lights up inside you.

“Y-you’ll really do that for me?”

“Tch, brat, don’t go all soft on me now. I wouldn’t suggest testing my patience even further,” he playfully flicks your forehead when you tried to kiss him again, but Sukuna is already tilting his cheek to other side before you could. You would’ve been heartbroken again that he’s refused you, but his words held more than reassurance – and so did his uncomfortably hard cock – that all previous insecurities vanished into thin air.

Sukuna grabs you by the waist to plant your feet on the ground outside the tub, carrying you as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll to him. “Now go and get changed. I’ll fuck you another time.”

“Don’t say it like that!”

“My deepest apologies, little one,” he commented sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, though his smile turned genuinely warm the last minute. “I’ll make love to you when you’re ready.”

He must’ve lied.

You’re annoyed because Sukuna is intentionally avoiding you and acting like you don’t exist. Pissed off, you go into a curse exorcising spree to get the King of Curses out of your mind, reminding yourself that he was vile like them and he didn’t deserve even a second of your time.

Although no matter how hard you tried, your mind still kept racing back to him even as you come back home, bloody and tired when you realize the temple is eerily quiet. Not a living soul could be found around, no servant fretted at your arrival and your husband most definitely did not lurk in the shadows like he usually did. The only sign the temple hadn’t been abandoned yet were the lines of candles trailing down the hall to your shared room with him, and you gasp as you see the petals decorating the bed and rose-scented candles lit everywhere.

Sukuna was nowhere to be seen.

But he was felt as he kisses your neck, his hands untying the knots of your yukata. You stiffen in reflex before relaxing as soon you recognize his scent. Behind you, Sukuna pauses, his lips still in the column of your neck.

“You’re upset.” He wasn’t asking; rather observing.

“Not anymore,” you mumble in response, although you weren’t entirely convinced even as you come closer to the bed, your husband trailing behind with his pinky looped to yours. “Did you do all this for me?”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you,” you hide your smile for him, not wanting him to see that it’s so easy to alleviate your anger to him. He has to earn your approval again, so you turn to him with a forced scowl and arms crossed against your chest. “But why were you ignoring me for days?”

You intended to look intimidating, but the King of Curses only laughed.

“You look cute when you’re mad. Plus, it made you want me more than you already do, didn’t it?” he chastised, the implications of his words making you pout in humiliation. Sukuna is quick to step closer to you, cupping your cheeks into his hand, and you hated how easily you leaned into his touch. Nevertheless, you turned away from him, using all your energy to muster your most serious ‘I’m not bothered’ face.

“Aw, don’t be shy, it’s written all over your face, little one,” he breathes on the shell of your ear, hands trailing down to lightly drape your clothes below your shoulders. Unable to hold it back, you end up shivering at his featherlike touches.

“It’s okay. I loved hearing your soft whimpers every time you touched yourself in the bath, thinking that I’m probably not around to hear, hm? You forget I sense everything,” his laugh is mocking yet laced with lust, “From the frantic singing of your heart, the way you tense up a little when I’m around, or the way those beautiful legs of yours clench together each time my robe is a little loosened,” Sukuna dips his nose right under your jaw where his tongue darts out to lick a flat stripe down your neck, and just like that, you’re breathlessly clutching on his white robes that are already unfastened. Damned tease.

“Even the smell of your arousal is enticing me to enrapture you right now, little one. I can practically hear the silent begging in that pretty little head of yours.”

You forgot how to breathe.

“B-but I’m dirty, I just finished exorcising curses.”

“Would it be comedic if I said I am aroused at the thought my wife could easily end me right here and now?” shaking your head at him, Sukuna smiles mysteriously. “But you won’t, would you? You need me too much for that,�� he leans closer than he already was before, his lips just a breath away from yours. “Tell me, do you want me?”

“Yes,” you whispered breathily, “Please, Sukuna, touch me.”

“It’s my love to you.”

“Not Your Majesty?”

“Hmm, that is delightful to hear as well,” he says, “But let’s our drop our titles. For now, whatever happens between us is intimately between man and wife. Now go clean up, little one. I’ll be waiting for you once you’re ready.”

You waste no time into darting to the bath, scrubbing the blood and dirt on each nook and crevice of your body until you’re squeaky clean. You’re about to head back to bed when you quickly practice puckering your lips to make yourself look desirable, muttering hopefully flirty lines that would make your husband want you more before calling it quits from the embarrassment you caused upon yourself.

By the time you’ve completely dried and moisturized yourself to absolute perfection that you’re confident of yourself, you find Sukuna emptily staring into the ceilings. “Done already? Someone’s eager.”

You roll your eyes at him. Why did you like him again?

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Gladly, little one,” he confides, patting his thighs to encourage you to climb onto him. Now that things were actually getting real and your endless dreams would soon become reality, your palms grow sweaty as you settle yourself onto his lap. “You tell me right away if I’m hurting you, you understand? One word and I’ll stop; though I doubt you’ll be in your right mind to want to stop once I’ve had my way with you.”

You don’t really understand much of what he’s saying anymore.

He’s kissing you so slowly, so passionately and you’re both undressing each other that nothing but desire and lust clouds your thoughts in that moment. You’re drunk on the sweet taste of him, his natural musky scent beyond intoxicating for your mortal self to handle. Too lost in the bliss of finally being intimate with him, you don’t realize Sukuna has already pushed your towel down until it pools at your waists. His sharp intake of breath is the only thing that pulls you back to reality as he greedily takes in each beautiful curve and dip of your body.

His stare is so fervid that you grow shy and cover yourself, where Sukuna quickly grips your wrist as a warning. “No. You do not hide yourself from me.”

“Then stop staring too much.”

“Is it a sin to appreciate divine beauty?” he tilts his head to the side and blinks at you innocently. “You are ethereal, my wife.”

Before you could be too flustered to respond, Sukuna fortunately saves you from the embarrassment by kissing you again, though it doesn’t last long before his mouth is trailing from your collarbone and down to your breasts. You mewl as Sukuna eagerly sucks on one breast, the other showered with attention from his rough, calloused palms. Meanwhile, you push his clothes away to expose his strong shoulders which you use as leverage because his ministrations make you feel like you’re losing control over your own body.

Rolling your hips on his erect cock, Sukuna groans through your skin, squeezing your breast hard enough that you can’t take it anymore right after he tweaks your nipple. “Love, please, I need you right now.”

“Patience, little one,” he reminds, “I need to prepare you well.”

“I’ve been waiting for months, Sukuna, I’m sure I’m more than ready.”

“Emotionally, sure, but physically?” he chuckles darkly, “Little one, do you not understand your nimble fingers cannot compare to my cock? I might hurt you if you’re not stretched out enough.”

“Then stop kissing me and start—” you’re cut off with a gasp, your nails sinking down harder into his skin the moment his fingers began to rub at your pussy. “Y-your claws—”

“I kept them for years, but I had to cut them just for you, little one. What do you have to say about that?”

“Thank you,” you offer with a breathy moan, head falling into his shoulder from the overwhelming yet welcomed intrusion. “Oh, Sukuna, it’s too good, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he bites the shell of your ear and tugs at the lobe, basically biting it between his teeth to distract you from another long and thick digit pushing past your walls. “One more?”

“O-oh!” his thumb has now joined the party by rubbing soothing circles on your clit, effortlessly pulling your lips aside with the rest of his digits to expose your sensitive bundles of nerves for him. Sukuna keeps his eyes on yours the whole time, watching and drinking in the face you make – pleasure written all over your features from the swollen lips, pupils blown wide, and desire pooling in swirls of curiosity and eagerness. It’s a face he never wants to forget; a face he wants to see more of that Sukuna eventually lays you down against the pillows, admiring how unreal you looked in that moment.

Hair splayed all over the pillow, legs spread wide open with his hands caressing your core, and a strong arm gripping his with small gasps accompanied by desperate calls for his name to do more, please you more – your words instantly translate into commands.

“You are so beautiful,” Sukuna praises rather angrily, “Never forget that. Each inch of you, fuck, you are the most dangerous mortal, you know that?”

You don’t have time to react before he’s going down on you and spreads your legs apart, keeping them pinned down to the bed. The stretch hurts but he easily soothes your pain by massaging your inner thighs, crawling down to kiss your ankles, then licking all the way up to your knee where he stops for a second, only to happily be on your sopping cunt the next moment. He’s peppering barely there kisses to your inner thighs just on your outer lips, his breath warm and teasing on your heat.

It feels like he intends to ruin you tonight.

“Sukuna, stop teasing!”

“What do you want me to do, little one?” he grins from between your legs, the vibrations of his chuckles resonating deep within your cunt that sporadically clenches right in front of his face that’s shamelessly imprinting your scent deep into his memory. “How can I make you feel good?”

“You know how!”

“You need to tell me so I know. I can’t read your mind.”

“Your mouth...”

Sukuna’s smile grows wider the longer you struggle to find your words, but exactly how in the world could you say such vulgar things out loud? He is far more patient tonight than any other day, however, that Sukuna props himself to his elbows to peer up at you innocently. “Where do you want my mouth and what should I do with it?”

Swallowing the rest of your pride, you finally utter: “T-taste me...down there.”

“Here?” he prods your clit, pulling a high-pitched gasp from you. Your husband’s smirk is nothing short of condescending just before he finally kisses your clit, sucking the bud into his mouth until you writhe before him. It takes minimal effort for someone of his strength to hold your legs in place, his grip just tight enough to be commanding. The thought of being completely in his mercy made your head spin in circles, your chest heaving up and down from the pleasure he was blessing yet torturing you with. “You’re so responsive, little one. I’m honoured I’m the one who gets to make you feel like this.”

“M-more, please, I need more.”

You expect him to tease you further, but your husband must’ve noticed that you’re too edged and decided to have pity on you. He doesn’t waste another second before he’s wrapping his lips around your pussy, treating it as if it were your own lips that always tasted like honey.

Sukuna is completely immersed in the act of pleasuring you with his tongue only, so much so that he’s silent aside from the little hums he lets out while you moan for him.

Unable to care about being too loud anymore (not that you needed to since Sukuna had made everyone go back home to give you both privacy) you find yourself throwing your head back, legs falling open wider to grant him deeper access to your most sensitive parts. Sukuna continues to massage your inner thighs and even drags the back of your knee to rest on his muscular back littered with battle scars and tattoos, the dark markings on his skin flexing with each movement. His eyes are closed and his nose is grazing against your swollen clit that had reddened already, your pussy lips opening up like a new world he had to explore, and explore he would.

Your hands find solace in his hair the shade of gentle sunsets that were often shared in lazy kisses and subtle touches, nails dragging across his scalp just enough to make your husband hiss right between your legs. Something begins to tighten in your belly as you grind your clit onto his face, too absorbed in the mind-numbing sensation of his tongue now poking against your entrance and the past barrier slowly blooming open to welcome him.

With shaking legs and a chest drenched in sweat, pebbled nipples further stimulated by the cold breeze drifting in from the windows, your eyes snap open as that rope snapped deep within your belly.

Your gaze shoots down below you to watch your husband ardently lapping your juices like a man starved. Now this wasn’t new to you – you’ve heard enough about the King of Curses and his bloodlust. Whispers of his thirst and desire to slay entire towns and even feast on mortals’ souls was enough to keep you at bay when you were still a young sorcerer, for it was already a blatant warning that Sukuna would feed on anything and anyone, that his hunger was quite something that couldn’t be satiated.

But seeing him unhinged and a slave to pleasing you has never felt more erotic that you ride out your orgasm, toes curling and legs trembling every now and then from the aftershocks of your high.

Slowly, Sukuna darts out his tongue one last time just to leave a teasing touch to your clit before he’s crawling right above you again. The ceiling is obscured by his large frame hovering over you, arms trapped between your head and his gallant member poking just between your thighs. You end up shivering under him as your husband regards you – with affection, pride, curiosity – gentle in comparison to his true nature in caressing your cheek, both of you unbothered by the slick that meets your skin.

“Are you okay?” he breathes out, watching your fucked out smile bloom into a felicitous grin.

“Perfect,” you mumble, although rather shyly. You’d seen him naked before, but never hard, and never with the intention that soon you’d truly be connected – in heart, in body, in mind, and in soul. The thought makes your heart skip a beat, your eyelids growing hooded as Sukuna absentmindedly traces patterns on the curve of your hip. “Sukuna...you’re perfect.”

Your husband laughs, the sound of his glee contagious that you’re chuckling with him as well. “Have you seen yourself, little one? I think I fall for you harder each day.”

His sudden confession brings about a silence in the room, but it wasn’t comfortable, and neither was it tense. If anything, it destroys any traces of previous hesitation and pent up anger that’s only been formed in the first place due to the fact he was Curse and you a sorcerer.

The nature of your relationship had been paradoxical to begin with, perhaps even beastly, but nothing was beastly about it now as you wrap an arm around his neck to bring him closer to you. And Sukuna was just that – the man, the Curse, the feared King whose simple mention of his name made mere mortals tremble – the same person that somehow understands your silence better than anyone. No words were needed when he could read your mind and knew his way around your heart a little too much, not once leaving his lips on yours as he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you before him. Both of your skins are hot and flushed, yet you’re greedily touching and pulling at one another, his large palms clawing at your ass to pry your pussy lips open while you drag your nails down his chest.

He grunts into your mouth; the sound deep and masculine that it vibrates all the way down to your core. You gasp into his mouth – your breath immediately swallowed by his tongue that dances with yours – once you feel him slip inside.

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve felt before.

You’ve fought and exorcised countless of curses that pain was no stranger to you at this point, but never had you felt so...alien to a sensation both tragic and addicting. Pulling away to breathe air back into your lungs, your forehead knocks with Sukuna until your noses are brushing against the others, mouth hanging open as your walls struggle to accommodate him.

“Oh, oh god,” you mewl above him, eyes wide open as you witness each inch of his cock disappearing from the motion of you swallowing his length whole. He was big; terrifyingly so, and you shake with fear that you wouldn’t be able to take him or that he might rip you apart. “Su-Sukuna—”

“You’re fine,” he reassures by pulling your cheeks back to him, your delicate face trapped between his rough hands. Although his eyes are dark with lust, there’s a tenderness behind them that placates you. “You can tell me to stop if it hurts. Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

There’s no lie or hesitation behind your voice. Sukuna watches your face carefully to detect any sign of discomfort, but you want this, want him, and the pleasure combined with the tolerable sting only makes you desire him even more. The mere fact that there had to be pain and sacrifice, that you had to place your whole trust in him before you could truly succumb to the pleasure and love that created light and hope in this world was enough for you to want to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, and Sukuna wipes away the frown on your face with the pads of his fingers.

He allows you to go at your own pace until you’re completely seated on his cock, the heated member throbbing so hard inside you that you think he’s poking and prodding right deep into a place where you could hold him close the most.

It’s too much and too good that for once, you let your walls crash down as you bury yourself in his shoulder. Sukuna holds you closer by pulling you right into his chest, large arms wrapped around your frame while your breasts tease the rugged and taut muscles of his body. Even the slightest movement of you adjusting yourself on his lap makes his cock graze against your bumpy walls that you’re both moaning left and right. As you struggle to make sense of the sensations bursting within you, Sukuna’s self restraint hangs dangerously by a piece of thread. You can tell by how he’s cupping your ass and lifting your body up effortlessly before he slides you back down on his thick pole, that single, simple gesture repeated over and over again along with him bringing his hips back up to meet your warmth sending a scorching heat all over your body.

“Love, that’s, fuck,” you curse incoherently, and upon hearing a profanity leave your otherwise innocent lips makes something snap inside your husband.

Sukuna is gripping onto your hips for dear life as he bounces you up and down on his cock, tilting his head back just to scrutinize your connected bodies. A thick ring of white cream surrounds the base of his cock until it slides down on his veiny cock, sounds of skin slapping against skin and the loud squelching of your pussy even more beautiful than the screams mortals have moments right before their death in his hands. But Sukuna be damned – you felt too good that this might as well have been his death.

“You feel so fucking good,” he praises through gritted teeth, easily manhandling you and throwing you back on the bed where he’s on you in a second. “Look at you, little one, taking my huge cock so well. It’s like you’re made just for me – you want to be with me, don’t you? I would please you, fuck you good every day, yes, fuck!”

Sukuna ended up hitting a spot that equated to uncharted territory, causing you to tighten around him with a sharp cry. “Oh, right there, right there!” you rub your clit for further stimulation, moaning louder when he hoists both your legs on his chest.

He presses your legs and hugs his around his arms, flipping it to the side until your feet are right beside his ears. Sukuna has gone completely feral – his pace and drive animalistic, growling like a predator consuming his prey before he softens, kissing your ankles just as he grips your legs to make them squish together. The sudden lack of space makes your pussy tighter and more sensitive for him that you’re fisting the sheets right beside you, too fucked out to even form a coherent sentence. You’re babbling mindlessly on how good he’s making you feel, completely limp and motionless under him from how deep he’s hitting.

“Please, please, please—” you cry out, reaching out just seconds away from your orgasm with the need to touch him. Sukuna gives in and lets go of your legs until they fall at your side, stretching you out further from when he leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss.

He’s caressing your cheeks and swipes a thumb over your tears, quite nearly folding your half. His balls are slapping against your ass the harder he thrusts inside you, but his hips are stuttering and he’s panting right beside your ear that you can tell he’s close. It prompts you to wiggle under him to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him closer and clutching his scalp just to have him impossibly close, because even thinking about letting him go sounds too painful, especially now that he’s claimed you as his just as you’ve marked him yours.

“I worship you,” he blurts out with a few final thrusts that has you crumbling under him in a silent scream, your focus completely on his dark, passionate eyes as you came. Sukuna then laces his fingers through yours while he pumps himself inside you, your walls milking him of everything he’s got. “You are divine, my wife, you have bewitched me for eternity.”

“Sukuna,” you call out weakly, and he’s quick to litter kisses all over your face from your whimpers. “Sukuna-I-I—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” Sukuna places a finger on your lips, letting you calm down from that earth shattering orgasm he just gave you. He pulls his spent dick out a minute later and scoops up your cum that’s spilling out from your pussy lips, his gaze never leaving yours the whole while he sucks his fingers inside his mouth. He’s so dirty and erotic that you’re clenching around nothing once more, but he shakes his head with a low chuckle as if he can sense you want more. Sukuna kisses you just to transfer the cum mixed with spit right onto your tongue, gripping your jaw when your eyes widen at him. “Swallow it, little one. That’s just a taste of what I could give to you.”

You don’t know what pulled you to actually swallow it – it tastes bitter and even a little salty, though it had a bittersweet tinge of scent to it that you don’t mind, especially not when Sukuna just stares at you like you’re most his prized possession.

Sukuna is right by your side the next moment. He’s tamed the next moment, pure comfort and bliss from the way he’s tenderly running his fingers up and down the sides of your body like he’s memorizing the feel of you around him. You both don’t say anything as you place your cheek right above his chest, arms locked on his chest in a desperate cling, but neither does he want you to let go. Sukuna threads his fingers on your hair before you feel his lips caress the crown of your head, mumbling sweet nothings right as you’re welcoming sleep.

Until he taps your breast.

“Little one?”

“Yes?”

“We never had our honeymoon, do we?” he queries, and you twist your head to face him as your brows draw together in thought.

“No, I don’t think we did. I pushed you away from me on our first night together, remember?”

Sukuna’s eyes shone with mischief. “How could I forget? You tried to kill me right after our wedding,” both of you share a laugh at the memory, though there were no more harsh feelings or contempt shared, only love, and love only. Sukuna softens under your gaze as your chuckles tinker down to a giggle, your finger teasingly drawing circles on his chest as you bite your lip. And like always, Sukuna knows you just a little too well. “I know that look. What is it that you want, little one?”

“You.”

“Me?” he repeats with a dark chuckle that sends heat right down to your womanhood. “You already have me, little one, your wish has been granted a long time ago.”

Your face burns. “I mean, I want you. Again. One more.”

“One more?”

“Or maybe a lot more,” you pipe up, but Sukuna’s smirk is growing more and more devious that your former tenacity soon dwindles down into meekness. “O-only if you want to. You must be tired.”

“Little one, I’m the King of Curses, did you really think I would be tired from fucking my sweet little wife?” At his words, Sukuna tilts your chin until you’re left with no choice but to be held captive under his lust. He leans down to teasingly bite your bottom lip, and you’re already breathing hard as you feel his hands begin to trail down to your core that’s more than eager to take him all over again. “Like I said, I worship you, and I’m nothing but a bewitched man who would gladly fuck his wife as long as she asks.”

Safe to say, you couldn’t exorcise curses for quite some time.